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writing-biting · 1 year

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Rinse and Repeat

He has a display of screens. Really, more of a wall. A round sort of wall that surrounds him and crowds him into the half-dome he built.

The screens are at the optimal angle for him to see all of them at once and they seem closer than they ought to be.

The videos playing on them vacillate between obnoxiously bright and piercingly dark. When the colors flare, Donnie's air freezes into a cold black, and when the shadows fall his eyes sting and his head spins.

His mouth is dry, and he's not sure if it's from lack of use or from the fact that the water canteen on his desk has been empty for what might have been a day or two. The colors dance in front of his eyes and he closes them, listening to the brilliant crashes of an explosion.

He feels exposed.

A repost of my hurt/comfort oneshot on Ao3, figured I'd post it here too.

Warnings: trauma, sensory issues, canon typical stalking, self destructive behavior, self neglect, cussing (once) and lying.

_____________________________

Rinse and Repeat

He has a display of screens. Really, more of a wall. A round sort of wall that surrounds him and crowds him into the half-dome he built.

The screens are at the optimal angle for him to see all of them at once and they seem closer than they ought to be.

He feels exposed.

He knows what he's doing is useless, knows he can't map out plans and strategies with his hands numb from clenching them too tight and his shoulders shaking hard enough to rattle the goggles perched on his head.

His battleshell had long been cast aside, its weight and heat growing uncomfortable in the first few hours. The cold air licking against the scars on his shell aren't any better, and he finds himself attempting to arch away from the air itself. Despite this, he can't seem to find the energy to pick his battleshell off the floor and set the comforting weight back into place.

I'll leave soon, Donnie lied to himself, as soon as I think of something I'll take a break.

There had to be a way out of this. There had to have been something they could have done different, Donnie knows that there has to be something but can't seem to think of anything, anything all.

"Whatcha doing?"

Donnie lurches forward, slamming both his hands on the off button and nearly falling on the ground from the momentum. He manages to catch himself on the desk.

The screens blink out, submerging them into a warm darkness. Yellow light spills through the doorway and silhouettes Leo, who has a hand on his hip and smirk that Donnie can't see but knows is there.

"'Nardo," He hisses. His voice sounds manic even to himself, caught somewhere between a shriek and a whisper. "What do you want?"

"Relax," Leo's voice is practically a purr, smug and self satisfied. "Just wanted to see our genius at work."

"Yes I am a genius, and this genius is BUSY." Donnie tucks himself back into his seat, snatching his battleshell off of the ground as he did so and holding it to his plastron. He waves a dismissive hand in Leo's direction. "Go away."

"No can do, brother of mine. You've been in here for days and Raph's starting to gnaw his fingers off with worry." Leo is standing beside him now, peering up at the darkened screens, wearing an expression that Donnie can't see, let alone read.

"Well, tell him I'm fine then- HEY!" Donnie is far too slow to stop him.

In a single movement, with a single finger, as a result of what was presumably a single thought, Leo pressed the on/off button.

The screens lit up in a dazzling shade of purple, his initial bold and bright in its center. One by one the screen flicked to the scene he had been watching before.

They dance across the screen, their eyes tired and their weapons gleaming. Voices ring out and overlap one another, singing the single scream of hidden terror. Tendrils skate along his shell and the image then shows Leo, quick and determined.

When I tell you, shut the portal.

The portal snaps shut, sending a beautiful blast of multicolored light in every direction.

The scene cuts, and the Kraang is visible. It roars something, a scramble of syllables that Donnie's addled mind knows by heart but won't bother to decipher. The Kraang launches itself at the camera.

Leo's noises of pain fill the little dark room. They, Leo and the Kraang, fly through the dark sky of The Prison Dimension.

It doesn't seem to end, yet is simultaneously no more than a couple of minutes.

Took you long enough.

And with those words, laced with relief and fear and love, the video begins again.

Donnie can feel Leo's gaze on him, so he avoids it. He stares vacantly at the screen, letting the light invade and flash across his vision.

"Donnie?"

He clenches his teeth, his fingers scratch absently at the battleshell on his lap.

"How long have you-? Nevermind." Leo shakes his head and the colors jump across his features. "I'm gonna pick you up, kay D?"

"What!?" Donnie shrieks, jerking around to face Leo, nearly knocking over his chair in the process. He waves a frantic hand at the screen. "I need to, to-"

Leo looks like he's about to laugh, eyes squinted and mouth in an uneven smile. "It'll be here when you get back, c'mon." He hold out his arms either placatingly or threateningly.

Donnie glares at him with as much force as he can muster. "Fine."

Leo scoops him up, the battleshell pressed between their plastrons as a sort of protective barrier between them. The only places Donnie can really feel the touch are his forearms, where Leo's arms are wrapped around his, and his shell.

Leo's hands are flat against the surface of his shell, pressed against the scars. It feels drastically different than the tendrils, his hands a little bit rough to the touch and a little bit cold. His grip is firm and sure, and it's not as all compassing as Raph's touch, but it banishes the phantom touches, though it is uncomfortable in its own way.

Thankfully, it's over quickly.

He's deposited on a couch outside of the lab, his back propped up against the cushion.

His skin feels like it's trying to ripple off of his body.

"Stay there, I'mma gonna make us hot chocolate."

Donnie doesn't answer, preferring to close his eyes and pretend like he doesn't exist. He is distantly aware of his head throbbing.

When the throbbing recedes to a dull ache, he peeks his eyes open and examines the room he was in. He tries to remember when they put a couch there.

With his truly ingenious observation skills, he realizes that it's nighttime and that everyone else is most definitely asleep.

"Leo!"

"Shhshh, you're gonna wake everyone." Leo's cheery voice rings out of the kitchen, something between a shout and a whisper.

"You lied."

"Mwah?" He peeks out of the kitchen for the sheer purpose of pressing an indignant hand to his chest. "I would never."

"Raph isn't gnawing his fingers off, he's sleeping. You approached me under false pretenses!" Donnie hiss-shrieks.

"No, no, no, brother of mine, no!" He comes out of the kitchen with two cups of steaming liquid and forces one into Donnie's hands. "He's gnawing off his fingers with worry, in his sleep, of course."

Donnie grants him the kindest gift of an enraged and furious stare. He attempts to down the hot cocoa in a single swoop of anger, but only manages to burn his tongue. "You treacherous lying bitch."

"That's me." Leo flops onto the couch as floppily as he is able to without spilling his drink.

"You were worried about me!" Donnie whisper-yells indignantly.

Leo gives him an offended look. "I would never."

With a final responding hiss, Donnie goes back to nursing his cup of hot chocolate. "Fine."

#rottmnt #rottmnt leo #rottmnt donnie #hurt/comfort #oneshot #my writing #rottmnt leonardo #rottmnt donatello

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nebula-jazz · 4 years

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Fictober prompt 28

ROTTMNT Donatello x reader

Note: Sorry I have been gone for so long! I have been wrapped up in school and I also know that this isn't my normal fandom... This is completely self indulgent because he popped on my feed on youtube and he was my first comfort character. And now I found ROTTMNT and I got hit in the face by my best friend on exactly my type... Intelligent, gremlin, cocky, and emotionally unavailable... So this is a complete callout to everyone who has the same type no matter the gender and please enjoy this drabble. And fully expect on several different fandom releases on Halloween including a oneshot for His World. But enough of my rambling! To the story!

You had been in quarantine for nearly an entire year and now your favorite month had been ruined by the hussle and the bustle of your closest aunt asking you to come to New York. Her explanation was that she was taken ill and she needed someone to look after the house and your youngest cousin April O’Neil, much to your distaste.

It was not that you hated your youngest cousin, opposite in fact you adored her, but you two never exactly saw eye to eye on most things. You two were so close up until about five or six years ago and then she changed and you felt as if for the worst. This change caused you both to drift apart.

Since she was your only friend and family member that got you; this distance caused you swirling into an unhealthy mind set. And you got caught up with the wrong people at the worst time in your life as your younger brother disappeared and your mom got distant.

Which lead you here, packing all research that you had gathered over the past few months since the shredder accident, your Bo staff, and other essential items. Taking the time to slide the delicate frames of your glasses up every few minutes. Your boss Baxter had called you a few minutes ago saying that he set you up an apartment and a plane to New York and expected you be ready for training with Rocksteady as soon as you landed. Thinking about it made you flinch.

Grabbing the metal case with your research, your duffel with clothes and toiletries, and your backpack filled with snacks your Bo and training clothes you headed down stairs. You kissed your mom on the head who was on the phone at the couch; gently leaving a large stack of cash that should last her awhile. You slipped out the front door and slid into a sleek car that Baxter had sent for you.

During the car ride you stayed silent, typing away at your computer, jotting down the breakthrew that you had made. Your specific specialty in his company was the idea of spirits and how to harness them, extract them, and even switch with them. Baxter had found out about you and what people and even yourself, at the time, believed as a silly project about four years ago. You had proven that spirits were real and that there was a possibility to do something with them.

He accelerated you through highschool and college, easily making you apart of a team and gave you everything that you needed for your research. You honestly didn’t care what he would do with it as soon as you had perfected everything in your now extensive project. All you cared about was getting your mom and brother back and he promised to keep the investigation open if you handed all research over to him as soon as you were done.

You barely slept on the plane. Fear creeping up your spine and turned your veins icey as you mulled over what was waiting for you when you landed. The training with Rocksteady was not normal. As he was a huge hog and the training was to get you faster, but it would inevitably end with a concussion and a broken bone as it normally would. Then Baxter would inject you with some green liquid that, yes would accelerate the healing process and you would no longer have any broken bones, but it would feel like your entire body was on fire and your back feeling like it was being ripped to shreds.

You eventually drifted into a fitful sleep. You felt like you had barely closed your eyes before you were woken up by the gentle but cold hand of Baxter. You were in a car now just outside of headquarters.

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

“Oh MAh Gawd! Y/N! What happened to you?!” You winced at the worried yell that came from April. You had just gotten released from the lab and your head was pounding from the lack of food and water.

“Just a little scuffle just outside the office. Don’t worry about it.” You croaked out and offered a, what you hoped to be, a reassuring smile. You tried to swallow against the sandpapery walls of your throat.

You felt her soft but calloused hands cup your face as she looked at you. You winced as she prodded at the dark bruises on your jaw and forehead. She lead you to the kitchen where she started to clean the bruises and cuts up.

After several cups of water and an entire pizza, which you had devoured, she was now questioning you.

“So you are working for Baxter?” she asked, you gave her a quizzical look as you swallowed another bite of the second pizza that she had ordered. You had heard the slight tremor of fear in her voice and now it set you on edge.

“Yeah..” You answered slowly and pulled out your laptop. “He is funding my research. Take a look.”

You pushed the computer over and let her skim through the many pages of work as you dumbed down what she was reading.

“So... what you are saying is that you could put someone in a comatose state and do whatever you wanted to them but at the same time you can still talk to them in a spiritual state?” she summarized. With a soft smile you nodded, your eyes heavy from the long two days you had.

“However there are some side effects. With the trials that I ran at home it is extremely difficult to put them back in and more often than not their mind can completely erase one or multiple people from their memory. They will always remember the time they were, what I call, Ghost. There are still kinks in it but i'm pretty sure in this state there is a possibility to redirect this targeted amnesia to get rid of trauma.” You said excitedly.

She gave you a terrified look and excused herself and ran out the front door into the dim light of the dawn. You felt like you had been punched in the gut. Tears formed in your eyes and you fought down the urge to sob and throw up your food. You slammed the computer closed and stormed into the guest bedroom. You had honestly thought that she was going to be proud of you. She seemed genuinely excited about your research. But it was April, you shouldn’t have expected anything less from her.

A few weeks drifted by lazily and October was slipping through your fingertips. April was avoiding you, especially after you caught her in the act of trying to steal your laptop. So today, as a way to get away from the dreariness of the apartment and the fearful glances of April you were in the lab. You were in a loose hoodie and had a stack of pizza boxes next to you along with a large jug of water on your other side. You had just gotten done with another training session and were now working on a new test. it had gotten dark out and Rocksteady had volunteered for the new test.

You scraped your hand roughly through your hair in frustration as the program refused to start for the third time. You huffed in frustration, and looked up in alarm as the security alarms started to go off. You heard an explosion from behind you. Reaching down and grabbing your Bo you didn’t notice the jug being knocked over causing the computer to go haywire. You panicked as you tried to shut down the computer and the large machine pointed at whatever caused the explosion.

However you were too late to stop it from going off once you were able to press the emergency shut off just in time to prevent it from happening again. You heard a shout and roars from Rocksteady. you tried to reach for your more enhanced staff but were swiftly knocked out. All you saw as the world started to darken was green and a ghostly purple figure.

~~~~~~~~

That was a couple of days ago. You were now with 6 foot tall turtle ninjas. They had explained, with the help of April, what Baxter was going to do with your research. The person that you had shot was their brother Donatello. The genus out of the group who was allowing you to use his lab as you tried desperately to keep his body stable and fix his state with what little tools you had.

Your own paranoia had shot through the roof as any fast movement caused you to flinch very heavily. You and Donnie had found out that Baxter was injecting you with mutagen after a nightmare filled night caused wings to sprout from your back.

You stayed away from the other three turtles and only finding solace with Donatello. You both could ramble on and on about different projects you both were working on and the other would listen intently.

You hadn’t noticed how comfortable or how hard you had fallen until you reached the end stages of completing the ray that would make him right.

Neither of you two had noticed that you had started to flirt with each other. But everyone else knew and were eagerly waiting for him to return to normal. They were excited to see him finally kiss you and actually take you out on that date that he had been teasing you for a month with. April was happy to see you smiling again.

You didn’t realize how much you loved him or he you until you both were going over some of your note s to make sure everything was in order.

It was the end of November, just before thanksgiving. Donnie was excitedly telling you that he had been working on a surprise for you with Shelldon. That he wanted to give it you in person. And that he was excited to finally eat something instead of just watching everyone else eat. He was also rambling on how he was totally going to spar with you.

“i'm excited to finally get an infamous hug from you Don!” You chuckled barely paying attention to the notes and more on him. He laughed and he floated closer to you.

“I’m excited to give you one Angel.” he said cheekily. You glared lightly at him and the nickname that he gave you after your wings came to be.

You however stopped in your tracks as you read the small but major detail that you had mentioned to April all those weeks ago. The air ran from your lungs as a soft. “Oh.” escaped your lips.

“What?” he asked worried. He turned to the computer that had your notes on it and read through it and his face dropped. Tears welled in your eyes and the amount of hurt that ran through you was like that day that April ran.

And something inside of you knew, even as Donnie tried to think of anyone, anyone at all that he could possible forget, you knew it was going to be you. You stared at him tears running down your face and it was then you realized how hard you had fallen. And how much you will lose.

Two days before Thanksgiving was the day that was planned to fix him. You were in a room alone with his Ghost. You couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Here,” he said softly, and gestured for Shelldon to bring a small box forward. “This is for you... don’t open it until my eyes do.. ok?” He said leaning down and trying to catch your eye. You looked up at him, willing the tears back and smiled brightly.

“Will do Don! I will see you for that hug ok?” he smiles back softly and nods. He hovers his hand over your cheek, you lean into it until you feel the cool radiating off of him and you closed your eyes.

That unspoken ‘i love you’ rang through you head as you heard the machine wurr to life. You only stare at him as he floats by his sleeping body and you pray, you hope, and you plead to whatever god is listening. To allow you to have him, to allow him to remember you. As you slowly nod your head and you hear April press the button.

~~~~~~~

You try to stifle the sobs in your throat as you hear him and his brothers enjoy their thanksgiving meal that April and you had prepared for them. He didn’t recognize you as you sobbed in happiness when you saw his eyes open. He thought of you as a threat.

You carefully pulled out the small box as Shelldon floated beside you. You looked at him and he bobbed his head in acknowledgement. Slowly opening it you tried to steady your shaking hands. Inside was a locket, a bit larger than one you would find in a jewelry store. You carefully opened the locket and you saw a picture that you had taken with ghost Donnie and the music box version of your both favorite techno song. Engraved on the other half was the french translation of I love you. A loud sob ripped its way from your throat as you clutched it to your chest.

Donnie was leaning against the wall closest to where you had ran off too. He was watching his brothers laugh and eat with their father and April. He had heard sniffling from the tunnel and quietly escaped the celebration to see where it had came from. He was surprised to see you covering your mouth and Shelldon with you. He was going to call to his creation until you had looked at Shelldon and pulled out a velvet box.

He waited a moment, watching you open it and something inside. He had to nod his head to the song that played. He did not expect the loud sob or the wail that came out of you next. He heard his brothers stop laughing and heard a soft.

“They opened it...”

“Yeah...”

“Poor Y/N... I can’t imagine.”

“Why can’t we tell him my sons?’

“Because he wouldn’t believe us.”

“Yeah! And he already distrusts Y/N... and they asked us not too.”

“A broken heart is something that can kill my children. Especially with a love that deep.”

Donnie didn’t hear anymore from his family. And confusion seeped into him. What happened while he was out?

#rottmnt #donnie x reader #rottmnt donatello x reader #donatello x reader #april o'neil #x reader #tmnt

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brightlotusmoon · 3 years

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I wanted to highlight this scene in the RP with @remmushound in which everyone accidentally meets Bay Mikey's alter. Rise Leon dubs him "Doctor" because he sounds like a Donnie. Keep in mind that I'm winging it. And I also have an annoying technical alter protective. I love her but she needs to calm down.

Mikey blinked. "Yeah I don't know why I said it like that. But, like, it's true. I'll destroy someone if they hurt my family. Or try to."

His eyes flashed suddenly and the pupils dilated until the blue and gold were thin glowing strips. "Remember what Kluh said during the grudge match? We were about to give up."

“Yea, I remember.” Michelangelo said, tilting his head slightly.

Mikey nodded, brow furrowed. "We kicked his ass so hard we out-ninjaed Sensei. But that didn't matter to anyone. Kluh was trying to kill us and Raph, Don, and Dad were probably giggling about how we'd get, and I quote, grounded into paste, take a horrific beating, because we played video games instead of training. And we put the giant down with a handstand and toe nunchaku and a finger. We could have killed him. They wanted us to."

“But that’s not us. We don’t like killing.”

"No, we don't. We never have, none of us. That's why Anger was so big in Freckles Mikey's mind, being angry made him feel sick. He didn't use it so it grew huge and sat inside him and sometimes he exploded but he still didn't kill. With Kluh, though... I swear I had a thought about..." He closed his eyes. "Maybe it was someone else. Nevermind. The point is we could kill if we wanted to. The fact that we try to not kill means we're resilient."

Donnie stepped in. "Recent research shows that resilience is a result of trauma-"

"Don't patronize me, I read the studies." The way Mikey's chin tilted up mimicked Donnie himself.

Donnie pinched the space between his eyes. "Right. Okay. Sorry."

Raph leaned over. "He's kinda acting like that doctor in that TV show, where he finds out what's wrong really fast because he's clever but he's also a jerk?"

"Are you implying I'm a jerk?"

...

Mikey turned back to Michelangelo. His smile was nervous. "But back to what I said about resilience. You get that, right? The deeply buried explosion hidden and waiting. And how we control it, all of us. Emotional resilience."

He nodded quickly. “Yes, I understand. I didn’t mean to hide from you, you just didn’t feel like you…”

Leo raised his hand halfway. "Wait, what was that about hidden explosion?"

"I'll explain later." Mikey tossed Leo an irritated look and turned back to Michelangelo with a relaxed smile. "And I never meant to project such an un-Mikey aura. But I am still me. It's like being in a trance and hearing almost everything. It's like I'm right next to... you're calling him Doctor so let's go with that. And sometimes we talk at the same time. I don't realize it. Wait. I've never realized that. Hunh."

#rp shenanigans #bayverse turtles #michelangelo the social empath #Empath Mikey #alters #tmnt fanfiction #2003 mikey deserved better

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hawaiian-has-moved · 4 years

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Part one of (???) Of my redesigns + little character facts.

Beetleb*bes DNI

Seriously read my bio for once I saw you lurking on my rambles about this project.

(Stand alone character images are at the bottom.)

So these sizes are not based off hair. You can probably guess where skull shape is. So Lyds is like 5'0". Also they might change. I really hate to probably have to go back and redraw Claire or Vince, but considering they're all like 15 or so, they should be a tad taller than the cartoon canon. Considering they're like 12 then.

So besides all of that, let's get to little facts about everyone.

Lawrence Betelgeuse Shoggoth:

Though this does take place after the musical, making it a more musical based lean, he can shape shift just as freely as you would think. Sometimes you'll catch him crack a witty joke or just simply get bored. He in these times usually has his head spin or disappear down into his collar to soon reappear with a different head. This includes the canon cartoon version or any of the actors from the musical who have portrayed him. Rarely will you ever find him making a joke referring to Keetlejuice. Also though not mentioned often, because that would be rather dull, he is aware of the multiple universes. 4th wall breaking narrator, remember?

Donny and him are siblings. Betelgeuse being the oldest. But sadly, not the closest like they were in childhood. He is the hated child. Juno actively (TW) abused him in his childhood and still does to this day. He often freezes up, clasps his hands together and looks at the ground when his mother is around. He does the same occasionally for Donny because he is often sent by his mother to go chew BJ out for something he did wrong.

He sorta of dropped out of elementary, so in his teens he had to pretend he went to school so Juno or his brother didn't find out. He met Jacques and Ginger in high school. Though Ginger did hold a romantic place in his hard for the beginning of high school. The rest of his time was mostly spent with Jacques. He thought it was just hang out times with the boys or something. What a lot of people had told him. But the two grew extremely attached. They dated until a little bit after high school. They got into a very bad argument and broke up. But of course time has healed it for the most part. They could not afford to part ways and live elsewhere, so the trio still lives together in the Roadhouse.

Current relationship wise for him, he is working on a relationship with the Maitlands. They're taking it slowly. He's really only gotten cuddles so far, but they're working to more personal things while they all heal. BJ felt awful for being so unaware of how relationships worked. Of course considering we already touched on Jacques. It's not the first time he was blind on how love works.

Lydia Deetz:

Lydia is 15 years of age. So this takes place almost immediately after the musical. She now happily has her ghost parents, her father, and her step mother who is now happily married to Charles. And of course let's not for get her cool uncle, the ghost with the most, Beetlejuice!

After some understanding and boundary building, the two explore the Netherworld together. BJ shows Lydia around and she gets to explore and meet new friends.

Back in the living world Lydia goes to an all girls school, and recently made up with a bully if hers. Claire Brewster. The two (read Claire's part for why) are now a happy couple. Of course there are the times where they try to kiss and Charles or Beej will rush in to stop them. Which is ironic considering Charles probably did the same at her age and Beej doesn't really know what he's saying and is just coping Charles.

Donny Rigel Shoggoth:

Ugh, sadly so much about Donny is under lock and key until the comic I plan on making after I do character sheets is to that point.

Donny is BJ's younger brother. He seems to oppose his older brother's aesthetic and has actively tried to say he needs a change in style. In nice and rude ways.

He has an oddly happy demeanor and seems to absolutely ignore the trauma and anger given to Beej from his their mother. He rather just blindly helps her.

He hates blue for some odd reason. He doesn't know why. BJ does though.

Prince Vince:

Prince Vince is mostly the same as in canon to the cartoon. A sad romantic prince who wants love.

But to touch on that he is just simply that, romantic. Pan romantic. He has never had feelings beyond romance. And yes, he is still a child and there is still so much he has to grow from her, but he doesn't really have interest beyond sappy poems and giving roses to the people he cares for.

Claire Brewster:

Lesbian ICON. Seriously her new aesthetic is just the colors of the lesbian community flag.

Lydia and her are a couple. But it's secret outside of the Deetz/Maitland household.

At home she is very neglected. Her parents are too rich to care and are often away. But she was raised to be the perfect model of a heterosexual girl. She wears different clothing from what she used to. Even though she doesn't like being a cardboard cut out child for her parents, she still enjoys girly stuff and somewhat formal clothing. Of course she can't step too far out of that around her parents or they might grow suspicious.

Like her parents suck. In the cartoon they'd run away, drive away, or slam the door in her face if she looked gross or was with something gross. They didn't not care. She was so disposable.

Aaand, that's all I have right now.

@aquatic-juice helped me with a lot of decisions on this. And a lot of the head canons on Claire's parents are things we've discussed and she has wrote about, so I have to credit her on that.

Tell me what you think. And again sorry I can't tell you more about Donny. It's a major plot point for a comic that connects this universe right after the musical.

Love you guys! 💚

Stand alone pictures:

P.s. no one is straight and if this pisses you off you're probably on the wrong side of tumblr.

#art #fanart #digital art #fan art #beetlejuice #digitalart #beetlejuice bway #beetlejuice fanart #beetlejuice musical #beetlejuice cartoon #beetlejuice the animated series #beetlejuice the cartoon #beetlejuice the broadway musical #beetleb*bes dni

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imaginedisish · 5 years

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Heroes (Stefan Butler x Reader) (Bandersnatch)

A/N: Alrighty...here it is...the long awaited Stefan x Reader fic...the last imagine of the weekend! I LOVE DAVID BOWIE SO AN ANON REQUESTED THIS AND I ACTUALLY SCREAMED NGL. Also, I just wanted to thank everyone for the love so far. I’ve written fanfics before, but never like this. I don’t feel forced to put out things…and I feel much better getting requests as opposed to having to think of everything on my own. Tumblr has a much different vibe than fanfic.net and wattpad, and I love it sooooo much. Stefan x Reader was heavily requested so I figured I needed to feed da people. While I’m super into writing for Bandersnatch, and love writing for Bandersnatch the most, my next two fics will most likely be two anon requests: one about Donnie Darko, and another about Alex Turner. (DON’T WORRY MY FELLOW BANDERSNATCH LOVERS, I’LL WRITE HEAD CANONS TO KEEP YOU ALIVE…and i have an idea for my first multi-part Bandersnatch fic sooo…get ready for a “BIZARRE LOVE TRIANGE”….) For now…enjoy this Stefan x Reader imagine, guys…

Summary: Your an art student, and you have chosen to paint a portrait of Bowie for your final project. However, things go horribly wrong…that is until Stefan is there to help :)

Warnings: Panic attacks, minimal to medium angst, lots of language, fluff!

Word Count: 1,688

Your brush dances ever so carefully across the bright, white canvas. David Bowie’s “Heroes” blasts throughout your flat.

Outside your window, the rest of South London decided it was time to turn in for the night. You imagine small children crawling into bed, begging their mothers or fathers for one more story…just one more.

But not you, you wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. Your eyes struggled to stay open as you began to add more shading to your portrait of David Bowie.

You fell in love with Bowie’s music and his entirely fantastical persona at a young age. Maybe it was his voice, or his lyrics, or perhaps his message of artistic integrity and being yourself regardless of what others say that made you so obsessed with the Starman.

Regardless of what exactly made you love Bowie, he was the reason you had the confidence to make your move to the UK. He was the reason you decided to apply to art school in the first place.

So, when your professor announced that your final project of the year would be a portrait of someone that has impacted your life greatly, Bowie instantly came to mind.

Without Bowie, where the hell would you be? You most likely would be back in the States, going to a university you had no interest in, pursuing a major you hated, in a relationship with a boy you could never love as much as you love…him.

Oh yes, him. Stefan Butler. Without Bowie, you couldn’t have ever met Stefan. He was your Moonage Daydream, your Modern Love, he was yours. He was so kind and soft and caring.

When Stefan needs you, you’re there in an instant. He needs you quite often, to be completely honest, but you never mind. You understand that his past traumas plague him, and you want to help him more than anything else in the world. And, naturally, without Bowie, you would never be able to do so. You owed so much to that magnificently talented man.

And yet this painting of him was slowly becoming a pain in the ass.

I need to get this done, You remind yourself. Tomorrow is just hours away.

Unfortunately, you feel as though your hours of painting have led to absolutely nothing. You step back from the painting in an attempt to see it better. However, the more you step back, the more wrong things seem to be.

“This…this just isn’t right,” you mutter under you breath. A feeling of distress creeps under your skin and eventually pushes itself into every part of your body. You reach for the grey paint, and apply it forcefully to where you think you need it.

You don’t realize it isn’t actually grey paint until you remove the brush from the canvas.

“What the fuck?” Now you’re fuming with anger. “This can’t be happening…no no no no no!” You fall to the ground sobbing, your head smashing into your hands.

A large, vibrant, pink slash of paint displays itself in the middle of your grey, “Heroes” album cover painting.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go, and you know that. You simply sob on the floor of your flat, as the creativity you had earlier in the day leaves, and replaces itself with total and utter sadness and disappointment.

Then, for some reason, you decide to look over to the alarm clock next to your brass, queen bed.

2:00 am

“Oh no, god no!” You shout, expecting your neighbors to be at your door any second now to complain about all the noise.

Your throat quickly begins to close up, and your heart beats out of your chest. You haven’t had a panic attack since you left the States, but the feeling was familiar nonetheless. You try to scream, but you just can’t.

A million thoughts race around your mind at once. Every bad experience, relationship, argument, and situation you’ve ever gone been in or gone through resurface in your mind. You simply don’t know how much you can endure before you fall apart, or worse…

“No, no I can’t think like that, I just can’t,” you whisper to yourself.

Before your old, depressive thoughts begin to come back to haunt you, you reach for your phone, and dial the number you know will fix everything.

“(Y/N)? It’s two in the morning, is everything all right?” Stefan’s voice is hurried and panicked. He knows something is wrong.

“I fucked up, Stefan, so terribly terribly bad,” You’re voice is unsteady and hoarse. You struggle to get your words out as you sob to Stefan.

“(Y/N) tell me what happened.” Stefan was beyond worried now.

“It-it’s my p-painting. I-,” you take a deep breath before continuing, “I n-need you, n-now.” You sniffle audibly.

“H-hold tight, k-keep breathing. I’m on m-my way.” Stefan hangs up. You try to do as he says, but it’s no use. You feel your depressive, almost suicidal thoughts begin to push through the barriers you worked so hard to put up.

No, stopping thinking like that! You think to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut in attempt to free yourself from your intrusive thoughts. You throw your head back into your hands.

Less than five minutes pass by, when a soft knock echoes through your studio flat.

“C-come i-in,” you croak. Stefan slowly pushes the door open. His fluffy brown hair is a mess, and his dark circles highlight the emerald-ness of his wide, puppy dog eyes. He’s wearing black shorts and a baggy black sweatshirt. His long, bright yellow socks pop out against his black converse.

You obviously woke him up, and now you felt like you were being a bothersome girlfriend. You are the one who is supposed to help him. It isn’t supposed to be the other way around. Guilt begins to fill your stomach.

“(Y/N), m-my god,” he paused, looking at your beet red face and puffy eyes, tears streaming down your cheeks. He rushes over to you, and holds you tightly in his arms. “I’m here now, let it out, it-it’s okay.”

You sob violently into his chest. You don’t know what else to do. In fact, you realize there is literally nothing else you can do.

You separate from him for a moment, and nod towards your now adulterated painting.

“L-look at it. I’m going to fail, Stefan. It’s due tomorrow. It’s worth 70% of my final grade and I’m going to fail,” You say in a soft, factual whisper. He shakes his head.

“I see nothing but amazing artwork, (Y/N),” Stefan replies. You grow angry again.

He’s just lying to you, you think to yourself. It’s absolute shit! Anyone could see that. Yell at him, scream!

“Bullshit!” You cry out in a rage, scooting away from him and getting up. You want to punch something, a wall maybe.

“(Y/N), s-stop,” Stefan pleads softly, getting up from the floor as well. You ignore him, and start to pace the floor. You can’t stand yourself now. Your hands begin to shake. You wish everything would just disappear.

“Fucking hell I hate thi-,”

“I said STOP!” Stefan screams this time, cutting you off. Stefan was usually so soft, so timid. In this moment, he was the opposite.

You stare at him with wide eyes. He nervously reaches up to pull on his ear lobe. His emerald eyes become glossy.

“I-I’m sorry I-I didn’t m-mean t-to-,” Stefan starts to apologize, but you quickly cut him off.

“No, n-no I am. You were just trying to help and I screamed at you. I’m just so sor-,” the second half of your “sorry” is muffled into Stefan’s chest as he rushes towards you and captures you in his arms.

He smells like peppermint and roses. His scent relaxes you and you practically fall limp in his embrace. He kisses your forehead lightly, and rubs your back gently. You stay that way for what feels like hours, even though it was most likely only a few minutes.

“We can figure this out, things are going to be fine, I’m going to help you,” Stefan coos in your ear. You melt to the sound his voice.

Feeling much more calm now, you and Stefan separate. Stefan makes his way over to the painting staring at it for a few seconds.

“Aladdin Sane,” is all that comes out of Stefan’s mouth.

“Hmm? What about it?” You weren’t sure what he meant.

“The pink streak it reminds me of ‘Aladdin Sane' record cover,” Stefan states rather factually.

Then, it hits you.

“Stefan, you’re a genius! An absolute genius!” You scream, but happily this time. You run over to him, cupping his cheeks and pulling him into a kiss.

“I should be a genius more often then,” Stefan says smiling widely, blushing intensely.

Stefan stays with you as you continue your painting, watching you, making sure you don’t overwork yourself. He checks in with you every now and again to see if everything is okay. Of course, now that he was with you, everything was completely fine. Your confidence and inspiration was back.

Around four in the morning, the painting is finally complete. You step back and smile as Stefan joins you by your side. He wraps his arm around your shoulder.

“Its absolutely, stunning, (Y/N),” Stefan says, his eyes twinkling even in the low, poor lighting of your flat.

The painting was a fuse of the “Aladdin Sane” and “Heroes” album covers. You felt fulfilled and happy with your work, and it was all thanks to Stefan, your hero.

“I love you so much,” Stefan says, pulling you closer to him.

“I love you more,” You say in return.

Stefan simply shakes his head.

“Impossible. It would be impossible even in an alternate timeline, in-, in an alternate universe, (Y/N). That is infinitely and eternally impossible.”

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spectrumscribe · 6 years

Text

“Are we the real ones, or are we the fake ones?”

Donnie turns his head, looking at the other person lying on the ship’s floor with him. It’s been a Night. Or at least a particularly weird sleep cycle. Neither of them really felt like being alone.

“Context?” Donnie asks. “Because that’s a very broad question about our reality.”

“Us versus the ones on earth,” Mikey explains, eyes on the projected stars above them. Donnie found an antique star map a long while back, and after learning a little more about true space age technology, he’d fixed it. Now, whenever they felt like it, they could haul out the little toy and leave it spinning merry circles in the middle of the communal room; giving the feel that they were adrift in space without need for oxygen converters.

Its a surreal, vaguely unnerving kind of peacefulness. Lying on the floor in a large dark room, feeling like they’re alone in the universe. And sometimes that’s what they need.

“How so?” Donnie questions Mikey’s question.

“Like... we’re a split timeline, right? Those guys came back- or went back, or whatever- and made sure earth didn’t get sucked into a black hole or nothing. And then they... you know.”

Took our places doesn’t have to be said. It’s just one of the many bizarre facts about their existence.

Donnie is nearly twenty-one, as is his brother beside him, and he knows they both still don’t know how to feel about this fact.

“So who’s the real ones?” Mikey continues. “Us, or those guys? We were here first, but they technically were too. Time travel is bullshit like that.”

“Definitely,” Donnie agrees. A fantastic, mind-boggling invention of science? Yes. A ridiculously fragile venture, sure to end in disaster if you crush the wrong bug underfoot? Also yes.

“So who? I just... wanna know for sure. If we’re all fake or not.”

“Kind of a dark thought, isn’t it?”

“It’s always dark in space, bro. Gotta match the mood.”

Donnie hums, watching the infinity of complex revolving lights swirl around them. The constellations have drifted along the set patterns in the toy’s memory, to the point that they’re so far from his family’s usual stomping grounds he couldn’t tell where they were if he tried. Somehow, the thought of being lost like that, cold and floating free and completely alone with the exclusion of Mikey at his side... is alright to imagine, for tonight.

Their family gets along as well as can be expected, but sometimes they hit rough patches. Stuffing all their individual traumas, negative personality traits, and weird insecurities into a mixer and shaking tends to go as one would think.

Occasionally explosive results, but often just a bitter tasting drink for everyone involved. It only ever went really terrible if someone lit a match too close by.

That wasn’t tonight, thankfully. No explosions, but definitely... a kind of detached ambient presence of low moods. A little dissociative feeling, pushing them apart into pairs and singles.

Donnie ended up with Mikey by sheer chance. They just happened to feel enough of a connection still they could tolerate each other.

And sometimes, that’s just how it went for them all. Particularly with the two of them.

Donnie mulls over the thought of being fake or real. They haven’t gone back to earth for a number of reasons in a number of years- the thought of looking back again at the tiny little hole in the ground that had been their entire world, once, is one that’s hard to face. Especially since their father wouldn’t be there anymore.

That isn’t their life. That isn’t their home. New York became a speck of dust in the universe a long time ago, and just seems to get smaller all the time.

Are they the real ones? Or are the ones who slipped into their old shell of a life the originals, assuming the constraining, finite and limited existence of a mutant on earth? And if they are the fake ones, getting to live meaningless mirrored lives out in the furthest stretches of the ever growing universe, would they want to be the real ones at all, if it meant returning to the stunted lives they had in those distant, dark sewers?

“I don’t know,” Donnie says eventually, closing his eyes and letting the endless stars blur and fade behind his eyelids. “Does it matter?”

“I dunno,” Mikey replies, quiet and subdued. “I think it might’ve, at some point.”

Does it anymore?

Donnie somehow doubts it.

They stay on the floor for a while after that; letting the world be limited by the size of the dark communal room, and yet be an infinitely stretching daze of stars and galaxies.

#My writing #one fic before bed full of existential questioning and weird not-quite-angst-or-hur/comfort feels #tmnt 2012 #Donatello #michelangelo #b-team babes #space arc #this is how i post shitty esoteric garbage fics now #you're welcome

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lyndsaybones · 7 years

Text

In Dreams 12

Chapter 1...Chapter 2…Chapter 3…Chapter 4…Chapter 5 …Chapter 6…Chapter 7…Chapter 8 …Chapter 9...Chapter10... Chapter 11

GEORGETOWN

WASHINGTON, DC

She’s found that there are few things as cleansing as a scalding shower. After her abduction, the hospital smell clung to her skin like soap scum and she sat crumpled in the corner of her shower for the better part of an hour, scrubbing until her skin was red and oversensitive. If she couldn’t shed her skin, she’d take it off herself. She exited smelling of freesia and feeling a little less like a stranger in her own body. When Donnie Pfaster got his hands on her, she tossed her clothes in the building’s incinerator upon arriving home and stayed in the shower until the answering machine recorded Mulder’s impassioned pleas for a call back.

Baptism, as she was taught, was the act of washing away Original Sin. Babies, perfect little beings, born with a sin that wasn’t of their own doing, seems just this side of ludicrous to her. While she still struggles to accept the notion that an infant has sin on its soul, she does believe other people’s sin can stick like a bacteria, infecting and infesting. The act of sacramental baptism is a nice ritual, even if a hollow one. But her particular form of baptism, washing away the misdeeds of the evil men around her, is absolutely essential.

She’s not sure how long she’s been under the pelting heat, time gets as slippery as a bar of soap when trauma is involved. Mulder hasn’t come looking for her, blessedly. She swallows thickly, pushing down the acid crawling up the back of her throat. Back down the waterspout you go, she thinks to herself. She is sitting, arms resting atop her knees, leaning up against the white tiles of her shower stall. The heat licks like a flame across her chest, turning her skin pink. When she does decide to stand, dizziness threatens to pull her right back down again. She swallows hard and squeezes her eyes shut, clinging to the faucet knobs until the feeling passes. She opens her eyes and sees the floor dappled with pink dots...red dots. She reaches for her nose, but her hand comes away with nothing but water. She looks down and sees the trickle of scarlet running a path down the inside of her thigh. Her heart begins to pound, but she keeps her breathing even as she shuts off the water and opens the shower door. She manages to get dressed and put in a call to her doctor’s office. She doesn’t even realize Mulder isn’t there until she turns to tell him what’s happening.

“Mu-” she stops short, turning a quick circle in the living room. “Mulder?” she calls and is met with silence. She snatches up her cell phone and keys and heads for the door.

“What are these?” he asks, shaking the opaque pill bottle. Oblong white pills rattle about. They look like Tylenol.

“I’ll be honest, Fox, I don’t know what they are. But I know that they’ve been used for people in your position,” Diana says softly.

The inside of her sedan, what he assumes is her sedan, smells vaguely of stale cigarettes.

“They’ll give me back my memories?” he asks.

“I hope so,” she says.

He purses his lips and scrutinizes the contents.

“I asked you before, what’s in it for you?”

“Leaving was a mistake, one that I’m trying to correct,” she says.

The morning sun casts long shadows on the street ahead of them and catches a flash of foxfire moving out of Dana’s building. She is hustling down the stairs, fumbling with her keys as she goes. He starts pawing frantically for the handle, stuffing the pill bottle in his pocket as the door swings open and he steps out.

“Dana!” he calls as she is busy unlocking her car door.

She looks at him, shielding her eyes against the sun with her hand. She looks at him and then at Diana and drops her hand. He sees her utter a silent “oh” and a quick nod. She swings the door open and ducks into the car. The door slams shut and the engine is started before he can even get ten steps closer to her.

“Dana! Wait!” he yells as she pulls away.

WOMEN’S HEALTH SPECIALISTS ALEXANDRIA, VA

She’s starting to feel like she should just pack along her own exam gown these days. The options lately have either been ones with too much fabric that have her drowning in thin cotton, falling off of her shoulders, or so worn out that the ties in back are missing and there’s little to no hope of keeping her ass covered. The pink one she has on now falls into both categories, somehow, so she is sitting on the excess fabric, putting a millimeter of distance between her rear and the tissue paper on the exam table.

Her doctor is on vacation, which is frustrating, and the doctor on call is running late, it seems. The room is chilly and she shivers as an involuntary shudder races down her spine. There is a gentle knock and the door opens. The doctor looks like he ought to be on the cover of an AARP magazine, with a head full of silver hair and face so lined with wrinkles that it looks like used tissue paper, he’s got to be at least 80 years old.

“Dana?” he asks kindly.

“Yes,” she answers.

“I’m Dr. Kurtzweil. I understand you’re having some spotting?” he asks as he washes his hands.

“Yes, for about an hour now.”

“Okay, well let’s see what’s what, huh?” he asks, motioning for her tie lie down.

She stares up at the ceiling, which has an inspirational poster tacked onto it, something about perseverance or persistence or some such, while she waits for him to find the heartbeat with the doppler monitor. The silence makes her heart thud.

Please, please, please, please, please…

The sound echoes off of the walls, a steady, almost mechanical rhythm. She didn’t even realize she’d been holding her breath.

“That’s a good sign!” he says with a chuckle. “Let’s do an ultrasound and take a peek.”

She swipes a tear away from her cheek and nods.

She doesn’t answer. He’s tried four times now, forcing himself to wait fifteen minutes between attempts. But she doesn’t answer. He imagines her, as she was last night, mindlessly wandering off to her own funeral. But he reminds himself that she saw him when she left, really saw him. Not looking through him like he was on a different axial plane. And he saw her too, saw the one thing she projected as her eyes flicked between him and Diana: hurt. He’d hurt her.

He drums his good hand on his thigh and bobs his good knee as he stares at the digital clock on her VCR. The pill bottle vibrates in his pocket and sounds as menacing as a rattle snake. He wonders if the contents are as pernicious as the last bottle of pills he’d been exposed to.

He startles when the key slips into the lock and the tumblers trip one by one. He stands and whirls around as the door swings open.

“Thank god,” he says as he crosses the room. He wraps his arms around her without a thought and pulls her close to his chest. She is as stiff as a two by four in his embrace, which scares him nearly as much as last night’s episode.

“Where did you go?” he asks as he pulls back, hand still clasping her shoulder.

“I need to lie down,” she says as she shucks his hand away and moves around him.

“Dana, slow down. Talk to me,” he says, ka-thunking behind her down the hall.

“I started bleeding,” she says as she pulls the elastic band from her hair, letting it fall loose and curly around her face.

“Bleeding? You mean?” he can’t really say it out loud.

“I went to my doctor’s office. I would have had you come, but you were...busy,” she says as she toes out of her plain white canvas tennis shoes.

“What did she say?” he asks, pulse rushing in his ears.

“He,” she corrects. “My doctor is on vacation so I had to see the physician on call.”

“I don’t care if was the Energizer bunny, as long as he’s got an MD. What did he say?”

She’s yet to look him in the eye, going about her business as she slips out of her jacket, fluffs a pillow, turns down the bed.

“I have a condition called low lying placenta. Last night’s...exertion, caused the bleeding, but it’s not serious and the baby is fine. I just need to take it easy.”

His shoulders sag and he lets out a long breath.

“The baby’s okay?” he repeats.

She finally looks up, eyes tired and red.

“Yes,” she says softly.

A moment passes between them, reassuring looks and quick nods.

“I remembered something,” he says. “We were sitting on your bathroom floor, you were sick.”

She crinkles her brow and eyes him suspiciously. “That’s been every day this week,” she says matter of factly.

“It wasn’t this week. It was different.”

She sits down on the bed, still watching him.

“How do you know it was a memory?” she asks.

“I wrapped my arm around you and I asked you not to give up. Do you remember?”

Her mouth falls open by a tiny fraction and the look on her face says that yes, she does remember.

“I had given up. I thought I was going to die.”

He sits down next to her, hip to hip. “I knew then, that I couldn’t live without you…” he trails off, thinking carefully about his words. She looks like a doe caught out in the open and just as apt to lope away if spooked. “That’s when I knew that loved you.”

He can see her searching his face, looking around for a man she knows, who knows her. He wants to be that man again.

CASEY’S BAR WASHINGTON DC

“Well, what have you to report?” he asks as he stubs out his cigarette in the heavy glass ashtray. The mahogany bar is long and beautifully kept for a quiet corner watering hole. It’s the kind of place the older crowd comes for a drink without the unseemly behavior of undergrads and townies.

Kurtzweil’s mouth draws in a tight, angry line, his thick eyebrows twitching nervously.

“Healthy fetus, 13 weeks gestation,” he says, staring at the amber liquid in his glass.

“And the samples?”

“Look, if you want a genetic profile, or stem cells or whatever, your best bet is cord blood.”

“You were told to collect genetic samples.”

“And I’m telling you that it is risky. And she knows that. Shook up as she was, there was no way she was going to consent to an amnio.”

Cancer man looks at him like he is completely insignificant. He seems to register that perhaps he is.

“I didn’t say anything about consent. I told you what I want. You know what will happen if you don’t.”

“You have your own people for this kind of thing. Why on earth are you doing this to me?”

“You’ve been allowed to toil too long, Alvin. Your books, your clumsy attempts to connect with Fox Mulder, you needed to be reminded of who it is you’re testing.”

The old man’s mouth bobs and his craggy face writes a story of utter indignation.

“You always were a son a bitch, Spender,” Kurtzweil says as he digs his wallet out of pocket and slaps a twenty on the bar.

“I’ve never claimed otherwise,” Cancer man says as he lights another cigarette.

The old man waves an angry hand and plods to the door, bruskly passing the leggy brunette making her way to the bar.

“Ah, Diana. Just in time. Can I get you a drink?”

His smile, seemingly a genuine one, is not returned as she sits down.

“Did he take them?” he asks.

“Yes, but he’s very suspicious,” she says.

“Perhaps he’s more like his old self than we thought.”

GEORGETOWN WASHINGTON, DC

He sits on the edge of the bed and she, tucked under the covers, curled up on her left side, looks so small.

“What do you think they could be?” he asks as he holds up the bottle.

“I don’t know. But I think we should definitely have them analyzed,” she says.

“I’m sorry,” he says with a quick shake of his head. “You’re tired, you should rest.”

He begins to rise, ready to go make a call to the Gunmen and start trying to unravel whatever knot they’re in the center of.

“Stay awhile,” she says quietly. “Please?”

He nods and walks around the end of the bed. She reaches back and lifts the blankets behind her, a silent gesture for him to join her. He slips out of his shoe and crawls between the sheets, settling his weight behind her, bending his elbow gently over her middle and tucking his casted arm under the pillow beneath his head.

“I could’ve died last night,” she whispers.

“I won’t let that happen,” he says into her hair.

“I didn’t have any control. There’s nothing that scares me more than that,” she says, tears cracking in her voice.

“I know,” he says softly, pressing a gentle kiss on the spot behind her ear. “I remember.”

#my writing #in dreams #msr #xf fanfic

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