#my fanfic tag

[nell0-0]

I should be answering asks but outta spoons for now. Maybe tomorrow. For now, have this ^^

Avoiding conflict is conflictive

Chapter 2: A fierce bond

Time and the Fierce Deity bond and bicker like they used to. This does not bode well for the chain, but what they don't know won't hurt them. Probably.

Mask somehow got in (even if his part in this chapter is angst). Sorry not sorry. But since he's now part of this I'll probably include him more on the next chapters ksksks

#linked universe #lu time #lu mask #fierce dadity #my fanfic tag #multichapter #I swear that now that Mask is in this I'll let the kid have his happy moments #this chapter ain't it. but really. I mean it

[ordin-arily]

I have read all your rottmnt works bc I recently (finally!) got into this amazing show. I love your work!!

If you ever have the time, I'd love to see a Donnie-fic where maybe he gets jealous when his crush wears his brother's colours, and either tries to "sneakily" (clearly not subtle) put them in purple/his clothes/brand, or (if you have enough inspiration to continue the 'mating season' idea) claim them some other way? *wink*

I always hear about possessive turtles (esp from Donnie) but I don't see much of it (esp from Donnie). We like to see some spicy turtles lol

thank you!! i couldn't squeeze anything spicy in this time but i think i managed to get a little bit of that possessive behaviour! :)

Notes: 2nd POV & fem reader for this one

Okay here's your fic! :D

When you walk into the lair wearing red, Donnie’s fists come down against a table. 

You flinch at the sound and turn away from your conversation with Raph to peer at him expectantly. Under your observation, Donnie swipes his hand over the area he’s just hit, pretending to dust something off.

"There was a bug.”

You nod sort of distractedly and return your attention to his brother, who’s continued his dialogue, never one to be particularly bothered by interruptions.

If this were any other day, Donnie might have mulled over whether or not you actually bought his lame attempt at a cover-up. Today, though, he keeps his focus trained on you, straining to hear what you’re saying as he tinkers mindlessly somewhere in the background. 

You.

You... in that little scarlet tank top. 

You, making him chew through several different writing utensils.

He hadn't thought much of it when you showed up wearing the most adorable orange crew neck the other day. He’d barely registered the colour at all. Why study your clothing when you were there, scribbling away in your notebook, the cutest crease between your brows as you paused every so often to punch in something on your calculator... 

It was only when Mikey passed by and playfully bumped you on the side, buoyantly exclaiming something like “hey Y/N, we’re matching!” that Donnie had picked up on it. 

With your head still in math problems, it’d taken you half a second longer to process what his younger brother was saying, but when you did, you broke out in the most award-winning grin. “Oh! Hey, yeah!” 

And then you’d fully stood up to compare hues and textiles, chatting up a storm of delight. 

It was sweet—endearing, even.

But then it happened again...

The next time he saw you, you were in a brilliant cobalt long-sleeve cropped tee. It hugged you in all the right places and brought out your features stunningly.

Donnie would’ve been a fool not to notice, which is probably exactly why Leo did. 

“Ho-ho-ho! Repping me today, Y/N?”

You’d laughed, looking down at yourself like you just now remembered you were wearing his colour, and pointed at him enthusiastically. “Hey! Yeah, I guess I am!”

“I always knew you were a fan,” he’d grinned, throwing his arm around you easily.

You made a show of rolling your eyes and shoved him away jovially. “Keep pushing, Nardo. See where it gets you."

Donnie likes your personality, he does. He likes that you’re charming and witty and that you can keep up with all of them.  

So, why then, had he snapped his pencil in half the moment Leo got close to you and tauntingly asked, “Is that an invitation, Y/L/N?"

He’d wanted to step right between the two of you and spread his arms as far as they would go—pummel his twin into oblivion if the right situation presented itself.

He’d just reached for another pencil instead.

Donnie almost forgot about those events. Whatever you’d worn between then and now must’ve not struck him as anything spectacularly out of the ordinary—maybe you’d worn black or grey or green. He wasn’t sure. But now…

But now.

The red. 

God, it’s like you’re doing it on purpose.

He knows it’s silly to get worked up over something this trivial, but he can’t help it. And when Raph inevitably calls attention to such a discovery? Forget it.

“Hey! Did you wear red for me?” He sounds so excited. Pathetic, Donnie thinks scornfully.

You look down at yourself. “Oh! Y’know, I’d love to say that I did, but just a happy accident I guess.”

In the distance, Donnie narrows his eyes, unconvinced that you’re not doing this just to torture him. He repeats the last part of your sentence under his breath, mocking your voice in an entirely unintelligible grumble.

“What was that, D?” Raph asks genuinely, craning his neck around you to address the boy with steam wafting up off of him.

“Hm? Nothing, just that pesky bug.” He laughs too loudly and hits the table again. “Got it!”

The both of you blink at him and he can nearly feel his cheeks turn the colour of your shirt if they could turn such a colour.

Well, this is certainly a blow to his pride. 

“I shall fetch a tissue!” he announces overzealously, and books it out of the room at lightning speed, taking a sharp turn in the direction of the thermostat. He peeks over his shoulder before cranking it way down. 

If he needs to turn his brothers into turtsicles, so be it. You’ll be asking for a sweater any minute now.

Any… minute…

Yep, that’s what he told himself forty-five minutes ago, just as you settled into his lab, sitting across from him at his high table. 

He glances over every few seconds now, anticipating, and doing his best to suppress some pretty gnarly teeth-chattering.

“Hey, uh, aren’t you a little cold, Y/N? Do you, um, do you want a jacket—I can get you a jacket,” he tells you, breath coming out in a cloud. 

You’re engrossed in yet more school work—this time, a history textbook. “Mm, n-no, thank you,” you respond almost unconsciously, not tearing your eyes away from the open page.

“Oh, okay,” Donnie says and pulls his purple Dragons club jacket out from behind him.

He leaves it on the table between the two of you for a few minutes, pretending to busy himself with a screwdriver and a circuit board... until he can’t take it anymore. You still haven’t looked up from your reading and it’s driving him nuts. 

It’s only once you feel something touch your shoulders that your concentration is sliced clean through. You sit up poker-straight, jolting at the feel of soft fabric being draped over your form. Behind you is a very sheepish-looking Donatello, snaking, slinking, and all but slithering about. 

You put down your pencil. “Okay, I give. What’s going on with you?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Those odd little inflections he does have become so normalized to you that the comical stiffness with which he says this doesn’t derail your resolve in the slightest. Shucks.

“You’ve been acting weird all afternoon. Is it my tank top? Does it bother you that much?”

“No!” he rushes out. “I mean, yes, but not for the reason you think!”

It’s difficult not to feel self-conscious with that kind of response, and you pull his jacket on properly, hoping to hide your front a little more if that’s what’s making him so uncomfortable.

The second it’s on though; the second you’re wearing his colour, his attire, his… He completely short-circuits. (Is this what it’s like to be Mikey?) 

You’re looking at him funny and calling his name, but his basic motor functions are as good as gone. (Is he having a stroke right now?

He knew you’d look in purple but… god damn.) 

He’s just regaining his ability to think—forget speak—when his door flies open with a gruff “DONNIE!” 

The dancing sparkles and rose-coloured orbs poof from his vision with a disembodied pop!

“WHY’S it so cold in here?” Raph berates. "We’re all freezing! What’d you do now?!”

“Um,” Donnie punctuates too defensively for the bearings of a guilty man. “First of all, I am deeply wounded by your preposterous implication that I had anything to do with this. And, second of all…” His head falls and his voice gets quiet. “Check the thermostat...”

Raph squints, suspicious and testy, before backing out of the room, mumbling something about the gifted child under his breath. 

Meanwhile, puzzle pieces are starting to fit together in your mind. 

Part of you wants to tease him. You could take off his jacket—claim it’s actually hot in here. You could tell him you’re not really that big a fan of the colour or that the garment is a little scratchy.

The better part of you, however, surmises that, if your friend has gone to such great lengths to see this through, it might be better to attend to this one delicately. 

You double-check to make sure that his brother is indeed no longer in the room before folding your arms and confronting a shamefaced Donatello. 

“You were going to be next, you know?”

His eyes shift from side to side nervously and he feigns ignorance. “W-what are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about. I didn’t plan it initially, but I thought it might be fun to keep going. Saved the best for last and everything.”

He perks up at that last part, lifting his head to look at you. “You... Really?”

You nod. “Had the cutest little babydoll all ready to go. But… I guess the jacket works too.”

His posture wilts. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think jealousy was in my roster of attributes, but here we are.”

“It’s not an attribute,” you insist. “It’s a feeling. You know what those are right?"

He bites back a smile and shakes his head. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“You know, for someone who’s supposed to be the smartest on the team, you’ve now said that twice in the last minute.”

This time he does smile, but you can tell it’s without his consent. “Gah—fine!” he relents. “I’ve been had! Just put me out of my misery already.”

You let out a hearty chortle at this and figure he’s paid enough. Still, this doesn’t stop you from asking: “So… how do I look?”

He averts his gaze anxiously, eyes flitting back to you erratically like he can’t quite help himself, then clears his throat. “Uh, goo—yeah, um good. You look good.”

“My god, that was painful.” You start to slip the windbreaker off when he stops you.

“N-no. Seriously, um—“ He holds a hand out and swallows harshly. “Keep it on. If-if you want. It looks good on you.”

And now it’s your turn to blush. You wish desperately in these moments that you had some kind of control over it; it’s all fun and games when you’re not the one who’s flustered. 

There’s some kind of shift in his demeanour at your reaction, though—his confidence apparently skyrocketing exponentially because the next words out of his mouth are: “And not just because it’s purple.”

“Oh?”

“It’s also… mine."

(Gone are the nervous gulps and fumbling hands, apparently.)

There are insinuations behind those words too—the kind that make your heart pick up speed in your chest—and you scramble for a witty retort. 

“I’ll have to steal your hoodie next time then.”

(...Mediocre but it’ll have to do.)

Donnie goes stock-still at this response, like he’s conjuring up the mental image. And then he smirks. Like, a full-on, self-satisfied, impish smirk. Jesus.

“Good idea."

Alright—where the hell is this coming from?

Despite your discomfiture, you have to admit the thought of wearing his clothes is unexpectedly... comfortable—about as comfortable as the real deal. You toy with the fabric of the sleeve reflexively, lost to your ruminating.

If you go home that night, accidentally taking his jacket with you and finding, as you finish up your history reading, that it still smells like him… you figure none will be the wiser.

If you rummage around in your closet a little later in the evening, looking for all things violet, amethyst, plum, and lavender... Well, so what?

And if you show up to the next beach day clad in a bright purple two-piece...

Maybe you’re looking forward to the kind of results it might yield.

#rottmnt fanfic #rottmnt fanfiction #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles donnie #rottmnt donnie x reader #my fanfic tag #writing requests

[idiot-mushroom]

I made a fanfic!!

I will be making swag-a-lishes chapters and stuffs so please check it out!! Certain chapters will even have art visuals made by me >:D

but yeah check it out!!

#my fanfic ideas #my fanfic stuff #my fanfiction #my fanfic writing #my fanfic tag #raph angst #raph rottmnt #rottmnt raph #rise raph #raph centric #rottmnt #tmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt fanart #big mama #rottmnt big mama

[mr-jaybird]

Mighty

“Do not tuck your thumb like that. It will break.”

Kotallo’s voice is level as ever, but Alva winces. 

“I’m not really sure I’m suited for all this,” she says, carefully moving her thumb to outside of her curled fingers.

“Nonsense. Even the meekest scribe may find themself a warrior when cornered—if they know how to throw a punch. Again.”

Alva punches, and Kotallo catches it in his hand, unflinching.

“Again.”

Growling, this time Alva puts her whole strength into her arm, and Kotallo stumbles back with a rushed exhale.

“You see! A mighty warrior!”

They are both smiling.

#horizontober2022 #horizon forbidden west #kotallo #kotallo hfw #alva #alva hfw #my fanfic tag #horizon #hfw

[hinatinha-trevosa]

Hinata hyuga

#hinata hyuga #fanart #my art #naruto #hinata fanart #my fanfiction #my fanfic tag

[potterandpromises]

An Apartment of Our Own

My contribution to the genre of fics exploring the in-universe OMITB fandom, Theobel style. Any similarities to any actual Tumblr blogs or fanfics is purely coincidental, and of course, this is all in good fun. (In order to recreate Mabel's style of speaking and signing at the same time, as in the show, the signed parts of her dialogue are underlined. Because Tumblr doesn't allow for underlining, this fic will continue on AO3 here or below in the place I found it silliest and most fun.)

They never hid their friendship.

Sure, Mabel gave it a good six weeks before she casually let it slip to the guys that her and Theo hang out. Just so she could come up with a few solid rebuttals if they gave her pushback. (‘Charles, you dated a serial killer.’ ‘Theo’s actually pretty fun to be around.’ 'According to greater society, we shouldn't be friends either.' 'I don't let old men tell me what to do.')

(Okay, they were about as solid as Oliver’s dips.)

(When the conversation came, Oliver was weirdly supportive about it. Charles looked exactly how he did when she first mentioned dating Alice.)

And yeah, she gave it an additional few months before she mentioned it to her mom. The distance gave her time and she wanted extra confidence the good feeling she and Theo had around each other wasn't a haze that would soon lift. She wanted the shitty phone call to be worth it. And it was. He was worth it.

But they never hid it. Not really. Not in public. If, last autumn, a fan of the pod posted a blurry five second video of two people who might possibly, maybe, be them using ASL in the winding path of the basement of an antique shop in midtown, well, she didn’t let it concern her.

Superfans aside, as the months dragged on without her involvement in another stabbing incident and/or murder, not many people cared about Bloody Mabel. Equally, she cared less and less about strangers' opinions.

Then Ben Glenroy died twice.

It wasn't like with Bunny; Mabel wasn't so unbearably close to the story. Still, the internet talks, and Theo got a writing credit for that season 3 teaser trailer he wrote. Questions were raised they still hasn't answered.

“Have you seen this?” Theo holds up his phone, shakes it slightly. His lips twitch, amused... or nervous?

Mabel sets her knitting aside, leans forward on the couch, and recognizes the website.

And the blog.

She furrows her brow, and takes his phone.

The Tumblr is onlyarconicsinthebulldogging, and they've reblogged from frogfuckergirl555. She has no idea who frogfuckergirl555 is, or if they're a frequent poster. For the briefest second, she feels almost proud of herself for that.

The post is a simple sentence, followed by a link.

Idk what this is but they’re kinda cute together??? especially if the rumors are true???

There's an emoji sequence in the tags that only grows Mabel's wariness: 😭😭😭👌🏻👌🏻🔥🔥🔥

She gives Theo another long, long look.

He doesn’t blush, exactly. He squirms in his chair like he regrets bringing knowledge of this— what she swiftly imagines with a level of visual accuracy only possible through prolonged proximity— onto himself.

“Open— read it!” he signs quick and jerky, like Mabel wouldn’t understand at all without context. "Please," he adds, and crosses his legs.

The suspense might be killing him. She, however, could live very happily not knowing the details of what people imagine they get up to, what precisely those aforementioned rumors are. If she doesn’t do her research though, if she chooses to live in blissful ignorance, the universe will surely send Marv her way to clear it all up for her.

She clicks the link, opens up Archive of Our Own.

#theobel #only murders in the building #omitb #mabel mora #theo dimas #fanfiction #my fanfic tag #fic: an apartment of our own

[noperopesaredope]

I've posted another chapter, motherf*ckers.

It's Eva time

#survivors of wawanakwa #island of the slaughtered #total drama island #tdi #tdi au #tdi fandom #tdi fanfic #td eva #tdi eva #total drama #eva total drama #total drama fandom #total drama fanfiction #my fanfiction #my fanfic writing #my fanfic tag #fanfics #fanfiction #fic update #ao3 link #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer

[silraen]

“Professor Dumbledore said the healing took three days. He told me you helped him and Madam Pomfrey. That you were…instrumental. I didn’t know what that meant, so he explained it to me.” Her lower lip scraped between her teeth as she met his eyes. “He said you cancelled your classes so you could stay with me the whole time…until all the Dark magic was gone.”

“Your cursed injuries were quite serious,” he said stiffly, uncomfortable with the wondering way she was looking at him. “You needed to be monitored, with potions administered at specific intervals. The Headmaster is too important of a man to play nursemaid, and Madam Pomfrey couldn’t very well forego her own rest and other duties in order to constantly keep her eye on you—what are you doing?” he demanded as Miss Potter walked around the table to stand close beside him. 

Quashing the ridiculous urge to move away, for he was not afraid of some slip of a girl, he pivoted to glare directly down into her upturned, smiling face—and went rigid when she flung her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. 

“Thank you for saving me, Professor.”

Completely taken aback, he stood helplessly beneath the onslaught of her innocent and affectionate gratitude. Then, not knowing what else he could possibly do in this perplexing situation, he awkwardly rested his hands against her, almost returning her embrace.

Almost.

—Excerpt from Cursum Perficio: Moments in Time

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40946511/chapters/108254340

—beautiful artwork for the scene by quwomg

#Snarriet #Severus Snape #Severus Snape fanart #my fanfic tag #fanfic #harry potter fanart #harry potter fanfiction #hp art #hp fanfcition #hp fandom #snarry #archive of our own #ao3

[avalonsilver]

Title: In True Love's Shadow Rating: Teen Word count: 38K (at this time)

Tags: John/Kate Milligan, Adam/Male OC, established John/Mary, Fantasy, Royalty AU, First Love, Angst and Tragedy, Magic

Author's note: This was written for the 2023 round of the SPN Pro Ship Bang. @spnproshipbang

Story on AO3:

Wonderful art by OopsImFade at this link below:

https://www.tumblr.com/oopsimfade/741089637336006656/my-work-for-in-true-loves-shadow-by?source=share

Summary:

A Fantasy Royalty! AU weaving through Adam Milligan’s family history on his Mother's side. From his great grandparents accepting the Archangel Michael's help down to Adam's mother working at the palace, catching King John Winchester's eye and then Adam's life as a prince — involving him being at odds with his eldest half-brother Dean and falling in love with someone unexpected.

Adam is the youngest Prince of the most powerful kingdom in all the realms, Exalos. The Mainland continent of Wislira depends on Exalos's strength through the certainty of male heirs.

Prince Adam is the illegitimate third son of King John. Adam's maternal grandfather, Noah Milligan, is wildly famous on Exalos. Many would be just fine with his grandson becoming King.

At twenty, Prince Adam is faced with being the next King of Exalos. Although he may die before he is ever crowned King.

The Archangel Michael is at the center of a secret that leaves Adam at Death's door. Adam needs to make a life-changing decision.

#my fanfic tag #adam milligan #john winchester x kate milligan #Supernatural AU #Royalty x SPN #Hero!Adam #Villain!Dean #Romance #coming of age #Caught in the middle!Sam #Arthurian legend #Morgana has issues

[nell0-0]

Let's be honest, it was a matter of time until I ended up writing a LU fic.

Avoiding conflict is conflictive

The heavy weight of a mask containing a god is doubly so when one of the people you're working with has a title like godslayer, Time is very aware of that fact. Usually it wouldn't be much of a problem. But when a mishap happens after a portal and a fight they weren't expecting takes place, the chain ends up with a burning question. Where's Time? OR Hylia seems set on reuniting the chain of heroes, but Time is nothing if not stubborn. Fierce is just happy to be included for once.

#linked universe #lu time #fierce dadity #my fanfic tag #crack treated seriously #as usual with the stuff I write #the crack will shine through later but it's coming #multichapter

[ordin-arily]

Request: Hello! I love your ROTTMNT fics and I wanted to know if you’re taking any requests! If so I’d love to see a Donnie x reader story where the reader is scared to look or sound dumb in front of Donnie which leads to her always avoiding him and him being confused. Ultimately she learns to not worry about it and that he is totally head over heels for her.

Here’s your fic babe! (i took a few liberties here, apologies if it’s not exactly what you wanted!)

Warnings: language

Notes: 2nd person pov & I don’t think I make any mentions of a specific gender here, so GN reader for this one!

“Okay, what is going on with you?” 

You can’t say you necessarily expect those words out of a blowtorch-wielding Donnie cornering you in his lab at 9 a.m. on a Sunday.

It almost feels horror movie-esque, the size of his lab coat, the blue glow of the flame in the reflection of his visor, the way you’re backed against the edge of the table… You might be fooled if not for the fact that it is, once again, 9 a.m. on a Sunday. Hell, you’re still wearing your sleep shirt! 

In your groggy, debilitated state not twenty minutes ago, you managed to slide on a pair of jeans, but that was about as far as you were willing to go.

Honestly, it's the audacity of him asking you to be here at this hour on a weekend. You really weren’t going to come, hemming and hawing something about not being much help with matters pertaining to science and whatnot, but he was absolutely adamant that you were the only person who could aid him in this particular conquest. 

That fucking liar. 

This is an ambush! You put on jeans for this… Doesn’t that mean anything to him?

“What’s going on with me?!” you retort. “You’re the one waving around an open flame."

It takes him all of two seconds to realize you’re right and he closes it immediately, putting down the tool and removing his protective gear altogether. Now he looks like himself. Which makes this whole intervention thing that much more unnerving. 

“You know what I mean,” Donnie insists. “You’ve been avoiding me like I’m infected with the bubonic plague. Why? Did I do something?” He continues to ramble on about not thinking he did anything but that, honestly, he’s never sure because he has a habit of insulting people at an entirely subconscious level which, to varying degrees, he’s trying his best to work on.

Donnie goes on tangents like this when he’s especially wound up and it hits you all at once that this is his way of trying to break the awkward tension that’s steadily built its way between the two of you from weeks of nothing more than bare-bone interactions, if any at all. Hi’s and bye’s and gotta go’s and see ya later’s—and he can’t take anymore. He’s doing his best to push past this weird energy, but you can’t help catching those nervous little flitters in his voice. He’s… really bothered by this. 

Your heart sinks at the realization. 

Of course, Donnie is great at hiding the things that genuinely get to him but after months of friendship, you’re beginning to discover his tells. You decide to tread carefully.

“No, you didn’t do anything. You’ve just… you’ve been busy, you know? And I get that.”

Donnie looks at you. It was a weak attempt at a lie anyway but, apparently, he decides to indulge you: “Okay... Well, I wasn’t busy yesterday. It was movie night and you barely said two words to me.”

Out of all the Hamato clan, you’ve always been closest to The Smart One, so this distance isn’t something he’s used to. He’d glanced over several times last night to see you giggling with Leo, his arm slung around you, bright grins etched into your faces. You traded whispered secrets and knowing looks with his brother, the same way you always do—did—with him and… Donnie found that he wasn’t totally alright with that.

“I don’t know,” you say softly. “I guess I wasn’t sure what to say.”

“You could’ve asked me about my upgrades to S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. 4.0. He actually buttered your popcorn last night! It was a pretty simple mechanic really; I just overrode his previous commands to factor in melting temperatures and distribution techniques. The latter was the most difficult to perfect due to—"

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on his every word, but he speaks so fast and it’s difficult to keep up with all the technical jargon and formulas that go way past the ones escaping you in chemistry class.

“Are you even listening, Y/N?” 

He huffs out a breath and you know it’s from a place of loneliness. No one quite listens to him the way you do. They don’t ask pertinent questions or keep eye contact with him or nod after every few words—all the things that make it clear you’re really, truly giving him the time of day. He gets so excited with the right audience… But, you’re not paying him that kind of attention anymore and it sends him absolutely reeling.

“Yeah,” you tell him unconfidently and almost leave it at that, before your agitation gets the best of you. "No—no, Donnie, can you speak, like, a little slower, please? We’re not all born brainiacs like you, okay?” 

It’s your tone. It’s too explosive and you just know he’s got you now. So much for treading carefully.

Donnie so rarely falls silent in the middle of an exchange which makes the way he deflates so much more devastating. Your cheeks flash hot with embarrassment and you will that burning in your eyes to just stop—please, can everything just STOP for one goddamn fucking second?!

“Is that what it is?” he asks quietly, shoulders at his knees. “It’s all the science-talk that’s bothering you?”

You take in a deep breath and smooth your hair back, summoning everything you have in you to keep your composure intact—or what’s left of it. 

Everything’s fine. 

“No, of course not. I just, I’m a little tired and I need you to slow it down. Please.” “That’s not true, is it?” Donnie’s persistent in a way he usually isn’t. He’s readying himself for an argument—spoiling for it, even—but you don’t have it in you. 

He gets close, towering over you in a manner you don’t especially care for and that’s it, that’s your last straw. Donnie might make you feel inferior intellectually, but you won’t let him do it physically too. 

These are thoughts that swarm your head and threaten to boil over into that fight he’s preparing himself for... until you meet his pleading eyes for one meaningful moment. This idea you had that he was trying to intimidate you... he’d never do that. You know that. 

You see it in his expression; he’s apologetic for something he doesn’t even know he’s done. Just like that, the cloud of resentment hanging over you poofs into nothingness. 

“Please,” he tries again. "Just tell me.”

You collapse onto one of his work stools, feeling sick to your stomach. 

“The other day, um…” Your voice is shaky. You couldn’t hate it more, feeling like this. So weak and pathetic and… stupid. Just really stupid. 

He takes the seat beside you, form hunching, gaze fixed on the tiled floor. You understand, suddenly, that this is him trying to give you the space you need to be vulnerable. The gesture makes you want to burst into tears so you bite your tongue lightly and focus on the pain for a minute. It’s a trick you learned a long time ago, one derived from not-so-great times, but that’s no one’s business.

You swallow and press forward, blurting it all out at once: “I keep failing my science labs.” Your heart is in your throat. "And my math tests, and my history essays—god, it’s so bad. I can’t do anything right.” That last part comes out as a whisper, voice lost to the sheer humiliation of it all.

Cs and Ds (and a few Fs from Professor Wagner, who doesn’t like you all that much) have been littering your academic work all year. It’s just… so hard to concentrate sometimes, and the lessons are boring and you’d rather spend your time doing literally anything else.

Donnie opens his mouth to say something when you continue.

“The other day, I came in here. I was going to ask you for some tutoring, you know, since you’re so good at all that stuff, but April was in here with her engine model. And I figured, okay, April’s good at school. This is fine.”

Donnie’s breath catches at the memory. He knows where this is going.

“I thought it looked so cool. It seemed like the most intricate thing and I mentioned that I didn’t think I could ever create something like that. Because I can’t—I failed the circuitry quarter too, by the way.” You let out a little self-deprecating laugh, but this isn’t the part that stings. “I... told you I thought it looked complicated and you said—”

“And I said 'even first graders could do this.’” He shakes his head, visibly upset with himself. 

You close your eyes, not exactly keen on hearing those words again.  "God, I’m sorry, Y/N. I can’t believe I said that. I should’ve known. I should’ve noticed—”

“Look, it’s okay. It doesn’t matter.“

“Yes, it does. I wish I could take it back. I do take it back."

You don’t have to worry about this kind of thing with Leo… Or Raph, or Mikey, or even April. No wonder you’ve been distant. Man, he feels like shit. Him and his big mouth... 

Every time he’s teased his brothers for not knowing things plays through his mind. Every time he said algebra was “so easy” and physics is “for children, April, come on” and “how do you not know the quadratic formula, Mikey, we’ve been over this!” The comments were hardly directed at you, but you’d been in the room for most of them. He may as well have been taking shots at you the whole time...

“Whatever, I just—I didn’t want to look dumb in front of you after that, I guess. Every time I saw you, you were always doing something important, and it just felt like—I don’t know—you're so much smarter than me.”

“I’m smarter than everyone, Y/N! That’s my whole thing—okay, look.” He turns toward you fully now, staring at you intently enough to keep you holding his gaze. “I’m… Without my tech, I’m…” 

His body moves and sways in time with him as he searches for the right thing to say. It would be endearing if not for how nauseous you feel. 

"My biggest asset to my team is my mind. And if I pride myself a little too much on it, it’s only because I’m insecure about… ugh, a lot of things.” He gives you a cursory sheepish laugh. "But, you… You’re…” He pauses again, inner gears whirling.

“I’ll give you a minute,” you joke halfheartedly.

“See! That! Exactly. You’re quick and sharp and sociable, and you’re skilled at so many things. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but there’s more to life than academia. You don’t need to be good at science for me to think you’re smart, Y/N. I already think you’re brilliant. Promise.”

You peer up at him, hesitant. This sounds like something he’s only saying to make you feel better. But Donnie’s never been able to comfort people for shit, so maybe there’s some truth here.

You try your hand at a nod. “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you. I just got… insecure, I don’t know."

“Okay, how about we make a deal. We don’t act on our insecurities anymore. At least not with each other.”

You consider this. Donnie’s solution-oriented, yet another thing you admire about him. “I... Yeah, okay. That’s doable, I think.”

“Good. I missed you.” 

Wow, feelings too? It’s one hell of a morning.

And then he smiles down at you in a way that feels somehow different from the side smirks and self-satisfied grins you normally get from him. It feels… intimate. Like it’s for your eyes only.

"If you need a tutor, I would be… honoured,” he tells you sincerely. "And I’m a fantastic teacher, so we’ll get your grades back up within the week. Mr. Science guarantee or your money back.”

“No… And here I thought you were offering your services for free, out of the kindness of your heart.” 

It’s safe to say any of that earlier tension is gone, devoid, caput. You can breathe a little easier now and the feeling of relief is incomparable.

“Oh, poor, sweet, naive, Y/N.” He reels you in close and pats you on the head in a show of taunting pity as you writhe out of his grip stubbornly, unwilling to stand such mockery, even for the bit. “It’ll cost you exactly one coffee date.”

Out of his grasp, you tilt your head at him, not sure what to make of that request exactly. Are you being asked out right now? (Holy hell, has Donnie been flirting with you this whole time?! You really are dense...)

He doesn’t give you much to work with as far as social cues go, but your answer will always be a resounding yes, so you suppose semantics don't matter all that much for now.

“I’ll take you on all the coffee dates you want if it means reaching Donatello-level intellect.”

A haughty guffaw escapes him as the two of you start your way out of the lab. “Oh, Y/N. Poor, sweet, naive—“ He punctuates each word differently, in the same cadences as before and it’s the most Donnie thing ever.

It makes you want to knock him upside the head, but you settle for shoving him on the shoulder instead, only drawing more cheery cackles out of him. 

“I’m kidding. But not really, let’s set achievable goals for ourselves, hm?”

“Kick me while I’m down, why don’t you?”

You’re not expecting it, but something ghosts along your knuckles. When you look down, you find that Donnie’s hand has wrapped itself around yours. He gives you a small, affectionate squeeze, one you oh-so graciously refrain from commenting on. There’s a possibility you’ll scare him away if you acknowledge any of this and that’s the last thing you want to do. 

He must know your own feelings are just as frail, because he’s still talking about school.

“So, what are we starting with? I’m partial to science of course, but math might be an enjoyable experience, relatively speaking.”

“Why don’t we start with breakfast?” You enunciate the word sardonically, as though it must be a foreign concept to someone with a work ethic as ridiculous as his. “You are aware it is 9:30 a.m. on the worse half of the weekend, yes?”

“Oh, poor, sweet, naive—“

“DONNIE!”

He breaks out into more obnoxiously sweet laughter and you can't help it, you join him despite yourself.

“Come on, Von Ryan. Our first coffee date of many."

#rottmnt fanfic #rottmnt fanfiction #rottmnt donnie #donnie x reader #rottmnt donatello #writing requests #my fanfic tag

[foodsies4me]

Fandom Trumps Hate 2023

A very big thank you to Colorfulwarlock for the wonderful prompt to work with! Definitely will have to make a Magnus POV as well though, just to show what he was up to/was feeling.

#foodsies writes #my fanfic tag #my fic tag #fth 2023 #shadowhunters #malec fanfiction #alec lightwood #magnus bane

[mr-jaybird]

Following the events of Forbidden West, Zo journeys to Nora lands to meet Sona, remembering her time with Varl all along the way.

It has been long, tiresome work the last three months, but finally Zo has convinced the Chorus to uproot themselves and act, successfully conveying the desperate threat they face against Nemesis. With Kel dead, revealed as a murderer, Fane was easier to sway. In truth, it was the rest of the Chorus Zo had to work hardest to persuade. She thinks that what ultimately moved them was that after distributing Focuses to them, Zo was able to prove that Nemesis was ultimately responsible for the infection that caused their Land Gods to turn against them and blight their fields. The rage of the Chorus upon learning of that was unlike anything Zo had seen since the Red Raids. And unlike the war with the Carja, their enemy was entirely removed from the cycle of life, a threat that stood against everything the Utaru believed in. Now, the Utaru leadership has scattered. A member of the Chorus had been sent to every Utaru settlement, each taking a Tenakth veteran with them. When the time comes, the Utaru will be trained and ready for war. As ready for war as one can be against a threat like Nemesis, anyway. Now, standing at the entrance to Plainsong, preparing to make her long journey to Nora lands, Zo looks up at the settlement she once called home. The verdant paths twist up and around the ancient dishes, sowing old death with new life. Zo puts a hand on her belly, now more visible, thinking of the new life she carries within herself. Thinking of her child, Varl’s child, pulls her mind back to the last time she and Varl were here, entering Plainsong.

#horizon video game series #horizon forbidden west #hfw #horizon #hfw varl #hfw zo #varl/zo #my fanfic tag #hcc 2023

[hinatinha-trevosa]

Hinata hyuga e Sasuke uchiha

#hinata hyuga #my art #naruto #fanart #hinata fanart #sasuke uchiha #pro sasuke #sasuhina #hinasasu #my fanfiction #my fanfic tag

[jackie-sugarskull]

Is it just me or does this song Two Birds by Regina Spektor give off Sawyer and Benny vibes? It has that bittersweet feel that I got from reading Like the Sun and the Moon. I don’t know if this happens later or not, but I imagined Sawyer trying to get Benny to open up to her about Cap (“I’ll believe it all…there’s nothing I won’t understand”), but he literally can’t because he himself doesn’t even know that he’s Captain Underpants.

I never really thought of it that way.

Minor spoilers, but there actually is going to be a moment in the next chapter where Krupp opens up to Sawyer about the “memory blackouts” he’s been dealing with lately.

#captain underpants #mr krupp #cu oc #sawyer grayps #cu fanfic #my fanfic writing #my fanfic tag #like the sun and the moon #minor fanfic spoilers

[potterandpromises]

sorry for not winning you an arcade ring: chapter 1

I had Thoughts™ on a potential Theobel fake engagement storyline in season 3, which delightfully morphed into this.

Also on AO3

Secretly, Mabel had suspected her next real conversation with Theo would be when the bodies began to pile up again.  

The first ASL words she googled, late one night in her aunt’s apartment, were ‘blood,’ and ‘stab,’ and ‘gun.’  As a visual thinker, she noticed the similarity— although extremely slight— immediately. Fluttering fingers, blood and glitter. Dripping.

At the stoplight, Theo watches her. “You okay?”

“Just thinking,” she signs back, and smiles. It shouldn’t be this easy with him.

What happened with Zoe was an accident, she’s almost entirely sure. And she doubts letting Oscar take the blame was his idea.

But how much does she care that he tied her and Oliver up, gaged and blindfolded them, put them in the back of a van with a bunch of corpses and drove around all night? However much she cares, she should care more.

(Probably.)

For a minute or two, she’d thought he would murder her and Oliver in the basement of that funeral home. Then he shoved Oliver against the wall, started to bind his wrists. Surely, it would be easy to kill two people in the building with the drain in the floor and human sized refrigerators. He would not go through the pointless trouble of kidnapping them if that were the plan.

(He hadn’t seemed all that confident in himself, though, had looked almost panicked grabbing for spare cloth while she stood by, her instincts screaming at her to freeze, her learned memory saying something about secondly locations.)

One (normal person) might say that seriously and completely believing someone was going to kill you should be enough to disqualify the two people involved from ever dating. Yet, she could counter that statement. She is a true-crime addicted, New York millennial woman for fucks sake. She regularly thinks random men are going to kill her and prepares accordingly. So, there.

Theo pulls up outside the Arconia.

Mabel turns to him. Dajia vu sets in as she thinks through the correct signs. (‘it’s a callback!’ Oliver’s voice rings in her ears.)

“Thank you for helping me steal a dead guy’s hair.”

He grins at her, shakes his head.

(She knows she got it right.)

Winter breeze bites Mabel’s cheeks. She shuts the car door, flings her bag over her shoulder.

She glances back as he drives away.

If her life is going to be full of murder, who better to share it with then a reformed grave robber?

—

Nobody on the internet cares why her and Theo were dressed in all black. Nobody guesses their bags were full of PPE. At least they were caught, via unnoticed IPhone flash, in Manhattan, and not anywhere close to that funeral home in Connecticut.

No, the internet doesn’t notice what points to the weird, weird truth. The internet cares that Bloody Mabel Mora was seen with Theo Dimas, a man she accused of two murders, standing by a street light pole, perfect smiles painted on as they looked at each other.

“It could’ve been worse?” It comes out soft and uncertain. She scrolls through #bloodymabelandtheo.

“No, this is fantastic!” Oliver exclaims, somehow with complete sincerity.

“How is it ‘fantastic?” The disgust in Charles’ voice sets off a tiny, easily ignorable ping in Mabel’s chest. She gives him points for his correct use of air quotes, though.

“Because we need a big event in order to lure the killer out from the shadows, a party everyone will be talking about.” Oliver’s hands shake with excitement, or with something he should see a doctor about. “Honestly Charles, we were just talking about this.”

“I’m also not following,” Mabel says, although in the back of her mind, she already has a guess as to what he means.

“Star-crossed lovers, a couple who takes everyone by surprise with their passion, the wedding of the century—“

“Are you suggesting they get married?”

Mabel chokes on her gut milk.

“Well,” Lucy says, “you do look sort of cute together. Oh! What should your ship name be for the tag? I’m already seeing Maeo, Theobel…”

“Of course I’m not saying they should get married, Charles, I’m saying we should host a wedding.”

The plan makes an unfortunate amount of sense.

—

Lying atop his comforter, the afternoon sun an annoyance he won’t bother to close the blinds for, Theo considers moving back to the Arconia.

He’d been back to the apartment a few times since his father’s sentencing. He’d cleaned out the fridge, wondered why the freezer was full of steak, dusted.

Three years, maybe less if Teddy behaved himself, or the prison got too crowded. It’s almost nothing to the people whose loved ones passed through the funeral home, or so he’d read. Probably, it’s almost nothing to Oscar Torres.

To Theo, though, it’d been a gut punch and the first time he realized his dad is old.

There’s that background dread. One more thing he can’t change. Another guilt to wrestle with when his body is still.

He forces his thoughts from his previous crimes and shortcomings to the crime he committed just last night, in the name of truth, justice, and not-quite-friendship.

Mabel had shown up at his door with an apprehensive smile and a detailed note explaining the twist in the case and what she was asking of him. (After he read it, she ripped it up into tiny pieces and dropped them into his garbage disposal.)

He didn’t even hesitate.

I’ll go with you, he wrote, and replied to her questions about security cameras in mortuaries and obtaining hair samples useful for DNA analysis.

He still has her white coat in his front closet. Soft dry cleaning plastic brushes against his hands whenever he gets the broom. Her knitting needle, too, is stashed in the back of a drawer.

They’d exchanged greetings about half a dozen times since their shared day at Coney Island, but it’d never been a good time to bring it up. Even in the elevator, just the two of them, when his cheeks hurt from smiling.

He’d meant, somewhere in the back of his mind, to reach for her things when she showed up at his door. They do have each other’s phone numbers now, but it’s probably too late to bring it up. It’ll definitely be too late whenever they see each other next.

Does she still have his coat? Or rather, what had been his coat? He’d found the beanie she’d borrowed on the floor of his car. Does she also not know what to do with her incidental souvenir?

The residents of the Arconia didn’t notice him before and they don’t notice him now. It’s not like he’d be subjecting himself to constant glares for the occasional smile. Hell, he shared an elevator with Oliver once and the man hadn’t reacted at all. Though, he’d been engrossed in a phone call at the time. The only person, aside from Mabel, who treats him differently is Lester, his subpar ASL replaced with tense gestures.

Does Theo want to live in his childhood home again, with all it’s secrets and dark corners? Does he want to live here, among a revolving sea of neighbors? Does he want to sleep in this bed that came with the place, and dream of Mabel?

Just seeing her face makes his day and that’s… pathetic. He’s completely, painfully aware of why it took them a year to exchange phone numbers, why they can’t ever—

But she’d surprised him by signing sentences, had said it just seemed useful to learn ASL. Useful, and fun.

Maybe if he lived in the building again, the label ‘friends’ would become less dubious.

The light by the door flashes. Theo isn’t expecting anyone and a non-specific suspicion takes hold. He checks his phone, but he hasn’t received a text saying: flee, all is discovered.

A pause. The light flashes again.

He crosses the apartment, checks the peephole.

Mabel.

He opens the door, blinks. Her expression is sheepish, almost apologetic.

“I need your help again,” she signs, “please.”

“Anything.”

#theobel #only murders in the building #omitb #mabel mora #theo dimas #fanfiction #my fanfic tag #fic: sorry for not winning you an arcade ring #oliver putnam #charles-haden savage #lucy omitb #gonna try to finish this before the premiere #we’ll see how that goes lol