#foot recruit is a violent lesbian

[afreakingdork]

You Are My Sunshine, My Only Moonshine - Chapter 8

RotTMNT x Reader

What's with that call, Ump!? Leo's a bit of a pitch point in this week's chapter art by funneylizzie

Rated: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Michelangelo (TMNT)/Reader, Michelangelo (TMNT)/You, Donatello (TMNT)/Reader, Donatello (TMNT)/You

Warnings: POV Second Person, Gender Neutral Reader, Anxious Reader, Introverted Reader, Stuttering, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Romance, Love, Love Confessions, Falling In Love, Unrequited Love, Rejection, Aromantic Asexual Michelangelo (TMNT), Bisexual Donatello (TMNT), Pansexual Leonardo (TMNT), Lesbian Cassandra Jones | Foot Recruit, Demisexual April O'Neil (TMNT), Implied Cassandra Jones | Foot Recruit/April O'Neil/Sunita, Endgame Donatello (TMNT)/Reader, Romantic Love, Platonic Love, Panic Attacks, Sexuality Crisis, Agoraphobia, Social Anxiety, Happy Ending, Fluff

Synopsis:  You’ve lost most of your life to anxiety and fear. Now, in your late 20s, you are desperate to reclaim it and during one such outing you encounter the sun personified. With his and his similarly celestially inspired family, will you finally reach your goal or will you lose yourself along the way?

Also available on Ao3

First 💛 Previous

You were dying.

Not in a medical sense though if you were to be strapped into some type of machine, you imagined your charts would be something worthy of a medical journal. Your heart was pounding out of your chest, you felt lightheaded, your ears were ringing, your skin felt aflame, sweat dotted the back of your neck against the hairs that stood up there, and somehow amongst all that, you found time to do the wave with the rest of the crowd.

Returning to your seat, though your panic attack refused to join in, you shrank as much as you could. It meant squishing against an unrelenting mix of wood or plastic or whatever the bright bench was made of. The hat on your head did little as an additional layer of protection especially when Leo shot up from the row in front of you.

“ARE YOU EVEN WATCHING UMP!? DO US ALL A FAVOR AND SIGN UP FOR LASIK, YOU BLIND BAT!!!”

A baseball game.

Why had you ever agreed to come to a baseball game?

Because you said yes.

Because you were supposed to say yes.

Because that was the whole supposed point to bettering yourself.

You had to push yourself out of your comfort zone.

Mikey was supposed to help you. 

You should have known hitching your wagon to some great joy would come with karma. 

This was your pittance for your strange friendship agreement. 

Said man would also be your greatest ruin. 

As if on cue and despite yourself, you looked over at said man. Dressed up in way more merch than everyone else, he was his usual beaming ball of incandescent gas. He swam in so much memorabilia that it was hard to believe he could see the field and yet when Leo collapsed back into the seat in front of him, Mikey leaned forward to poignantly discuss whatever contested call you had missed.

Of your current lineup, Raph, Mikey and you had seats in one row while April, Leo, and Donnie had the next. The jockeying for position had been a violent one and you’d opted out of the drawn straws. It seemed poignant that you would accept whatever was left as that was how you acquired your ticket. The only reason you were even here was because Splinter had thrown out his back again and some as of yet unseen man named Draxum refused to accommodate what he apparently called silly human rituals.

Of which had you seated at an example of America’s greatest pastime and another family outing. New York, in her efforts to better embrace mutant kind, had offered up both discounted and specialty seating for mutants in a show of solidarity. At first and predictably, said tickets were highly scrutinized by the Hamato. They had bad blood with baseball stadiums and as such weren’t sure if the entire thing was a trap. In the end, being able to openly attend a game had won out. Thankfully, this didn’t seem like a ruse and so far it was what you assumed should occur during a baseball game. 

Not that you had ever been. 

Sporting events were meant to be seen through screens. 

Yet you wanted more.

You had to be selfish.

You had to rise above your station.

Look where greed got you.

You were having a panic attack and about to ruin everyone’s day. The Hamato finally had a chance to go out and be a part of life as they always deserved. Something you casually threw away on a daily basis. The insult to injury was not lost on you as you spiraled uselessly, but it was the drain you were rounding that threatened to swallow you up. The stakes only made the fall that much steeper. It was your body's fault.

Not something built for bus rides or capitalistic toils, your faulty neurons sent out the wrong chemicals at even worse times. Your adrenaline was confused. It wasn’t in its usual containment unit which you liked to imagine was a rickety old box from some old horror movie. The beast had, of course, escaped and went on a rampage that wasn’t its fault. It wasn’t meant to be there at all. It was meant to be stowed away somewhere safe. It wasn’t meant to be among screaming fans and thus it left your body in ruins with what you could only label as your worst case scenario.

You would soon pass out.

It’d be a thing because it always was. Doctors would understand and throw benzos at you, but for the layman, passing out was something dying people did. 

Good thing it felt exactly like that.

No, fear was the mind killer.

It was the little death.

You’d expire here in the stands and they’d do little more than memorialize you on a bench. 

No, you were avoiding that kind of talk. 

Focus.

What was the rest of the quote?

It was somewhere in your brain.

You could walk back from the ledge.

You had managed before with only minor catastrophizing.

In fact, you’d only actually passed out from panic attacks a handful of times in your life.

A doctor had once told you something.

What’s the worst that could happen?

So you passed out. 

So what?

You would wake up and be fine. 

You would be okay.

The stupid idiot probably hadn’t had a panic attack in his whole life.

No, that was mean.

You had wherewithal which was a good sign. Since panic attacks came from the brain, working through them always seemed like a war against one’s self. You had to be smarter, more clever, and flexible as the same trick to stop them never seemed to work twice. There were some consistencies; it was never good to focus on symptoms because that would mean you were ultimately prone. Given a momentary distraction and since mantras weren’t currently working, you thought maybe you could save yourself with memories. Just as the recollection of your doctor has inspired ire instead of further illness, you moved to comb through what had occurred most recently. Since the ballgame itself had caused your current state, you inched backwards to what had occurred just before it.

It wasn’t the best choice, but Raph had been memorable if nothing else.

As soon as you had entered the park, the oldest brother had diverted your course with his giant form. You tried to glance at the others only to find them wishing various forms of good luck as they got to go to your seats. It had taken you an alarming amount of time to remember Donnie’s warnings. You imagined that was the moon’s way to warn without pretense. It was how night was foreboding and it didn’t immediately illuminate how the ground could shake. It was Raph’s way as the solid earth to find a suitable area behind a beam for his discussion. It was just open enough that others would pass, but the privacy afforded said those walking by would do just that. As others went to get food, hit the restrooms, or find their seats, you were stuck as Raph gave you his shovel talk.  

It was highs and lows as his hero side was at obvious odds with the supposed necessity to strike fear into you. For each time he tried to warn you about hurting Mikey, he’d also backtrack by quickly adding that there would be no actual injuries at your expense. It made for an odd display that reminded you very much of their ninpo demonstration. They were heroes with the power’s of gods and yet they were also wisecracks and had insecurities the same as any other. They were both regular people and far beyond mere mortals. 

By the end, the content hadn’t necessarily struck fear into your heart, but the way Raph’s finger had pointed accusatorily into your chest spoke to more. You were treading dangerous waters and Raph had been the first to actually confirm it. You had long worried about that exact fact yourself, but you had only gotten Donnie and Mikey’s takes so far. Both were painfully bias and, though it was obvious Raph was as well, he had a different edge. For him, he’d been fussing over his super powered siblings his whole life and knew the faults better than anyone. 

He was a good big brother, you thought as he dotted off the conversation by putting his giant paw on your head. He rubbed affection there and airily said he had faith that you probably wouldn’t come to any bad end. It was there again, that odd assurance the Hamato all had in themselves, and you stewed on it as Raph led you to your seats. It was there that you had entered the killing floor where the first anxieties cropped up as the group was agitated because they’d missed the opening pitch due to Leo’s refusal to be the portal bus.

From there you’d stumbled step by step into a panic attack as the sour mood was compounded by the growing noise. It was as if being trapped in a room filling with water as the terrible cacophony drowned you. It spoke of the amount of people in the stands which was daunting enough. This was a special day; mutants and humans colored your stands as a means to represent the lovely tapestry of the city. A commingling of all types, this was the lifeblood and solidarity that American life touted but never achieved. You should have felt a sense of pride at having been a part of it.

All you felt was dismay that you were about to ruin it.

Each step was a threat of falling. Both metaphorically and physically, you imagined yourself tripping down the stairs. You would bust your head open and the leaking blood would light some planted naysayer. They would use you as their excuse that mutant’s were a threat to humanity. 

That might be a little too dramatic. 

It was far more likely that you’d knock over someone’s drink. It would then tumble in a chain reaction that would somehow cause a foam finger to fly out onto the field. There it would hit the bat boy who would strike the mascot who would then roll out onto the field and interrupt a great run. 

Mutant’s Ruin Big Leagues!

The headline would run for years.

You would be little more than a footnote. 

You were the stepping stone for hatred.

You’d pave the way no matter what.

You were spiraling.

Going through your memories had led you back to misery. 

The claws of anxiety were dug into your back and the symptoms were playing out yet again. Any movement at all was akin to a scalping. A player hit a ball for a crack that deafened your swimming ears before the contradictory roar of the crowd fried what was left of your nerves. Left battered and to drain in your seat, the other’s rallied and you were left burning under an exaggerated heat lamp. 

Your pocketful-of-sunshine partner had done very little. Mikey had not registered any of your distress though you couldn’t blame him. There were no obvious outward signs of anxiety until it was too late. From the outside you’d simply appear to faint. Only those studying you would notice how tight your jaw was or how your pupil shook. With Mikey’s helmet, flags, and sticks, there was no way he could see anything so small even if he were to check in.

He couldn’t know that trying to verbalize in this state made it worse. The labor of speech was yet another stressor. If this attack’s onset hadn’t been an immediate one, you might have been able to warn someone. Instead it had been a flash in the pain occurrence which meant you were using every ounce of your sanity to not succumb. 

You could stave this off.

You had before.

Raph whooped loud to announce his return from the concession stand. 

The others readied themselves. 

This day wasn’t for you. 

This was for them. 

You weren’t going to ruin it. 

You were still conscious.

You were still here.

“Finally!” Leo’s mouth slacked around his annoyance. “Dog me, bro!” He held up a hand as if to catch it.

Raph only stared where his arms were totally full. “No.”

“Not even!” April’s head popped out from behind Raph’s form. “C’mon and help pass everything out if you’re so eager.”

“Fine!!” Leo whined long and loud as he got up.

Food and drinks were distributed and you butted your arm against Mikey’s cup. Ice cold condensation one of the best mediators, you let it chill your arm as Raph’s load lightened. Feeling a little more present, you watched as Donnie received a wrapped sandwich which signaled the last of the snapper’s load.

“Where’s my hot dog?”

“Uh…” Raph strung out the sound looking to April who shrugged her shoulders, hands empty.

“My chili cheese dog!?” Leo spoke a little louder.

“It’s, uh… we totally ordered it, didn’t we, April!?”

“S-sure… did…” Her eyes darted away. “I coulda swore…”

“One request! No drink! No nothing! I ask for a hot dog, all beef, the classic, covered in musty chili from a burned pot and cheese so plastic it’s going to be killing a fish in the ocean long after I’m dead and gone!!!”

“Leo, it’s just a-” Mikey started up, chips falling from his square nacho container.

“Don’t!” Leo flew over his seat to slam a finger into Mikey’s lips. “Don’t you dare, of all people, besmirch the name of America’s single greatest ballpark food by saying ‘it’s just a hot dog.’”

“Could be boiled peanuts.” Donnie remarked casually, obviously relishing a chance to fuel the fire.

“Nuts?! Where?!” Raph ducked and knocked over his drink.

“None I’d let near you, Red King.” Donnie crooned. 

The cup hit the ground and dripped down toward Leo.

Leo screamed at the trickle which silenced several rows and sent your blood pressure through the roof.

No amount of cold cola was going to save you now.

Coming off his screech, Leo slammed a foot off onto the steps and made it clear he was going to storm off. “If you’re going to do something! You have to do it yourself, apparently!!”

Muttering a string of curses over how his family couldn’t do a single thing right, Leo led bowlegged fury up the stairs.

“Well, he’s been a peach tonight!” Raph turned, not looking the least bit guilty. “Damage control?”

“I’ll make it worse.” Donnie spoke, breezy.

April snatched his sandwich away.

Donnie glowered at her before spinning to Mikey. “Rock, paper, scissors, again.”

Mikey shook his head. “I actually got this one, I think. I know one of the chef’s and I think I can get Leo into a box. That’ll fix his mood right up.”

“That’s teamwork!” April cheered, throwing a hand out which Mikey high fived.

“Take this and cheer in my stead!” Mikey spun away from the maneuver and poured an avalanche of goods onto your form. Fumbling all of it and the food then placed on top, he was halfway up the stairs before he called back. “Mine is yours! Have fun!”

Dismay.

You looked over your shoulder with tears in your eyes.

The sweep returning to the field was an abysmal one.

Another scream tore through the crowd.

Raph nearly matched April’s volume. 

Loud.

Everything was too loud.

The ringing wouldn’t stop.

Food, colors, it swirled all too much in your lap.

It then drained. 

Away, away.

You mechanically dumped what you could into Mikey’s empty seat and watched your hands shake violently as you retreated.

You squeezed them to your chest.

It was too much.

Electric discharge went through your brain without proper release.

The cage wasn’t cracked, it was busted.

Without repair.

In a blink, you saw the vignette.

That was the final symptom.

You were about to pass out.

Body screaming amongst everything else, you swirled with the dizziness as fainting came on.

Silence encircled you.

You blinked slowly into something purple.

You could still see.

That didn’t make sense.

Your hearing always went after your vision. 

It always occurred the same way. 

There was a moment of dark, after your vision was cut, that preceded the memory loss of unconsciousness.

It shouldn’t be quiet yet. 

Something squeezed your cheeks.

You gasped a breath.

One that sucked greedily on wakefulness.

It was so blessedly quiet.

Your hands moved to your ears on instinct. 

You felt warmth under your fingertips, but not on your head. 

Either you did or didn’t have your sense of touch; the lopsided nature didn’t make sense. 

A small stroke of your pads said you were touching skin. 

There shouldn’t be anyone else’s on your head and confusion carried you to a sort of clarity.

Another squeeze.

It was a reminder to breathe. 

You were supposed to breathe.

You sucked a quaky one and caught hold of a wrist.

It was so close to your face that it didn’t make sense.

Then you saw eyes.

Or rather, you finally comprehended there was a pair close to yours.

Concern painted in dark depths, it took several blinks for you to register its owner.

Donnie had his hands around your head.

‘What are you doing?’ It felt like you mouthed the words because you couldn’t hear them.

You couldn’t hear anything.

‘Panic attack.’ Donnie enunciated slowly so you could catch the familiar mouth movements even though no sound reached you.

You nodded and squeezed your eyes shut to find tears dotting them.

When was the last time you blinked?

The burn said too long and you hunched forward.

Donnie came with you and prevented you from hitting the back of his seat.

Held steady, you felt weepy little whines in your throat and felt all the more pathetic.

You were having a panic attack.

Were.

You hadn’t passed out.

Blinking with recognition, exhaustion hit you.

Having run the equivalent of five marathons all while seated, you brought your gaze back up to him.

He waited there without judgment.

He held you, a steady current.

You caught his arms and squeezed.

He’d caught you at the precipice and you hadn’t gone over.

You gripped him in desperation as he felt like your only lifeline.

Twice now. 

Though the other was his own making, twice Donnie had held you together.

How did he feel being your handler?

How must he feel dealing with you?

You wondered how much guilt played a factor. 

You’d owe him at this rate. 

No matter what part he’d played then, he was your savior now and holding onto him felt like the only way for you to stay safe.

He was the only thing keeping you tethered to his plane.

Probably scratching at him with how pathetic you were, you felt him pull.

His raft keeping you afloat, you buoyed a little shake before you felt the warmth of his forehead hit yours.

A single contact point sent waves of heat throughout your body and with it a flood of a new kind of chemical.

One you didn’t currently have a name for, it was the coziness of being by a fire and warming of a bone deep chill.

You went a calculated slack against him and butted into his head to get a little more of those good feelings.

He allowed it and you settled into a soothing current.

His arms soon shifted, settling against the back of the seat separating the two of you and you wedged yourself between them as a ballast. Comfortable to a point minus the fact you very much wanted to sleep, you didn’t mourn much when he pulled his head away. Keeping his hands steady around you, you gave him a dopey expression for the solace he’d given you and he shook his head with a tiny smile in return.

He squeezed the sides of your head again and at first you thought it was admonishment, but you quickly felt there was something else there. His hands slid a little lower and you released your lock on him to explore what it was. Unable to move much further above his fingers, you brushed to find a band of metal. It revealed little and a twist within his palm found a circle encasing your ear. Whatever it was almost felt like headphones and with that thought you realized it was the goggles he always wore. 

You sent all your surprise toward him. 

You had no evidence of it, but the fact that you’d never seen him without them seemed to mean they were important. 

Except, for whatever reason, he’d placed them on your head. 

‘I’m sorry-!’

He pinched your cheek.

‘Ow!’

You earned another pinch.

Thinking maybe he didn’t want you to talk, you slicked your expression into a wounded one.

That got a bit of a smile and you decided he was a sadist as he tapped your left ear cover.

There was no sound and instead a vibration against your head. 

Unsure of what he wanted, you turned that direction and he curled his large hand around your ear before barely lifting the headset. Sound ate up the new real estate, but he quickly tucked his head beside yours to force it out. “Status?”

“Better?” You sounded raspy and you jolted a little now that you could hear yourself.

“Noise canceling.” He explained, his voice steady amongst the leaking sounds of a baseball game.

“Don’t… you need these?”

“Someone else needed them more.”

“How’d you know?” You rested your cheek against his.

He stiffened a little against you, but you weren’t sure if it was from the contact or the question.

Why was it so easy to be familiar with him?

You should be terrified of him. 

You should hate him. 

He seemingly appeared only during your worst moments. 

You were wrung out.

You would stop interacting with him like this another time. 

Now he was your life preserver. 

“I saw you. I noted the symptoms.” He hesitated once before adding, “I… know the feeling all too well…”

It was the content then.

You might not know the finer details, but from what the Hamato had saved the world from, you imagined the aftermath they dealt with was equally large.

“I’m sorry…” You mumbled back.

“If that’s for taking these then you know the repercussions.” The hand that was still cupping your face turned with fingers ready to snag your cheek. 

“No! The other thing! Def the other thing!”

“I never said.” You couldn’t see him, but you could feel his eyes narrow with suspicion. “Pity?”

“Understanding.” You rubbed your cheek against his to enforce your apology so he’d hopefully accept. “I’m sorry you know what this feels like.”

“I suppose I could say the same.” He ended his statement with a thoughtful hum.

“Thank you. You… you really saved me.”

“Statically speaking and based on your health records, a panic attack would not be lethal for you.”

“We really need to establish boundaries.” Your voice flattened out. 

“I gathered that information before.” He had a bit of a complaint to him. “As in when I was still evaluating your morality.” 

“Doesn’t make it okay. What if I got your doctor notes just because I thought you were a bad guy?”

“I’d applaud you for breaking into my system and try to fold you into my evil army.”

You pulled away to view him.

He shrugged nonchalantly, but it only further contested the great care he exhibited in making sure his hand still blocked out excessive noise.  

“How’d you notice? No one else did. Weren’t you watching the game?”

“I was until Leo threw his little temper tantrum.”

Donnie had watched Leo leave like everyone else. 

He was in front of you. 

He would have had to turn around. 

You would have been in his periphery.

You could only think of how very much that suited the moon.

Where the sun blasted its way through its stage, the moon was reflected light. It needed a source; it needed a certain level of attention. It also revealed. Where the sun poured out lumens indiscriminately, the moon carved out the dark. Seeking to reveal that which was hidden, it acted as an uncaring guiding light. A savior to many, its fickle nature turned the rest away.

You moved your hands over his and squeezed. “Thank you.”

“You’ve said that already.” He didn’t seem to care, exactly as you thought.

“Don’t like repetition?”

“I don’t like wasted time” He scoffed.

You jarred and his hands tightened like a wrench.

“Which this is not, to be clear! Do you understand?”

“No…?”

“I don’t need your thanks.” His brows came down, serious. “That’s superfluous. This.” He pressed your cheeks. “This I would do as long as necessary without a thought of complaint. There’s a difference. I’m saying it’s obvious.”

Your lids lowered.

You guessed it was.

“You missed the game…”

“Ah, yes. Missing how every few minutes the golden retriever mutant a few seats down will block my view and throw slobber around? Miss how Leo elbows me every time there’s a run? Miss the repulsive stickiness that seems to cling to this entire stadium and how no amount of hosing down will make me feel as though I’ve washed it off? Sure, I missed so much.”

You stared at him.

“That was sarcasm.” He felt the need to clarify. 

You laughed.

The sound came with a joyous feeling in your chest that you usually didn’t feel until after you’d slept off the effects of your panic attack.

Riding the high, your vision uncrinkled and you clipped the stunned expression on Donnie’s face.

Your lips dropping with a question, you might have teased him about it had something else broke through the barrier of Donnie’s hand. 

“Y/N!” Mikey yelled. 

You were released and the headphones dropped into place with Donnie only giving one quick squeeze to the left side.

The softshell returned to the game as if he’d never touched you.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Mikey kicked the junk in his seat out of the way to reach you.

You could hear him.

Glancing once at Donnie, you could also tell the rest of the stadium sounds were far quieter.

There must have been a setting he’d activated in that last touch.

Something that blocked out background noise.

“Y/N!!!” Mikey caught one of your hands where it was still hung in the air from the person you were once holding.

“I… I had a panic attack.” You explained in a voice that was probably too soft, but you weren’t sure how to modulate your volume with the headset dulling it yet.

Mikey’s crestfallen expression was quickly buoyed as he caught a glimpse of Donnie’s goggles. “So that’s what Donnie was doing! These help him a ton! Don!!” Mikey turned his joy on his brother.

Donnie might have stayed stubbornly away if Leo, who had also returned and was not sporting a mouth full of chili dog, hadn’t shoved an elbow into him. “Look at Dontron, over here! Being the hero all on his own!”

“Help was asked and I simply responded to an inquiry!” Donnie growled, clearly flicking his gaze to you in his periphery before it flew back to Leo.

You smiled.

“Are you alright now?” Mikey fussed, looking you over.

“Tired.” You admitted.

“We gotta put something on that glaring chrome dome!” Leo took off his hat and plopped it on Donnie’s head.

“Leo!” Donnie shrieked. “This has chili on it!!”

“A bonus!” Leo winked.

“Bonus this!” Donnie raised his fist, but Raph had the reach to catch it.

The older brother then quickly extracted the hat and smushed it and Leo back down into his respective seat. “How about we give Donnie a prize? I’m feeling kinda bad that Raph didn’t notice neither.”

“T-that’s okay…” Your hands came up.

“Downplay your reactions.” Donnie sneered at everyone but you. “You don’t feed panic attacks; you ignore them.”

“Then let’s enjoy the game!” April cheered and yanked Leo who splattered himself with more chili in the process.

“I suppose I wouldn’t say no to kettle corn however...” Donnie mumbled as he faced the field while craning a head to his arm for a lackluster display.

No one else reacted and you returned to find Mikey patiently smiling at you.

Had he not heard?

He was just as close.

You had a feeling it had something to do with the goggles.

“Can… can we get… kettle corn?” You asked Mikey.

“Of course! Maybe some water too? You haven’t had anything…”

“Yeah… sure…”

“Let’s go! Don’t worry if your legs are weak, I can lift four whole Raphs!”

“The projections don’t weigh as much as the original!” Raph chirped to annoy him.

Mikey pointedly ignored that and offered you his hand.

You took it. 

It had a certain warmth. 

You would try harder to tell Mikey next time. 

You couldn’t keep relying on Donnie to save the day. 

The purple brother invaded your thoughts and you tugged, ready to remove the goggles.

Donnie’s voice wafted into your ears. “Keep them.”

“But…” You stared at the back of his unmoving form

“Take care of them and return in one piece.”

You nodded.

“Y/N?”

“Huh?” You spoke absently. 

“Who are you talking to?” Mikey leaned into your vision.

You gave one final glance at Donnie before staring right into bright orange. “No one, let’s go.”

💛 NEXT 💛

Whoop thank you to my betas @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

[pogaytosalad]

Here have a story about lesbians in the dnd game I'm playing.

Background for this: my character(Gráinne(gran-ya)) was once a stereotypically attractive pretty girl who had men swooning over her. She ended up making a deal with a fae. Her beauty in exchange for fae like powers. She took the deal cuz she assumed she would just be able to reverse the effects with surgery. Fae tries to turn her into a hag. Transformation is interrupted. Gráinnes a half-hag now. Gráinne had become "ugly". She looks like a 40 year old whose been smoking meth and cigarettes since she was 15, and drinking since she was 8. She's wrinkly, her eyes are sunken, her lips are chapped and dry, she basically looks like a zombie. She is cursed to look this way no matter what unless she uses a magical disguise. She believes no one will ever find her attractive again. And that she'll never find someone willing to tolerate her looks. So. She does what any reasonable person would and becomes obsessed with a pretty gamer streamer girl(Mixi).

So. Gráinne developed a parasocial relationship with Mixi and then Mixi just so happened to be recruited onto the same fae fighting suicide squad as Gráinne. Mixi is giving Gráinne mixed signals about whether she has a chance at being with her or not. Because Grainne is a dense motherfucker who wouldn't know flirting if it punched her in the face.

Lesbian crisis ensues.

Lesbian crisis goes on for several days and results in Gráinne basically blowing up a theater with rage when she sees Mixi get corrupted by fae.

Mixi recovers. They go to an arcade the next day.

Lesbian crisis is resolved

Because then they made out in the arcade in front of a really violent arcade game.

They are butch4femme lesbians with like a foot of height difference.

(Disclaimer. Some parts of this have been exaggerated for effect)

Moral of the story: lesbians love badass women who look like they've been chain smoking for 40 years

[rottmntrulesall]

Mikey: Lesbians, what is your wisdom?

April: World hard and cold… titty soft and warm.

Sunita: Girl hot.

Foot Recruit: Watch Naruto.

[vxllainoxs]

‟ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɢᴇᴛ ᴜᴘ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ, ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴄᴏꜰꜰᴇᴇ, ᴄʜᴏᴏꜱᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴇᴀʀ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ ɢᴏ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏʟᴅ-ʙʟᴏᴏᴅᴇᴅʟʏ ᴘᴜᴛ ᴀ ᴛᴏᴛᴀʟ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ. ᴅɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴᴏᴍᴀʟᴏᴜꜱ, ᴘꜱʏᴄʜᴏᴘᴀᴛʜɪᴄ ꜰʀᴇᴀᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ? ᴅɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʙᴏʀɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀʏ? ᴏʀ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ, ᴄᴏʀʀᴇᴄᴛʟʏ ᴘʀᴏɢʀᴀᴍᴍᴇᴅ, ʙᴇ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴇxᴇᴄᴜᴛɪᴏɴᴇʀ? ” 

(  shay mitchell.  27.  she/her.  )   everything’s fine,  OKSANA “VILLANELLE” ASTANKOVA,  you’re in the good place!  do you remember your last days in  KILLING EVE? but don’t worry, your  ( sleek pantsuits for every occasion, a thick russian accent dripping from blunt remarks, a misplaced, childish glint lingering within ice cold eyes, an undeniable and magnetic pull towards a foe, crimson red blood caked within perfectly manicured fingernails. )  will fit perfectly with the rest of the good place, so long as you commit to the  THE FRIGID FEMME FETALE  despite your tendency to commit to  ( impulsiveness )  that the architect of the good place said you were. it’ll just be like a fun acting exercise! just play along and everything will continue to be fun. 

hi hi !! ellie here , and i’m way too psyched to have the opportunity to babble all about my precious baby assassin . i must warn in advance that some parts of the introduction may contain : mentions of violence , death , blood / gore . however , i’ll absolutely try to keep it from being too vivid . if you’re interested in plotting with miss villanelle ( she only bites a solid 80% of the time ) , feel free to reach out to me here or on discord ! ladies and gents , buckle up because this is gonna be a l o n g ride . 

b a s i c s . 

- full name : Оксана Анатольевна Астанкова ( oksana anatoljevna astankova )   call her anything but villanelle and she will stomp on your foot, though.

- alias : villanelle. 

- age : twenty - seven. 

- orientation: chaotic lesbian. 

- place of origin : russia ; specifics beyond that are unknown. 

- fandom : killing eve ( won’t be basing her off of the “codename: villanelle” novels ). 

b a c k g r o u n d . ( did i go overboard ? you bet ! )

- not much is known about villanelle’s childhood; oksana was born somewhere in russia. however, she spent her life as an orphan, never knowing who her parents were and drifting through the system. for the most part, she went through her years relatively unbothered by this. for reasons that are unknown, she refuses to speak her native russian, however, and refuses to be referred to by her birth name, suggesting that she doesn’t embrace her past. 

- from a young age, she showed intellect beyond compare and was considered a gifted student. she held an affinity for learning languages, her favorite of which was french, and was considered the top of her class. her brains, however, did little to cancel out her unnerving personality and her increasingly violent tendencies. 

- somewhere along the line, oksana developed an intense bout of admiration bordering on obsession for a teacher of hers named anna aanmokoba. the woman took her underneath her wing and fostered her growth as a student, something oksana mistook for love and passion. because of this, she would gift anna expensive perfumes, designer clothing, and write her love letters in french, feeding off of the attention she was showered in. anna, however, claimed that the only reason she paid special attention to oksana was because everybody else feared her too much to be around her. 

- oksana eventually grew to firmly believe that anna’s husband was the one preventing them from ever being together. one day, when anna returned home from work, she found balloons and a cake in her apartment, like there was a special occasion worth celebrating. upon further inspection, she also found her husband -- dead. oksana had murdered him in cold blood and, like a giddy child, took great pride in what she had done, viewing it as simply removing an obstacle that stood in her way. 

- after the murder, she was shipped off to a prison, where she spent five years. throughout those five years, she never stopped writing to anna, however, one day, the letters simply stopped and oksana’s belongings had been shipped to anna’s apartment, leading her to believe that she had died in prison. 

- in reality, oksana had been recruited to be a professional assassin by an elusive organization known as the twelve. she was given the codename of villanelle and was aided in completely ditching her old identity. she had been reborn, and she quickly rose in the ranks as one of the organization’s most notorious assassins; her kills were dramatic and brutal, and she spent years leaving officials that spanned across multiple countries scratching their heads. 

- along the way, villanelle had developed a close bond with her “handler” (the one responsible for keeping her in check and assigning her targets), konstantin vasiliev. their relationship resembled that of a father-daughter bond; she grew easily jealous of konstantin’s real family, which consisted of a wife and a daughter, seeking out what she’d been robbed of for most of her childhood. (daddy issues? check.) 

- all was well, until a fascinating, gutsy, determined woman had her in her sights: eve polastri, a british intelligence agent assigned with taking villanelle down. once more, villanelle found herself absolutely thriving on the attention she was showered in, selfishly seeking out more. it was difficult to determine if villanelle genuinely fostered the ability to fall in love with the woman, or if she craved the attention and the adrenaline that came from the chase.

- villanelle’s connection with eve was undeniable and unbreakable, and like a leech, she attached herself to eve and sucked her dry of everything she had; she ruined her relationship with her husband, she was responsible for the death of eve’s mentor and best friend, and she even drove eve to do truly questionable and morally reprehensible things. the two did, however, seem to care for and about one another, and neither could deny the odd dynamic/relationship they shared. 

- the game of cat-and-mouse that ensued between them didn’t stop. not until, after failing to kill konstantin when a hit was put on him by the twelve (in an inexplicable turn of events that likely suggested that he had betrayed them in one form or another), villanelle found eve in her apartment, the place entirely ransacked in an impulsive bout of rage on the operative’s end. 

- they found themselves lying face-to-face in bed, sharing an intimate moment, before eve had pulled out a knife. after insisting that she wasn’t capable of something so violent, villanelle ended up eating her words, because eve had stabbed her in the abdomen. however, the woman’s humanity shone through, because she grew frantic to help villanelle after realizing what she had done. by that point, villanelle had already staggered off of the bad, grabbed a gun, and tried to shoot at eve in her own fit of rage. by the time that eve had returned to the room, villanelle was seemingly gone. 

- in reality, villanelle had managed to make it outside of her apartment, right before operatives sent by the twelve (with a new agenda: to kill her after she failed to get rid of konstantin) ransacked the place. she miraculously dragged herself, bleeding and on the verge of collapsing, to the street and, when she failed to pick up a ride a la the hitchhiker’s method, threw herself in the way of an oncoming cab with the hope of picking up a ride that way. this recklessness, however, proved to be her ultimate downfall and led to her death. 

long story short: i will be basing villanelle around the end of season 1 / the beginning of season 2 of the series, as far as her memories go. everything from season 1 and the beginning of season 2 remains canon besides, of course, the fact that she didn’t survive the stabbing. she’ll obviously be more chill here and, y’know, not kill people, pft.  ( here is her wiki if you’re too lazy to read this whole thing . i don’t blame you, tbh . a bitch do be babbling about her wife . )

p e r s o n a l i t y . 

- ( + ) : intelligent, clever, observant, charming, bubbly. 

- ( - ) : cunning, manipulative, arrogant, reckless, remorseless. 

[rottmntrulesall]

ROTTMNT Pride Week

Day 2: Villians/Side Characters

It’s the Leaning Tower of Lesbians!

I figured, why not do both villains and side characters? It bugs me that Kendra doesn’t get enough attention.

[rottmntrulesall]

She and April would get along so well

[rottmntrulesall]

The man just wanted his coffee