“Me heartless? I’m the monster you created remember?” -T.W.
- “There was no telling to what Thea was thinking at any time given; I watched her almost every day as she would sit motionless on that white leather couch and stare out into the large window that overlooked her street. She didn’t move, didn’t speak, but her body and her eyes said otherwise. I look at her and see a mix of emotions; a raging storm that hides behind darkened clouds, a tornado rushing through but not sweeping anything up from it’s destruction, a woman who was once happy and is now so conflicted that it would take a miracle for her to heal. So quiet, so stern and so menacing looking.
And yet she’s kind, caring, loving, thoughtful to everyone…to me. I wish there was a way to make her truly smile, to show her that it’s okay to share her pain with me, I’m with her until the end.
But she knows that, and all she does is smile sweetly at me and tell me that she’ll be alright. It’s not enough; not for me, not for her. I try to be that person who’s always there for her, to hold her when she starts to cry, to kiss her when she’s feeling down, to whisper to her that everything will be alright and that she can get through this. She appreciates it, given from the sweet kisses and hugs she gives me everyday, but you can tell that she’s not fully healed. I don’t think she ever will be. She wanted no part of that damn project, and she was turned on, innocence lost and body toyed with in some experiment for that monsters pleasure.
That part of her heart and soul will never be healed, no matter how much comfort and love and support I give her. She’s lasted this long, but it’s only a matter of time before she truly breaks… and there may be nothing I can do then to help her then.”- Leo at some point in a fic I’m thinking about.
Scene I want in the 2016 movie: Casey Jones fighting the turtles and slowly having to acknowledge that this might have been a Bad Idea.
Like, Raphael with his 40 inch biceps is obviously not going well, so he’s just like “Whatever, I didn’t want to fight you anyway, you’re just the warmup for when I kick the ass of that big blue doofus over there”.
Leonardo draws his swords. Each is almost as tall as Casey.
“No no, not that doofus, I meant the orange shrimp with the goofy sunglasses.”
Michelangelo jumps down from wherever he was perched. While the smallest of the brothers, he is by no means as tiny as he looked in the distance.
“Did I say sunglasses? I meant regular glasses. That’s right, nerd boy, I see you crouched behind the computer bank over there. Stand up and fight me, you spindly little shit.”
Donatello, bemused, puts down the tools he was using to hack into the TCRI mainframe and stands up.