Shadow of Memories, a fairly oddparents fanfic

Dear reader, how nice of you to open this page. I do hope my story will amuse you, but let me warn you. If you've got any aversions of Yaoi (male x male) or you don't like hearing about Anti-Cosmo x Goth-Timmy things, or you do hate stories dealing with suicidal feelings and so on, then this isn't the best story for you to read, so, it'll be very kind of you to turn on your heels and GET THE HELL OUTTA HERE!

The characters are from the Fairly OddParents. Goth-Timmy, for the ones who didn't know, is the Emo (or Goth, as you like) version of Timmy that appeared in 'the Fairly Oddlympics' episode; it's shown when Anti-Cosmo says: "If Anti-fairies win the Fairly Oddlympics, Turner shall be my EVIL Godchild!" and then the background changes to show a dark room with skeletons all around, while Timmy's clothes change to become black (later Anti-Cosmo will make him wear a pair of evil black shorts with skulls –that will soon belong to me-) and his hair is died black, too. He's such a lovely evil boy!

Enjoy yourselves!

Shadow of Memories

'Good morning, Mr. Turner.'

'Mpf.'

It was a wonderful day in spring in Dimmesdale. The birds were tweeting happily, the bees were humming cheerily and the fresh wind was stroking the delicate new green leaves with his delicate touch.

Everyone was enjoying this splendid sunny day, except for a certain blue-eyed inky-haired lovely little boy.

Timmy was silently looking at the dumb man in front of him, wondering why he had ended up in such a place while the metal polish chain tingled in his hands playfully. His mind roamed goalless, reminding him only little pieces of blurry memories, that said nothing at all to the upset child.

Suddenly the memory of the stormy evening of some days before sneaked in his mind. He remembered the dull gray sky crying on the desolate city, whipping the trees furiously trying to gain some peace through his desperate lightnings of sadness.

Chet Ubetcha had said something about a violent storm that would break out on the martyrized city, but Timmy's mind refused to tell anything more. Looking around he noticed a picture of two little children in a white golden frame placed on the desk nearby, that reminded him the shallow joy he felt when he was told that the day after the loadstone the school would be closed.

He stared in the empty eyes of the man in front of him, trying to get the possible reason why he was there. But soon his mind was dragged to other thoughts. He wondered that, perhaps, he had had a day-off too that sombre evening, like his parents had. Perhaps he had spent the evening happily, playing stupid games or chatting serenely, while outside the furious nature was screaming mercilessly.

Yeah. And, perhaps, his children loved him. And he loved them too, from the depth of his soul with the warm human love that he had been taught to donate. And maybe, he was even proud of his children, always emphasizing their qualities, making them blush both in shame and pleasure.

Timmy glanced at him with hatred. He couldn't stand him. He couldn't stand the way he was looking at him. He couldn't stand the suspect that he loved his children. He couldn't stand anything at all.

His mum called him for dinner once. Twice. Three times. But the noise was too loud and, ecstatically concentrated in watching the expert sky drawing marvellous pictures with the dark clouds, Timmy had forgotten about the supper.

A gentle touch stroked his ebony hair, breaking his magic illusion of serenity. He smiled slightly appreciating the kind expansivities, when a soft murmur told him to dash downstairs. With his heart a bit warmed, Timmy jumped off the bed, making the chains he had around his waist echo in the room, tingling as he moved towards the door. He couldn't remember precisely what happened, but the warm sensation of dizziness as he suddenly couldn't breathe trapped against the hard door was cursing him now, dripping crimson grudge in his manhandled soul.

Timmy gazed away from the white-haired man as the memory crept on his mind, making him slightly hunch down in his arms. The memory of a wet tongue penetrating in his mouth so easily, the sweetish flavour of those lips pressed firmly against his and his body raped in his own room… he shivered at the thought.

But, even if he felt it was disgustingly wrong, he would never dare say he hadn't liked it, even if only a little bit. The soft caresses he received before falling asleep and those sweet kisses scenting of violets when he woke up… he loved them. They made him feel really appreciated. They made him feel loved.

'Mr. Turner? Could you please answer me back?' his voice came to his hear stuffed with wadding, like he was pronounced by some angelic presence that had flown into the room. But when he glanced, there was only the old man looking at him puzzled, but still asking for an answer.

Timmy snorted. He had averseness of that man. He felt he could trust him for nothing. And the fact he was a father made Timmy only balkier towards him.

'This is pretty common at your age, Mr. Turner, refusing the help of a psychologist. But you have to admit to yourself that I'm the only one here who can help you properly. So, why don't we start again, this time like two civilized people?'

Timmy glanced at him with acrimony. If he hated him before, now he couldn't stand his sight, either. Who did he think he was to do to him such a proposal?

Timmy gazed to the window, but the envy he felt as he heard the loud shouts of the kids running outside made him only feel worse. It was a splendid day in spring in Dimmesdale, and he was in the insufferable studio of an insufferable psychologist.

His shiny eyes filled with anger pierced through the old man's soul ruthlessly. He snorted furiously before growling with rage.

'Mornin.'

The doctor smiled slightly, but there wasn't true caring in his kindness.

'Very well, Timmy. Oh, sorry, I didn't ask you. Is it ok if I call you Timmy?' he asked almost sarcastically, wounding Timmy with his impudence.

Timmy narrowed his eyes and hissed with wrath.

'My name is Timothy, you stupid doc. And if you dislike it, it's your own problem.'

The old man's smile fades away as he felt the sharp knives of his defensiveness. He coughed and scribbled something on his note-book. Timmy wondered what kind of judgment he had dared give him after only a few minutes that they had met. His ire made his blood boil.

His moan seemed so unnatural to his ears, like a low cry from the repining storm abridged of his freedom. He was quivering, quivering and panting, his body abandoned in another's one hands. He couldn't uphold his own head, weakened by the deep sultry kiss, until a new flavour flooded in his mouth. A sensual sweetish flavour like he had never tasted before.

He closed his eyes, twitching as he felt a slight pain running through his body. Timmy winced as he realized what was happening to him. He was trembling frightened, his nebulous azure eyes shivering like the sea during a storm. He covered his mouth with a hand, but felt it wet. As he moved his dirty limb away, he saw a liquid stain of crimson blood tracing deadly maps on his hand. He tried to scream, but his voice died in his throat. Tears came to his eyes as he shivered terrified, and his injured lip quivered on his faint face.

Timmy blinked twice, before realizing that he still was in the hated room with the unbearable old man. He shivered a bit remembering the way he had been treated. Like a dog. Like a slave. He licked the inside of his mouth. It was there. A little cut, but deep enough to make blood flood out and stain on his teeth. Timmy remembered the white pearl fangs piercing his flesh, those emerald eyes shining lewdly at each lightening, his hopeless shivering. He swallowed, then his thoughts roamed again through his deeper memories.

It had happened a long time before. A violent storm, more violent than the one of that night, was riding with his cold knights through the bleak city. Timmy remembered how scared he was, sobbing ceaselessly under the sheets. Neither his father, nor his mother had been able to do something to help him and had left him alone with his fear in the dark frosty night. His tears were burning his cheekbones, cutting his flesh like knives, when he felt a soft mainly voice calling him repeatedly.

Timmy went out from his shelter and looked blankly at the only one that had cared enough about him to try comforting him again. As a loud thunder broke out Timmy jumped between his arms and embraced him tightly.

'Don't leave! DON'T LEAVE, PLEASE!' he begged crying, pressing his forehead in his chest. He was still hugging him, when he realized who he was begging for safeness to.

'A- Anti-Cosmo… I-I didn't mean… Please, forgive me! I swear I won't bother you sleep anymore! Forgive me! Forgi-…'

A kiss.

Timmy's eyes widened as he felt his sweet silky tongue entering his mouth and sucking away his breath, moving slowly but expertly, shifting deeper at each mouthful. He didn't struggle. He didn't wish to. The anti-fairy tilted his head, as his hand reached the child's hand and dragged it behind his back.

Timmy looked at him speechless. Inside, he already knew his intentions, but he didn't want to admit it. But his low moans as he felt his aroused body sweating, Anti-Cosmo's crispy tongue licking his neck lasciviously, his free hand stroking his thighs delicately...

'Anti-Cosmo…' Timmy said with a wracked voice. He tried not to believe on what was happening. He didn't want to believe it, even now that his young body was outspread on the warm bed.

Anti-Cosmo was right on top of him, staring at him ravenously. His bang didn't let the dim light illuminate his face, but Timmy felt like he was smirking. Smirking maliciously in waiting for the right moment.

Timmy stiffened, bothered by his recurring mementos. That night, on his bed, he had begged every God to help him. But nobody had listened.

He didn't care about the doctor that was now talking to him. His words came to his ear as the sad complaint of a stray dog kicked to death in a gloomy street. He didn't know what he was suffering. He didn't know how much it hurt, to be alone in your bed when the sky is bleeding. He didn't know how much pain he had to bear. He didn't know anything.

'Anti-Cosmo… You're not gonna…' Timmy managed to say, but he couldn't finish the sentence. The knowledge of what was about to happen choked the words in his throat. He just wanted that not to be real. Everything had been so fine till that moment. Even the kisses. Even the slaps. But that… He didn't want to be… to be… the real thing couldn't be written in his mind. His firm conviction that it wasn't true, that it wasn't going to happen blanked it out. But the cold hungry smirk that had spread on Anti-Cosmo's dithery face when the scent of his fear confused his senses made his hopes shatter on the lambent floor of his mind.

Timmy twitched his mouth as he remembered. His own screams were now echoing in his head. He trembled hunching down on the black leather couch, but he stood up as he felt its coldness. He looked into the man's blank eyes, begging for help. Outside the sun was smiling happily, but in his mind there was no more room, but for terror.

'Anti-Cosmo! You can't! I don't want it! I don't! I DON'T!' Timmy shouted while delicate waves of electricity passed through his slightly-excited body.

He remembered his wide smirk as he chuckled mercilessly. 'Don't tell me these stupid lies, my beloved Timothy. You know you covet for it. The appetency is burning your soul like a campfire consumes the humid wood in a cold summer night. The scent of your afeard lustful body arouses me. You want me, Timothy. You need me.' He spoke with soft fierceness, before ripping Timmy's shirt with his sharp claws.

He stared amazed in Timmy's smutty pools, before tasting the salty flavour of the sweat on his chest. Timmy winced and cried out, praying him to stop. He didn't want that to happen. He knew that after that everything would change.

'Anti-Cosmo! STOP! My parents…' Timmy screamed hopelessly.

'Your parents will have to deal with it, my Love.'

Timmy crossed his arms on his chest. He felt like an animal in prison under the amused look of his unconscious audience. He sat on the couch and suddenly stood up, then he sat again before raising up and walking through the room, looking with begging eyes the silent pictures hanging on the walls.

The cold touch of his hands sliding on his skin. The breathing growing louder each second more. The sweat dripping down his forehead. And his screams. His hot shameful grievous screams. He could heard them echoing in his head, breaking him down ruthless.

Worn out, he leaned on the wall, remembering the image of the pleased look in his green eyes as he went on ceaselessly and his smirk, his malicious lustful smirk, opening wider as Timmy himself begged for more.

Timmy looked at his bloody hands and bursted out in tears. The man startled and walked towards him. He knelt down and called him once. Twice. Three times. Timmy never answered.

As the old man walked to the desk to get a hanky, Timmy looked up and shouted at him in desperate wrath.

'How you dared say you could help me! You can't help me! YOU CAN'T! you can't…' Timmy sat on the floor, sobbing loudly with his face in his guilty hands.

Those hands hadn't struggle when he was taking his pants off. Those hands had pulled him closer, praying him to get deeper. Those hands had roamed on his back, scratching it lewdly. Those hands had caressed his face lovingly, dragging him nearer to his desirous mouth.

That night was only the first. Anti-Cosmo used to come around each week more often, even when the sky was serene and the night quiet. He did so as it was a natural behaviour. A natural instinct.

He noticed Timmy was becoming more reserved each day passing. He knew that he was ashamed of himself, of his requests under the sheets. But he simply let it be. He didn't care about Timmy feeling the need to throw up every time he looked at himself in the mirror. Or about the nightmares he had every night that made him cry in his sleep and woke up in a wet bed. Or about his incapacity of falling asleep till late at night. Or about his attempt to commit suicide.

Timmy remembered now very well what had happened that stormy night. Anti-Cosmo's bit scared him so much. He thought that he was getting bored of raping him and now he wanted to pain him to death. Just for fun, as he used to say.

He remembered his grin as he wrapped an arm around his waist and dragged him closer to his chest, holding him tight as he opened the door behind him.

'Enjoy your meal!' he said sarcastically as he let him get away.

Timmy dashed out the room and ran downstairs, covering his mouth ashamed trying not to weep. The sweetish flavour of his own blood disgusted him to the point that he couldn't eat anything at all.

He answered his mother's worried questions with many efforts. He felt stabbed in the back at each word he spoke, not really knowing what to say. Suddenly, he stood up from the table and ran to the bathroom. He wanted to cry. He wanted to wash that smell away. And he wanted someone nearby to comfort him, but he was alone.

Timmy refused the handy the man tendered him and looked at him with hatred. He had been cuddled and spoiled when he was a child, Timmy bet to himself. and his parents had been always near him, to support him when he felt empty. And he had been growing up receiving everything he wanted. And no-one had ever left him alone.

Alone in the bathroom, Timmy sighed and wept endlessly with his back leaned to the bath-tube. When he felt the shame had gone away he found the courage to take off his clothes. He stood up with his head bowed. He didn't want to look in the mirror. He knew that his body was becoming weak and skinny, that his eyes were red and lucid, that the eyeholes were consuming his boyish face.

He sobbed caressing his naked body. He felt numb and dirty. Ashamed of his own self. He wiped the tears away with his arm, but as he saw the black of the make-up staining on his skin, the memory of what he had been through screamed in his mind. He ran to the toilet crying and threw up his pain.

Timmy felt himself panting and swallowed to gain some air, then he walked into the bath-tube. The hot water stroked his body gently and sensually like a lover, kissing his hair, his skin, his soul. He closed his eyes and let the water wash away his desperation.

He breathed normally, calmed a bit, but when he opened his eyes, he saw that the room hadn't changed. It was in the same haunted house with the wall covered in blood that had left minutes before. For the first time in his life, he truly wanted to die.

Timmy grabbed his dad's razor and took out the blade from it. An odd shiver ran along his spine as the metal shone in the dim light of the room, slightly covered with little drops of water. Timmy swallowed once. He knew that the death would be slow and painful, but he didn't care much. He preferred a slow and painful suicide to a desperate and disgusting life.

He knelt down on the ceramic floor and stretched his arm out. He placed the blade just in the middle of his wrist. A long and deep cut. Only one, deep enough to let him die. He closed his eyes not wanting to see, when he felt his arm grasped and he himself raised up.

There were tears in his eyes. There were tears falling from his green emerald beautiful eyes. Anti-Cosmo clenched Timmy's wrist more tightly to make him drop the deadly blade.

'Anti-Cosmo…' Timmy said both in surprise and fear as the anti-fairy slapped him.

'WHAT WERE YOU TRYING TO DO, YOU JERK? ANSWER! WHAT WERE YOU TRYING TO DO?' Anti-Cosmo shouted madly at him, scaring him more. Timmy looked at him with trembling eyes, before the pressure made him burst in tears and sobs.

Anti-Cosmo breathed heavily with rage, trying holding his fury inside. He knelt down to look at him straight in his eyes, then sighed.

'I'm sorry.'

Timmy rose his head a bit, swallowing as his breath got calmer. He saw Anti-Cosmo's head bowed, then his wet worried face raising up. A slight smile appeared on his face as he tendered his hand to Timmy.

Timmy got quieter now, even if he was still there in that hateful place, with the doctor trying to comfort him. Did he think that he was even to thank? Timmy stood up and wiped away his tears with his black shirt like a kitty.

He looked into the puzzled eyes of the man in front of him. His boyish face was smiling contently now that all his problems had gotten away, when a sharp sword pierced through the man's old body from behind.

Timmy took his hand and came closer to his saviour. Anti-Cosmo wiped their tears away with his sleeve, letting him rest under his vest with his arms wrapped around his waist and his head leaned near to his heart.

'Forgive me, Timothy.' he whispered softly in his ear as he held him closer.

The dark crimson blood dripped from the lucent blade down, shattering in little drops on the light-brown floor. But Timmy kept on smiling happily.

'Tragedy unfolds this night, so sever my skin apart, take this sadness and close your eyes.' Timmy murmured on raising his head to kiss him tenderly.

The old doctor looked at him hopefully begging for an impossible help. But he only saw a 10-year old sky-eyed smoke-haired boy laughing maniacally as he knelt down. His blurry sight lost every colour as life flew away from his long-lived body.

Yes. Now Timmy remembered rightly. The terrified look on his mother's eyes as she saw her naked son staring at the razor blade, her crying in the next room while his godparent was cuddling him tenderly, dandling him till he fell asleep, the journey to the insane asylum, their laughing evilly planning how to get rid of all those dumb doctors.

Timmy gazed at his paramour biting his lip, but still smiling. He loved his human form's midnight-coloured hair and the shining viridity of his catty eyes. They glistened with many golden reflexes on his angelic porcelain face.

Anti-Cosmo smiled back extracting the lucent bloodstained sword from the cold corpse and throwing it away, cleaning the whole sanguineous mess with a swirl of his black wand. Timmy walked towards him, trampling the dead body, and hugged him tight.

It didn't matter if he was always about to die, or if his godparent was an insane bastard, or if his parents didn't care a damn about him. After that night, everything had changed.

'I love you, crazy psycho.'

Guys, feeling suicidal is the worst shit ever. And if you feel like this, call someone. No-one ever listens to you unless you shout your needs straight in his face. And unfortunately, most of us haven't got a nice anti-fairy who keeps us safe. But we've got friends. And when they're not around, well... There must be someone who would like to give you an hand with your problems. I would.