#and the one thing he could depend on his family is beyond his reach now. he ends the series alone and that is so fucking sad

[cinematicnomad]

i saw some post about the succession finale saying that roman won and knows it, kendall won but doesn’t know it, and shiv lost and knows it and i would just like to reject that completely and say that the ending 110% makes clear that all these fuckers lost and they are all INSANELY aware of this fact. 

[roanofarcc]

STARGAZING

pairing. sasappis x ghost!reader

summary. requested. stargazing with sasappis. pure fluff!

word count. 1k || masterlist

warnings. dead!reader, g/n reader, no use of y/n.

No matter how much time passed you by in death, there were still things about the world that fascinated you. One of those things was the stars. Whenever the sky was clear, you’d be found in the backyard of Woodstone, lying in the grass and gazing at the stars as if you were witnessing them for the very first time. Sometimes one or two of the ghosts who haunted the mansion would join you, but more often than not, the only person who seemed to enjoy the stars almost as much as you was Sasappis. You both enjoyed one another's company and relished in the calmness of a twinkling night. 

You and Sasappis had been alive during vastly different time periods, but the stars reminded you both of home and family; they connected you across decades and lifetimes. 

“Did you know people can get stars named after them now?” you said, breaking the long stretch of comfortable silence.

You felt his eyes on the side of your face, causing you to turn your head to gaze back at him. The soft light of the moon cast a pretty glow across his face, with brows furrowed in question. “No way,” he replied. 

“Really! You get a certificate and everything.” It was Jay who you learned that from; he had a whole conversation about space and the universe with one of the people they hired to fix up the mansion for their B&B. “Imagine,” you continued, a dreaminess floating in your voice. “Looking up every night and knowing somewhere in the sky is a little star with your name.”

“First there’s other galaxies beyond ours and now this?” Sass said in mild disbelief. “What’s next? Are they going to colonize the moon?” 

A laugh bubbled up your throat and he smiled. “Mars is next on the list, I believe.” 

He blew some air from his cheeks. “And here I thought the idea of a man on the moon was outrageous.” 

You turned your body so that you were lying on your side, propping your head up on your hand as your elbow dug into the grass. You could see him better, lying with his hands down at his sides as he plucked at the grass absentmindedly. “If you had a star, which one would you want?” you asked. 

He returned his gaze to the sky, studying the nearby stars with a level of seriousness that made your lips quirk up in a soft smile. Sass didn’t take too many things seriously; how could he after being a ghost for as long as he had? But around you, especially when you were alone in the backyard, Sass hung onto every word you said as if his death depended on it. 

After a long moment, he pointed upwards at the sky and said, “That one, right there.” You strained your eyes, following his finger in the general direction he was pointing. “Not the super bright one, but the one right next to it.” You saw it, two stars situation beside each other. One glowered brighter than the other, but both were dazzling against the black sky. 

“Why not the brighter one?” you asked. 

Sass looked at you again, soft smile and eyes wide with a certain glimmer of adoration that made your stomach flutter. He reminded you of a star. He was something you planned to admire for as long as your ghostly form remained at Woodstone. 

“Because the bright one’s yours,” he said. You felt your face warm at his words and you forced your gaze away from him and back up at the stars. The two stars sat prettily beside one another, just as the two of you sat side by side on the grass. The light that emitted from your star stretched outwards just slightly, looking like it was reaching out for the star beside it. 

You became brave and copied your star’s action, slowly sliding your head that rested at your side toward Sasappis’s hand. Your pinky brushed against his as a hesitant invitation, and without either one of you taking your eyes off of the sky, you interlocked your fingers. With his hand in yours, you felt as if you were holding onto a star. Bright and beautiful and just yours. 

It didn’t matter how old the stars in the sky were, they still ended up right beside each other just as you and Sass ended up ghosts at Woodstone together. Maybe it was fate, written in the stars as some people would suggest, that the two of you had died on the same property decades apart and found yourselves stuck in purgatory together. Death had brought you together despite the impossibility of you two ever meeting while you were alive. 

When you were alive, death had been seen as a curse, but it wasn’t all that bad. An eternity spent with Sasappis, watching the stars and basking in the glow of one another sounded like the opposite of some kind of punishment. And maybe after you completed your purgatory, if it ever ended, you two would end up burning as stars in the sky side by side. That’d be nice, you thought.

“Look,” you said, pointing to the cluster of stars just below yours. “There’s one for everyone too. Sam and Jay. Trevor, Isaac, Flower, and that one’s obviously Thor.” You pointed to the largest star in the cluster. “And then Hetty, Alberta, and Pete.” That sounded nice too, spending forever in the sky with everyone still close. 

“Cute,” Sass replied as a light laugh punctuated his word. “The whole family.” He paused, shaking his head. “Do not tell any of them I called us a family.” 

“Never.” You smiled. “Can’t have them know you’re a big softie.” 

Sass scoffed, playfully. “Am not.” 

You rolled your eyes. “You just told me I was a bright star in the sky.” 

He lifted your interlocked hands, letting them bathe in the direct moonlight. “Okay, maybe I’ve gone a little soft, but it’s your fault.” You let your hand fall onto his chest above where his heart used to beat and scooted impossibly close to him, hovering just slightly above his lying figure. 

“Sorry,” you said, insincerely. He mirrored your smile before he lifted his head and met you halfway, capturing your lips in a short but sweet kiss, spotlighted by your stars that burned as brightly. 

[heartfullofleeches]

Happy Birthday, C.C!

(And a happy belated Valentine's day. One holiday is a bit more important to me than the other. Gotta celebrate my favorite incubus's day or he may cut me. Reader is brief mentioned to be wearing lingerie, but there really isn't anything that suggestive in this fic- Enjoy!)

-

When asked what he wanted for his birthday, C.C gave the same answer nearly every year.

"Why would I want anything when I already have everything I need?.... A new pair of shoes would be nice, but I'm really not that picky about what I get."

A successful career, the funds to purchase whatever trivial possession he desired. If he hadn't found fame and fortune early on in his life on earth, C.C would have been more than happy to mooch off of the desperate, lonely humans who'd do give him just about anything for a crumble of his attention. A short while ago, the only presents that mattered were what he received from the select few in his family he deemed worth the title, but something that has changed recently - another person entering his life who he puts on the same pedestal as the blood he holds dear if not higher.

If there was one thing C.C didn't want for his birthday - it was waking up in an empty bed all by himself.

Reaching an arm over your side of the bed, the drowsy demon is rudely dragged from his sleep as he finds no one there next to him. It's funny to think that a year prior he would have had no problem with this. Now, his heart sinks every time there's no one at his side. You're cruel for making him so dependent on you like this - and not being beside him on his big day.

C.C grumbles something under his breath - stumbling out of bed, making a grab for his phone on the nightstand as he exits the room. The second he turns it on, he's bombarded with hundreds of birthday wishes from friends and fans across several social media accounts. C.C swipes them all away, only bother to read any of the notifications in case he misses a message from you saying you're out. Why you'd leave without him is beyond him, but it was the best his groggy mind could come up with. Turning the corner that leads to the living room, a sea of curses sound from the kitchen muffled by running water.

"Shit, shit, shit- Fuck, why won't it come off?!"

C.C would recognize that voice anywhere. He scurries into the kitchen - biting back a laugh at your unfortunate state of appearance. There you stood over the sink, frantically scrubbing at your palms with a sponge. It was all over your hands, the robe you wore, even your face - pink stains that stubbornly refused to come out no matter how hard you tried. On the counter behind you was a bowl filled with a pinkish mixture - a bottle of red food dye still mixing its top and covered in red fingerprints seating beside it. C.C creeps over while you're distracted and sticks his fingers in the batter.

It's pancake mix.

"Mmm... I think all that dye is supposed to be in the bowl, babe."

Startled by the voice behind you, the sponge hits the bottom of the sink with a wet splat as you look behind you - hands quick at fixing your robes over scantily dressed body. "C.C? You're awake?! You're usually not up til noon - I thought I had more time.... Happy Birthday!"

The more attempt to hide it, the more C.C notices parts of your skimpy attire beneath the robe he had got you on your own special day. C.C loved to see you in his favorite color, but the bright pink fabric lessened the nearly see through aspect of your underwear and top in this lighting. The stockings you wore made up for it well enough - another accessories he loved to see on you that he made sure to voice many times before.

C.C gathers some of the paper towels on the counter. "Well I see you were at least trying to make breakfast - or get readying for Halloween a few months in advance. Sexy vampire is always a nice look."

"The seal just wouldn't come off and when it finally did it spilled all over me... I'm sorry for messing breakfast."

"Hush." C.C pulls you in close, wetness bleeding through his shirt as he embraces you, but he doesn't seem to mind. "We still have everything we need. I'll help you finish up and then we can take a shower together and spend the day in bed. You didn't put that outfit on just for show, did you?~"

"No, it was actually meant to be your Valentine's gift but.... I still haven't gotten your birthday present yet. I was going to take you to the mall and let you decide since there's so many things you like..."

C.C holds you tighter - grinning from ear to ear as he looks over your shoulder at all you've done for him. 'Don't worry.... I have everything I want right here."

[stone-stars]

i am simply having a lot of feelings about beverly choosing to be a hero because moonshine answered when he reached out and was in need

Transcript:

[Unknown Tome plays in the background.] Bev Sr.: [yelling] I'll tell ya what to do, Bev. Ya turn around, and ya face Thiala. The one who took our home from us. Pick a side, Beverly. Beverly: [softly] … Yes sir. Murph: Um, he holds his hand out to you. Caldwell: I start walking. Uh, and as I'm walking I-- I try to reach out to the spores. I try to reach out to the amulet. I just try to reach out to anything that isn't this. That isn't this duty. That I've always felt deep down. Murph: Moonshine, you feel Beverly in this moment. [Moonshine gasps] Just-- it's faint, it's far away. Beverly: [voice breaking] I don't want to go. I don't wanna go, but I have to. It's my duty. I have to do this! Moonshine: Okay, youngin, I want you to know, I will love you whatever you choose to do. But, here's my two cents. [Unknown Tome fades out.] Moonshine: A child has a duty to his father. [The Blows of a Friend, And Not a Foe plays] Bev Sr: Thanks, Bev. I always-- I knew I could make the deal ‘cause I-- I knew you’d stop me. Moonshine: But a hero has a duty to the world. [Fabric of Fate plays] Melora: Beverly? Beverly: Yes? Melora: I wish you could grow up in a normal world, but the Gods have not blessed you with a normal life. You are afflicted with duty, things thrust upon you far beyond your years. The world should have protected you, but you have been asked to protect it. What an honor, what an injustice. Moonshine: Now, I’ve got my opinion of which you are. [The Writing on the Wall plays] Murph: And you begin to make out what they’re saying. They’re all saying different versions of the same thing. You hear old people, young people, children: Different voices, in prayer: Please, please let my family be safe. I don’t want to die. Give them strength. God bless our Titans in our hour of need. Protect us, Titans! Murph: You realize that these are prayers about you, or to you, by people around Bahumia. You see that the glowing script on the walls begins to make sense to you. The writing is constantly changing to match the words of these prayers depending on what language they’re speaking. And all signs point to this being the way to the Court of Gods. It would make sense that Gods would hear the pleas of their people as they went in to decide their fate. And here you, having a piece of this divine heart, are able to hear the people around Bahumia and their faith in you. [The Bahumia Theme replaces The Writing on the Wall] Moonshine: But it’s time for you to decide. Beverly: [tearful] Where would I be without the wisdom of the crick. [Moonshine gasps. They both laugh softly.] Moonshine: [also tearful] Where would I be without Pelor's light? Beverly: Deeper in hell than we already are, that's for sure. Moonshine: That's for sure. Caldwell: I nod to myself. I stop walking. [The Writing on the Wall returns] Caldwell: Can we write back? Murph: What do you write on the wall? Beverly: We are here. We are here for you. Murph: You feel an overwhelming sense of relief. What you have just done is essentially somebody praying to god, and god coming back and being like "I’m- I’m here." You hear the whispers come back in your head: Different voices: Oh, thank the gods. Thank you, Titans. Thank you! Protect us. We have faith in you!

[15-lizards]

Ok so i know you did wedding fashions for most of the regions of westeros already but what about the other ones like the north and the vale or the islands. Also the crownlands could be interesting because its a mishmash of westerlands/stormlands/reach/targs and also just plain opulence because royal weddings!!! (Lowkey asking about all these as reference for the multiple ocs rotating in my head at all times. Im a SUCKER for wedding scenes)

Let the wedding bells ring

Northern brides in Kokoshniks are very serious business to me. I like to think they’re leftovers of a pre-heraldic time, when the north was more tribal and clan focused. Certain shapes of the headdress and the size signal what your status is, and the types of jewels inlaid in them and embroidery done is indicative of what part of the north a woman hails from. This heralding of what family you came from carried over into the modern era, becoming more elaborate and taking on different shapes as noble houses began to appear and shaped their own identities separate from that of their original clan. Loose, heavy, long sleeved gowns are traditional bridal wear as well, from a time where a woman might be married in winter, and it became an old wives tale that a northern woman who marries without the traditional garments will freeze to death before the wedding.

Marriage is when a girl becomes a woman, so in my mind in the Vale, a brides wedding day is when she starts to cover her hair. Bc covering your hair from the winds of the Vale is for noble wives who have duties to attend to and no time to fuss over trivial things. Letting your hair down and be tangled and caught is for silly little girls who don’t have any responsibilities. Essentially a rite of passage. I also think that a leftover from when the Vale was only made up of mountain clans is the gifting of a fur to the bride that the groom hunted himself. It used to mean that the man could provide for his new wife but now it’s an old tradition where a man may or may not hunt the animal himself. And it’s another tradition for the woman to use the fur in her bridal gown and for a swaddle for her future children

Marriage for an iron islander woman is particularly important because it’s one of the few instances where she can wear bright colors and pretty things without being ridiculed. She’ll wear her house colors instead of her husbands bc her fathers pride comes first ofc. A bride and her female relatives will probably make their jewelry for the wedding, protecting the bride with prayers to the drowned god carved into beads and bracelets. And any metal she might wear comes from her fathers stash, anything he paid the iron price for and wants to show off on his daughter. It’s part of her dowry too, so for a man to give away a particularly flashy piece of loot is considered very rich behavior

And ofc Kings Landing is a conglomerate of basically everything. Obviously westerlands style is currently the most popular and influential, but there are still fashions from all over the seven kingdoms and beyond being incorporated into weddings. What a woman wears all depends on her age, her homeland, whether or not she adheres to traditions, how modest she is, how rich she is, etc etc etc you get the gist. But rest assured it’s usually going to be over the top

[honoviadakai]

How team Urameshi takes care of a sick person! 🤒

(I’ve been pulling my brains out all day and running a high fever. Instead of you know…seeking medical help outside of a corner store pharmacy…imma let my creative juices flow!)

Cw: mentions of vomiting, flu symptoms, lack of common sense(it’ll make sense when you reach it)

Yusuke:

First off

Why was this the first guy you went to for medical care???

Like he’s not the worst but…

There are better options!

Also, depending on who you are, he might make it worse by accident

Ok so if your a friend, like one of the guys or just someone he’s chill with, just go find an actual doctor

He’s gonna do the bare minimum

But not entirely because he’s lazy

It’s mostly cuz…how the fuck is he supposed to help Jin’s fever when there’s a mini hurricane happening in the room???

Like he can barely take care of a human

How’s he supposed to take care of his demon friends when they’re all different species!?

The best thing he’s gonna do is refer them to Genkai or Kurama

That being said, he does makes an amazing chicken noodle soup!

Everyone gets one big bowl of the stuff when he finds out someone’s sick

Seriously that shit should be labeled as a miracle cure or something

Now if you’re family/a s/o there is a drastic difference

He’s gonna be attentive

But he’s still not gonna know what to do beyond getting antibiotics and soup

So he’s gonna get Kurama, Genkai AND a doctor at the same time

He has faith his friends won’t die from a cold

His family and lover though???

Yeeeeah

He’s gonna internally panic and do what he can to help you recover

It’s a funny dichotomy tbh xD

Kuwabara:

It does not matter who you are to him

You could be a friend, a lover, a family member, a classmate, a coworker, a complete fucking stranger even! Mans ain’t leaving you hanging. Period.

He’s getting all the medicine he can from the pharmacy

He’s making you nice warm soup

If you need to go to the doctor, he’s making the appointment, taking you to the appointment and even attending the appointment with you!

The ONLY difference in who gets what from him is his lover & occasionally his sister get sleepy sick cuddles

His lover is also getting forehead kisses if they ask for it

Yeah, there’s a possibility that he’s gonna get sick later

But he doesn’t care!

You need his help! Repercussions be damned! 😤

Kurama:

This has the funniest dichotomy between friends and lovers 😂

If you’re a friend, he gonna do one of two things

If its just a mild cold, he’ll prescribe some herbal tea he made

You’ll be 100% by tomorrow 👍

If it’s bad like a high fever, he’ll come to your house and be the best doctor you’ve ever had

Like he’s literally a home doctor without the paycheck

Pure professionalism

He comes in, assesses the issues and quickly does everything he can to cure the illness as fast as possible

You’ll be 100% by tomorrow 👍

Now let’s say your family or a lover

He’s at your beck and call 📞 🔔

You want tea? It’s already steeping

You want back rubs? He’s got a rose scented lotion to help ease your aching muscles

You want sleepy cuddles while the meds kick in? Scoot over, he’s cuddling you for the rest of the evening!

He’s low key spoiling you

To be fair…you feel icky, you deserve it!

So just let it happen

You’ll be 100% by tomorrow 👍

…but juuuuust in case…stay in bed till you’re 1000% better 😌

Hiei:

…

Was no one else available???

Is the doctor’s office closed or something???

What chain of events led you to go to Hiei of all people for medical help???????

Like even if you’re his lover…why did you come to him for help on curing the flu????

He doesn’t know what that is!!

Like…if I had to summarize what he’s like when you’re sick….

It’s this

This is the closest to “helpful” he’s gonna be

Especially if you’re his friend/ally

He’s just…not gonna do much…

He’ll maybe go grab Kurama…maybe…

He might just honestly tell him in passing you’re sick and that’s it…

If you’re family or a lover, he’s at least more nice to you

Like he’s actually gonna check up on you

He doesn’t know the first thing about tending to the ill so he’s definitely gonna grab Kurama and basically demand he heals you

He’s not gonna let you out of his sight till he knows you’re 1000% better

He might not be in the same room as you the whole time though

Honestly he might be watching you from a tree a good 5 miles from your house…but he’s still making sure you’re ok

He honestly feels useless so him essentially protecting you is his way of feeling like he’s actually being helpful

Not sure what he’s protecting you from exactly when the virus is already in your body but just let him have it, it’s how he shows he cares

[sarcasticsweetlara]

hiii, i have seen lot of ideas where the dance never happens like rhaenyra having a succesful reign, happy marriage life for jace-baela/ luke-rhaena. i think it would be funny if viserys run away to lys in a saera style for the drama, well my point is i like your au's so i wanted to know if you have headcanons for team black where the dance of the dragons never happened

There are many scenarios I could think of, actually...

And it depends how you want to see it because there are things that if erased creates more advantages and new situations, but could still stop the war.

1. Alicent accepts Rhaenyra's proposal of betrothing Jace and Helaena.

And Baela is betrothed to a Velaryon cousin (not a son of Vaemond due his infamy of wanting to take Driftmark from Corlys and his line), like a grandson of Malentine Velaryon (Maelor Velaryon; it's most likely Maelor is a Velaryon name; the son of Maerax Velaryon son of Malentine Velaryon) to support the claim of Lucerys and back him

<<Read more below>>

With Helaena becoming Queen consort she gives legitimacy to Jace's reign as well as Alicent getting her daughter as Queen consort, and with Baela being a backbone with the Velaryons then Luke will receive support as the Lord of Driftmark with Rhaena as Lucerys' wife as well; Jace's children could marry Baela's children and Joffrey as well marries one of the daughters of Baela to further legitimize his line.

Baela would be a lady-in-waiting for Helaena, and together they would arrange the betrothal of their children.

2. Jace marries Baela (now Daemon sees his daughter as Queen), Lucerys still marries Rhaena, and the children of Luke and Rhaena marry the children of Joff.

Now, in all of the scenarios present Aegon III would marry Daenaera as an alliance (they would always marry each other), and Viserys II would marry his niece Daena <<Daena deserved to become The Queen and be the mother of Daeron II and Daenerys, and of the whole dynasty>> to unite their bloodlines; and if baby Visenya survives, then Viserys would marry her (the original plan of Martin), and their son would marry their niece Daena to once again unite the bloodline with Daena being Queen and having her uncle and aunt as Hand and counselors.

3. Other possible scenario but this time after Rhaenyra: Aegon the Younger calls for a High Council once Rhaenyra dies peacefully, and he is chosen as king as the oldest legitimate son of Rhaenyra (Jace would no longer have the protection of Rhaenyra), Baela gets to Maelor Velaryon, and she becomes the Lady of Driftmark as a consort (we know Corlys would never choose her, but he could choose a great-great-nephew he liked), while Rhaena marries Corwyn Corbray, and Viserys would still marry either Visenya or Daena; but even then Aegon III would have mercy and spare the lives of Jace, Luke and Joffrey, and they would be married off to minor ladies.

Honestly, in the second and third scenarios I have to admit I think Aegon would eventually reach for the Throne because legitimately it is his.

...

Anyways, Rhaena's children would marry Baela's children, and Rhaena and Baela would be councilors to both Aegon III and Viserys II Targaryen.

I think it would be nice to see Daena or Visenya matching Viserys' fire and having a partner who is an equal and loves and supports him since he would be spared being a hostage of three different Lyseni families that threatened him and also would spare Westeros of the Rogare family, Aegon the Unworthy and the Blackfyre Rebellions.

Either way any of these relationships would mirror that of Baelon and Alyssa or Daemon and Rhaenyra.

But beyond that, Baela would be happy to become Lady of Driftmark, this time in a happy marriage, and would have a husband devoted to her; she would name her first daughter in honor of her mother and first son in honor of her grandfather Corlys; and Laena would be the grandmother of Aelinor Penrose through a daughter of hers (HC: Coryssa Velaryon) who married into House Penrose.

Rhaena would be free of the pressure of providing an heir quickly and therefore her first baby would be born, and would be able to use her dragon to quell the protestors against Joffrey Arryn (the heir of Jeyne Arryn) and Corwyn would live.

Baela would always introduce Daenaera to Aegon III, and Rhaena would take Viserys II on travels to Dragonstone and the whole realm.

Once Viserys II comes back, (if Visenya is not alive) Daena would meet him and they would fall in love and marry.

Baela's favorite niece would be Daena, followed by the daughters of her sister Rhaena, whereas Rhaena's favorite niece would be her little namesake.

Without the trauma of Larra Rogare and the need to overcompensate due to their involvement, Viserys II would see the practicality in sending Baelor to a Sept and therefore there would be no Maidenvault, and no threat of a religious war with the Stepstones, the Iron Isles and the North, as well as no disbalance of taxes going to the High Septons.

Rhaenyra and Daemon would be able to meet their grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and if Rhaenyra's daughter survives, Rhaenyra would have loved spoiling her little princess.

If Baela and Rhaena's full younger brother survives as well, this little boy called Aemon in honor of his great-grandfather, would be completely loyal to his half-brothers Aegon the Younger and Viserys, he would have a keep of his own in the Crownlands given by Rhaenyra so he doesn't compete against the Strong boys

But even then, Aemon would support his legitimate younger brother's birthright.

If Aemon lives, he would marry Maris Baratheon and that's one more ally for the Blacks.

Aemon would claim Grey Ghost itself or steal one of its eggs, he's the son of Daemon and Laena after all, and want to fight but he would be beat to it by Baela.

Aemon would be a male mini-Laena being as adventurous, smooth and demure as his mother, and his sisters would tell him stories about their mother.

Viserys would claim Vermithor and if Visenya lives, then she can claim Silverwing, and Daena and Rhaena could get one of the other dragon eggs of their aunt Rhaena, Elaena's egg could also hatch as well.

Baela would get a new dragon from one of the eggs of Morning as well.

Daemon would teach all of his sons how to fight and encourage them to embrace chaos.

Baela and Rhaena would spoil their little sister Visenya, and as Baela is a tomboy and Rhaena a girl's girl, I like to think Visenya would be kind of an introvert with a stylish witch vibe.

Viserys II would bring his mother many treasures he found on his travels.

And without the trauma of seeing Rhaenyra die, Aegon would proudly wear the crown of Rhaenyra and Daena would wear it as well.

And Visenya would get special tiaras for herself and Viserys as the second and third in command of Aegon III and later Daena.

And I guess these are my headcanons.

[puppyguppy]

You cough and wave dust away from your face, eyes watering as you fish for the folded up letter you’d previously shoved into your back pocket. The man that’d picked you up from the bus stop was kind, but you couldn’t tell which was older; him, or the spluttering truck he drove. It made for difficult, hardly held conversation. Not because you’re shy or weren’t curious, but because the truck had been loud, and the man a bit hard of hearing. He’d had a warm smile as he waved goodbye to you though, tinged with a little red. However, before you could ask, or even so much as thank the guy, his truck was off down the road, kicking up dirt.

His barely held together tailgate read, in bold but faded white letters, “Plus Ultra!” When you can see and breathe clearly again, you unfold the paper in your hands and double check the address you’d been given. You’d been to the property before, of course, but a long, long time ago. Honestly, it felt like a lifetime ago – your childhood. Even then, you can’t really remember the place beyond a couple of random, core memories. Like falling asleep on both the way there and the way back, safe and comfortable, lulled unconscious by the quiet conversation of your parents and the rhythmic rocking of the car. You could’ve made more memories there – here. You’d been invited well into your teen years, for holidays and summer breaks and special occasions. And it’s not that you didn’t love your aunt, the one who used to live here; her and her ‘best friend’ though everyone in the family knew better. You still love her, love them. Hard not to with just how crazy they could be – like the two of them buying a farm out in the middle of nowhere, and thinking they could keep up with it. They’d done surprisingly well, up until randomly deciding to travel the world before permanently settling down. You’re pretty sure they eloped. You’re like, ninety-nine percent positive that they’re currently on their honeymoon. Just best friend things. You probably could’ve been closer to them, if you’d just given them the chance. But, you were young. You had classes and friends and hobbies at the time that you’d just considered too cool to pass up. Now all gone, for one reason or another, which is why you’re even here. Why you’d reached out to your aunt in the first place. It was the perfect opportunity. They’d more or less left the property abandoned, and you were in desperate need of an escape. A reset. That all depends on that more or less, though. Apparently, your aunt had hired a farmhand at some point. And, said farmhand still lived there. Here. Not in the house or anything, but in his own little trailer, supposedly. Parked somewhere rather permanently on the property. In the letter, your aunt had described him as ‘a bit standoffish’ but with ‘a heart of gold’. Then followed that up by saying that if you didn’t like him, well. ‘Tough shit. Leave.’ Whether you liked him or not didn’t really matter. You didn’t come here to make friends. You didn’t come here to get to know anyone else other than yourself. So, you figure, as long as he stays out of your way, you’ll do your best to stay out of his. Which… Ends up being almost eerily easy.

[reality-liver-n0]

This is going to be my worst post to date (in my opinion)

But after the anguish and turmoil that has hit Balalaika fans after her appearence in the latest chapter like her lack of muscle/strength that we know she unleashed on Rock, the fading of her scars, and other things I decided to investigate myself to see how much she changed.

The majority of these pictures are from the anime. Sad, I know, and hopefully once I find the direct panel from the manga that mirrors it I will edit or add more to this post.

I will start this by saying that Anime Balalaika is an absolute fucking unit. Like reviewing the pictures I realized that she's built like a very beautiful Russian tank and that is really the best description here.

Do you see what I mean? It's most likely the coat but still, it has to touch her shoulders to even drape.

Although, it depends on the scene as she can be like this too

Her shoulders are less defined and aren't quite as cut as the top ones but her muscle is there at least.

Above is the Virgin Rock as physical comparision

She's obviously fucking built way beyond his physique and she knows it. She corners him in or crosses her arms while his remain at his side as he tries to be unaffected. And honestly, kudos to him. He stood pretty strong in this scene and I think he knew he had to do that to even try and talk on her level.

I mean we've seen what happens when he doesn't. Disclaimers ahead, Rock is in for a rough ride. I on the other hand, laughed my ass off when I took these screenshots.

Also, here is what I personally think went through Balalaika's head in each scene and the progression of it.

% Anger Level - Annoyance

Jesus Christ, he's on this bullshit again. Sounds like one of those family dogs I keep having to put down.

% Anger Level - Frustrated

Maybe if I make it clear I'm pissed right now he'll have some sense left in him. If he says one more word I am going to make him the hood ornament for the car.

% Anger Level - Hostility

Just looking at this cigarerette is giving me an idea. I could just throw him like I could with this. Sooner or later he'll be stepped on; fire dying out.

% Anger Level - Rage

I'm certain his face will never change in his casket

With one strike I could gouge his eyes out. Maybe then he'll see justice.

You've sealed your fate Rock. Now you'll suffer the death of a true hero.

(Woohoo! 🎉You passed the slideshow and now I'll do my commetary. Here's a Boris photo as a reward.)

This is the face he wanted to make right when Rock started talking.

Anyway, I must have forgotten just how Balalaika threw Rock since I took those screenshots. I knew that she did it but somehow forgot that she did it with one arm. Or at least how much power she put into flinging him like a ragdoll. LIke she fucking lifted him in the air with one hand and with a single move had him on the hood in split seconds.

Here's a funny picture I caught mid-shot as well

His feet aren't touching the ground. He's fully straight as if he didn't have have a second to take it in, meanwhile his hands are just open and it's like he forgot he was even alive. No doubt, he had a vision that when Balalaika even reached for him that she just punted him to the afterlife.

Meanwhile, I cannot imagine the raw terror Revy must have felt seeing this happen.

She is scared as hell here. Keep in mind that this entire exchange she can't see Balalaika's face or Rock's. Both their backs are to her until Balalaika throws Rock. Still, I doubt that she really could've seen him past Balalaika's frame. Meanwhile, she's probabaly just processing that Balalaika's strong enough to do what she just did. Most likely she already knew she has a lot of physical power, I mean look at her, but this is the first time she's seen it and it happened to the worst person possible.

I can fully say that Balalaika is a fucking beast in hand-to-hand combat with the body to match it. And this is only focusing on her throwing Rock! She already snapped a neck by this point. Rock saw that and again, he does have some courage or maybe stupidity to even do this since he saw that with his own eyes.

Revy hasn't. And I don't think Rock told her, at least not until he knew they were back in Roanapur and safe. He was still traumatized by it too so chances are he is suffering some recurring nightmare of it. To top it off, this event alone was so visceral in his mind that he draws a direct comparaision to Chang, symbolizing how truly helpess he was.

With all that out of the way here isthe recent manga depiction of Balalaika

(no comment needed)

Here are the earlier depictions of her in the previous chapters. All the thanks to @crystallinee-waters and @progmanx for the posts concerning the chapters and the usual girlboss stuff 💅

Love you two for that

In conclusion the only explanation for this is that Chang used his CIA connnections (Eda) to tamper with the latest chapter to make himself look cooler. And I guess he had enough mercy to include Rock in that upgrade too, for whatever reason.

Hero of the chapter was definitely Le Majeur

Homegirl got sacraficed by Balalaika to the gays

Which will probabaly be another cursed post sometime in the future with the Holy Trinity (Balalaika, Revy and Le Majeur)

✊ They're staying strong and holding down the series' reperesentation of the ABC Mafia

(😔 not canonically tho only Le Majeur has officially come out, or got outed by her comrade. But then Revy saved her ass and definitely did not hear anything and now does not knows what Le Majeur really is.)

A homosexual 🌈

Okay. I think I'm finally done with this, and I went off the rails by the end but this post now exists so I will return to my secluded hole 🕳️

(Forgot to add buff Revy too, so here she is)

She can be both happy and mad but she's still jacked af (and silently judging you at all times because of your gayness)

[raspberry-vinaigrette]

you're so based and real and so i MUST ask about your thoughts on henry miller

they could be ANY thoughts i just like hearing how people perceive him ... he's my favorite-ist evil scientist ever

oh i have so so so many thoughts on henry miller dude. my sister is in part to blame because she writes a damn good henry miller (she's working on a fic focusing on him during dave's first death right now. i've seen some snippets, i think you'll ADORE it if and when she finishes) and it's gotten him super in my brain but he's such a fascinating character study. beneath the cut because this got sorta long

one big detail i like is the fact he's very obviously not stopping the cycle of abuse -- we see how he treats dave and directdoggo has implied he was not good to his actual family either, and overall henry doesn't seem to value they concept of family that much in general? which i think probably ties into how his father treated him. ultimately henry likely views the idea of family as just some innate biological aspect of humanity but puts no real stock in it beyond that, and i wouldn't be surprised if he had a family largely because of his idea of a legacy. he never wants to die, and if he cannot do that literally, he will do it metaphorically by keeping his research and name alive forever. overall i think because his father was a complete deadbeat who henry wanted to be away from as much as possible and clearly utterly despised, henry viewed family as nothing more than a base, instinctual desire, and with his view on dave it makes sense he extorted this a lot with dave. dave is an animal to him (which i glean from the one DSaF tale that directdoggo wrote -- henry's narration is SO dehumanizing/anamalizing towards dave and it's very interesting) and henry views him as a very impulsive, instinctive creature, so of course henry uses something he views as instinct as major leverage.

BUT my original point is that henry likely believes he's doing so much more than his father could ever dream of but like. even if he's doing that in terms of education? he's ultimately ending up in a similar situation to his father mentally. he's abusive and thinks he's so much better than everyone and deserves to be treated that way, hence why he's so obviously super indignant about his doctorate being taken away. he dehumanizes the people around him and while he seems to think he's teaching everyone a lesson, making them better, and they should be grateful... how much of that is an echo of his father? abusers will take any opportunity to justify their abuse and pin blame on their victims. how many times did henry deal with being told he was being taught a lesson? but it's different, he swears, because he IS smart. he is educating the frail and the weak. they should be grateful.

henry's connections to dave and his father also make his dependency on logic and science and rationalizing things really interesting. henry views both dave and charles (in different ways but ultimately not too seperate) as irrational, illogical, impulsive monsters, either due to dave's reliance on henry or charles' vicious abuse of henry. i think he believes that this animalistic nature is what keeps people from truly breaking the chains of death and reaching immortality, especially with the way he talks about the children souls -- if i recall he basically calls them simplistic and beast-like or at least it's implied. again, he really seems to think what seperates him from the rest is the fact he is educated, when in reality he's kind of acting out of desperation just as much as dave, just in different ways.

this also kind of ties into him and jack (on the evil/legacy routes) too, though this is more headcanon than canon so like take this with a grain of salt. given that the purple text during the real fredbear fight in DSaF2's pure evil route is goading jack on and telling him to keep going, to break the real fredbear, a direct parallel to DSaF3's legacy route ending, and there's also an instance of henry's name being purple + plenty of other things i could tie into this but don't feel like digging up right now, i've always interpreted the purple text throughout the games (with the exception of things like dave's name/people referring to dave, though this still kind of counts, since dave's name comes from henry's son) as dialogue directly influenced by henry pushing jack along! which has a lot of fascinating implications! i could do a whole seperate post on this but that's kind of besides the point and i again do not feel like digging up liveblog screenshots

my point in mentioning this is that henry's influence seeping in even as early as DSaF1 (albeit that's more of a retroactive application, since i doubt directdoggo had the henry plot much in mind at the time LOL) with "WE started this and WE'LL finish it" directed at dave kind of reflects this desperation, just executed in what henry would consider a far more honorable way. instead of henry forcing himself up, he finds an appropriate vessel to leech his spite and influence and hate into, and lets the dominoes fall. it also gives this plausible deniability if and when jack ever shows hesitance -- you wanted this, didn't you? i just shared ideas with you. you carried out the plan. you can't honestly be upset with me, can you? -- which reflects exactly what henry did with dave, just in a different, more detached way. give them enough to cling to and then distance yourself until they start to doubt, then shoot them enough of a line for them to cling onto you again.

idk. he's cool

[captaingrebelguf]

Dark Baptism

Okey dokey! We're here again. Back to fuel the two-person fandom-beast created by the incredible: @copiousloverofcopia. <3

Ren, you deserve this because of doing that thing that you did for me. Thank you, my sweet. xoxoxo

Mrs. Prime Mover Sister Alessandra borrowed from Prime Mover Ren and her series, Tied as One Eternally. Please read. It's life changing. And Ren is the best. Anything you click on written by her will instantly make your day better and leave you beyond flustered.

Oh yeah, some minor NSFW themes below. And a happy Imbolc to those who celly. Onwards!

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

Okay, so awhile, awhile back……

“Come on, hustle, hustle!” Liz encouraged Alé as they squeezed through groups of excited, chattering siblings.

“Liz, we don’t need to be weird about it! It’s okay if I miss out on this sign up!” Alessandra griped as her wrist was limply strung along by her dearest friend. 

After being at the Ministry for almost a year, Alessandra had admitted she was ready to have her previous faith washed away and be born again as a Child of Lucifer. Unfortunately, these types of baptisms were held quite irregularly (as it depended on the interest from the novices). So when Alessandra had overheard Sibling Margeaux mentioning a few other newcomers gaining interest, she knew she had to jump on it. She was ready to commit her life to the Ministry, her new chosen family, and The Dark One.

Elizabet continued to drag Alé along to their destination: Primo coming hot off the pulpit. The oldest of the Emeritus brothers was coming down the steps to greet a few siblings vying for his attention after his sermon today. 

Today, Primo had preached about the upcoming Imbolc holiday; he spoke about how the weeks ahead would be addressing the proper ways to prepare, purify, and heal in this life as the first of February drew near. He closed with reminding the masses before him in the pews that the more popular holiday, Lupercalia, followed closely behind and as always the Clergy would be putting on the regular shenanigans. 

“Papa!” Liz called out, waving down Primo.

Primo gave the young women a soft smile as he motioned them in, “Sister Elizabet, Sister Alessandra, unblessed be.”

“Beautiful sermon today, Papa,” Liz beamed, Alessandra agreeing beside her. Liz grabbed Alé’s arm and nudged her to Primo, “Papa, we were hoping to catch you in regards to the upcoming unbaptisms; Alé wants in! So how does she sign up? “

“Thanks, mom,” Alé gave an unamused glare to her friend, being perfectly able to speak for herself as needed.

“Is this right, Sister Alessandra? You’re wanting to cast off your former affiliations and join us for good, eh?” Primo gave her a wink as he held out his gloved hand for her. Primo had taken a shine to this girl; he had been complimenting her addition to their sect for months now. 

Alé clung to his hand, nodding and looking deep into his mismatched eyes, “It is, Papa. I’ve already dedicated my life to Satan, but this feels right. It’s what I need to do. I’d be honored to have you absolve me of my past indoctrinations-- if there’s still room...” 

“Nonsense, Sorella, it would be my onore,” Primo beamed, his old eyes shining, “I will remember to add you to my list and Brother Garrett, who is coordinating this for us, will reach out to you with further instructions next week.”

“Thank you so much, Papa, this truly means everything to me,” Alé expressed her gratitude. Out of the corner of her eye, she finally caught sight of him: Primo’s terror of a brother. Alé could see the younger of Primo’s two attending cardinals sitting in the center pew with his legs obnoxiously stretched out and arms casually draped over the back of the bench.

Terzo was turned from her slightly, coolly chatting up a Brother of Sin he caught the attention of behind him. Terzo’s gloved fingers toyed with one of the gold buttons on his stark, black cassock laying everything he had on this poor soul. Alessandra couldn’t hear their conversation, but the playboy must have said something ridiculous because the blonde man he spoke to was doubled over, waving him off. Terzo looked beyond amused; a large cheeky grin took over his expression as he tucked a stray piece of hair back into its place. Alé couldn’t help but frown watching the disgusting display.

Alessandra quickly averted her eyes back to Primo, “Papa, it feels silly to ask, but can you promise it’ll be you performing my unbaptism? I really feel… the most comfortable with you.”

“My child, I may be getting a little aged, and I may not have many more February dips in my near future, but I can promise you unless our Dark Lord Satanas speaks against it, I shall be there to welcome you back into our arms from their lies.”

“And your cardinals can't do baptisms, is that right?" Alé pressed, looking for a little more solid confirmation. From her peripheral, she could see Cardinal Terzo motioning out the doors as he proceeded to stand and shake out his cassock. He gave a wink to the enamored Brother of Sin as he began to make his leave from the chapel. The Brother followed closely behind him. 

Primo placed his hands on Alé’s shoulders, speaking directly to her while regaining her attention, “Dolcezza, sÌ, my fratellinos are able to absolve a being from their previous religions as matured cardinals now. But, nothing would happen to make me miss out on your liberation." 

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

A few weeks later…

Terzo closed his eyes as he listened to the thrum of his lover’s heart. Omega’s tail still wrapped around Terzo’s thigh, the smell of their sweat still heavy in the air. The large ghoul tipped Terzo’s chin up to gently nip at the Cardinal’s jawline, teasing his claws down Terzo's chest earning a small moan from his lover.

“Amore,” Terzo sighed breathlessly, rubbing his hands through his hair in his post-orgasmic haze, “Don't think this means I want anything to change, but I have to tell you: I probably won't be able to sit on my ass for the rest of the week… “

Omega snorted against Terzo’s hair, “Didn't hear you complaining just a little bit ago."

“No, and you won't! I'm happy, I'm just a little red. And sore. Bruised..." the smaller man lamented, arms and legs still tangled around the ashen-colored, muscled limbs of his partner. 

The ghoul continued to breath softly, a subdued purr coming from deep in his chest. He took the hand of his human lover and brushed his calloused fingers over the future Papa’s deep maroon nail polish. The Quintessential ghoul nuzzled his face against Terzo’s palm.  

Terzo closed his eyes, biting his lip as he wiggled up to lock lips with Omega. Terzo felt his skin flush as his cock weakly kicked back to life; Omega could smell the instant change as he licked his own lips. 

“On your knees, Cardinal," Omega grunted out as he began to rise above the clergyman. He felt his heavy cock start to twitch again as the animalistic urge to breed his partner rose from deep down in his gut. 

"Anything for you, caro mio,” Terzo purred, rolling himself onto his stomach and pressing up to position himself on his hands and knees before the large ghoul; his reddened ass presented to the ghoul on full display. Omega smirked at the large hand-sized welts left all over his lover. Terzo loved walking around with hickeys, bruises, marks, anything souvenirs to remind him of his lovers; Omega was always more than happy to oblige and frequently went above and beyond. Terzo dipped down to encourage Omega to grab at his hips, when he caught a fleeting glance of the alarm clock on the side table. Terzo felt a boulder drop to the pit of his stomach as all the color drained from his face. 

“Oh fuck! Cazzo, merde, ass, shit!" Terzo exclaimed as he threw himself from the bed. His leg got caught up in the expensive woven sheets as he tumbled face first into the ground, "Shitty, ass, shit! Cazzo!“

“Where in the hell do you think you're going!?" Omega growled, his nose wrinkling back as he snarled at his partner. He crawled toward the smaller man, watching as Terzo agonizingly tore through the heap of clothes they made on the floor as he tried to smooth down his tangled mess of hair. 

“Primo was feeling unwell last night and was debating if he should proceed with the ehh…  dunking activities today," Terzo quickly attempted to mime as he tried to shake the debris off his wrinkled, black slacks, "Secondo and I agreed to pick up his duties today if he was still sickly. And I was supposed to meet with them roughly 45 minutes ago to discuss who is doing what.”

Omega’s frown melted into a soft smirk, man would absolutely lose his head if it wasn't already attached. Terzo whipped on the pair of dressy, violet socks with a secret message on the bottoms that suggested the reader to go give themselves a happy ending. Terzo threw his cassock over his head and finished redoing the buttons on his chest, promising he'd make this and more up to his beloved ghoul a little later. The two shared one more passionate kiss before Terzo ran out of the bedroom, barely closing the door to Omega’s room, as he began to sprint down the hall.

“Stronzino!" A deep voice shouted from his left..

Terzo stopped dead in his tracks, spinning in his heel to face his older-ish brother, he gave Secondo a grimace and a small guilty wave, “Hi." 

“Don't you fucking ‘hi’ me. Do you know how long we foolishly waited thinking you would actually show up?"

Terzo pinched the bridge of his nose and tilted his head down to receive his verbal punishment; audibly sighing as Cardinal Secondo continued to berate him. 

"And now we're already late,” Secondo turned and began storming away from his younger brother, "I'll just do everything myself. Primo will deal with you later.”

"Don't be that way,” Terzo begged, trailing closely behind the balding cardinal, grabbing at his brother’s sleeve. Secondo slapped away his younger brother’s hands.

"What were you doing? Or dare I ask who?” he glowered at his brother from the corner of his eye as the two descended down the Ministry's main stairwell. 

Terzo gave his brother a guilty grin and shrugged it off, waving his delicate, gloved hand at him, "Non importa.”

“Coglione, I'm becoming awfully tired of your bullshit. You better not still be pulling this when you're acting as my Cardinal, or I swear to Lucifer-"

“Yes, yes, yes," the shorter ministry official agreed, cutting him off, “I know your feelings. I'm aware! You’ve made yourself very clear. Don't get off track. Come sta Primo?"

“Potrebbe essere morto, per quanto ti importa!"

Terzo rolled his eyes as he tried to not let his brother's crotchety mood damper his spirits. The two continued out the doors and down the path to the ministry’s private access to a body of water. Terzo patted his pockets down, lifting up his cassock to access his cognac-brown, cigarette case in his pants. He quickly opened the pouch and nudged at his brother again. Secondo whipped around to glare down at his brother, hovering nearly an entire foot over him.

“Peace offering," Terzo explained, motioning at the new import of Sicilian cigarillos he had pulled a few strings for. He wasn't above getting on his knees to get what he really wanted. 

Secondo stopped in his tracks to gently pluck a cigarette. He tossed it between his lips and cocked an eyebrow at his brother as he sarcastically mimicked a lighter. Terzo sighed as he stashed away the leather case and returned with a novelty lighter adorned with breasts. 

“In Satanas’ name… " Second began to chide, not sure whether to be proud or disappointed in his brother's taste in torches. Terzo held the open flame up for his brother to light up; he tutted his tongue as he removed the lighter and tossed it back into his pocket. 

“Don't judge how I do shit and I won't judge the piss poor life choices you make, cocca di papà," Terzo teased, before Secondo began the descent again.

Secondo stared vacantly ahead, choosing to focus on the calm water instead of the overwhelming urge to slap the shit out of his incompetent younger brother. Secondo aggressively motioned towards the water, before passing the cigarillo to Terzo, “You want to do this shit or do I have to?"

The two stood side by side in front of the small man-made lake (really a pond) made years ago; it was there before Terzo and Secondo had been relocated to this sect. Many rituals had been performed on these shores, the magickal aspects of the water used in many many spells in their youth. Many warm, summer nights had also been spent disrobed with their own respective partners in the lake. Terzo inhaled the smoke before pushing it out of his nostrils, “I don't do cold."

“As future Papa-'' Secondo began lecturing, pointing a finger between Terzo’s eyes. 

Terzo uncrossed his eyes as he batted away the finger, “Fine! Sasso, carta, forbici?"

Secondo grabbed the cigarillo back taking a few seconds to inhale, before casually flicking ash at his brother. He tossed the cigarette back between his lips as he held his hands out at the ready to win, “Bene." 

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

Brother Garrett hurriedly made his way down to where the two brothers were seated side-by-side on a log near the shore. Terzo and Secondo seemed engrossed in their own discussions as they passed the small remainder of a cigarillo back and forth, murmuring to each other. 

“Cardinals?” Garrett called out, alerting them of his presence. Terzo turned over his shoulder and gave the sibling a wave, before turning back to his “older” brother and finishing his train of thought.

"I do think it would be a brilliant idea. You're just jealous you don't have the charisma to pull it off.”

“I'm warning you: neither Imperator or Nihil would find the charm in a kazoo," Secondo waved his brother off, chuckling as he rose to his feet before changing the topic, “Good morning, Brother Garrett.”

“Good morning, Cardinal Secondo, Cardinal Terzo. I was just finishing meeting with Papa to go over the last minute additions to today. It appears we have seven siblings all looking to be unbaptized today. Did we decide who will be performing their ceremonies?” Garrett cheerfully smiled at the two dark-haired men.

“Secondo lost fair and square,” Terzo teased, pleased he wouldn’t have to go into the pond. He still couldn’t help but be nosy, as he held out his hand for the clipboard nestled in Garret’s arm, “Per favore, may I see the list?”

Garrett turned to Secondo, preparing him for how the morning would pan out and going over other small, last minute details. Terzo skimmed the names of siblings, making mental ‘tick’ marks behind the ones who had accompanied him back to his quarters at one point or another. He couldn’t help but feel a tasteless sense of pride, thinking he was the reason all these siblings would want to convert to their side.

Terzo’s breath hitched as he looked at the final name written in Primo’s beautiful calligraphy, before speaking up, “Garrett, is this the final list?”

Garrett quickly nodded to Terzo before focusing back to debriefing Secondo.

Terzo continued to stare at the name before interrupting again, “Secondo, you need to trade me.”

“Sei un rompicoglioni. Stronzo, what are you going on about now? Quit interrupting!” Secondo hissed, squeezing his eyes shut asking himself silently, how they were related.

“I need you to trade me spots. I’ll do the baptisms and you can do confessional later,” Terzo hurriedly explained, excessively flailing his hands around to emphasize his point.

“I thought fair is fair?” Secondo evilly smiled at him, crossing his arms.

Terzo sighed exasperatedly, “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Just switch with me.”

Secondo glared at Terzo, not quite sure what he was up to.

“Secondo, per favore.”

“Qualsiasi,” Secondo gave in, rolling his eyes, confused, but nonetheless thrilled he wouldn’t have to go into the water.

“Oh! Fantastico!” Terzo exclaimed, throwing his arms around his stoic brother, who stiffened at his touch, “Grazie mille! Sono elettrizzato!”

Terzo couldn’t contain his enthusiasm as he planted a loud kiss on his brother’s cheek. Secondo indignantly tossed off his brother before wiping away Terzo’s black lipstick

“I’m going to go change!” Terzo yelled over his shoulder as he sprinted back towards the ministry’s ground.

“He’s going to be late…” Garrett whispered, begging Secondo to do something.

Secondo defeatedly shook his head, watching his brother fade out of view, “There’s no reasoning with that one.”

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

The two brothers politely greeted the siblings on Primo’s list as they approached them at the shore. Terzo seemed to grow antsier with each sibling he welcomed, continuously searching. Terzo, the Leo he was, had changed into a stark white vest and slacks with a pale lilac, twill dress shirt underneath. His look was completed with dark Ray Bans tucked behind his ears and bare feet with his manicured toenails painted fuschia.

“What are you looking for?” Secondo grumbled, annoyed with his brother’s lack of attention span.

“No one, I’m just eager to get this over with,” Terzo lied, shutting out his brother’s nagging. He began to check his pockets, removing his sunglasses, lighter, and smokes for safekeeping with Secondo.

Ten minutes into the allotted start time, she appeared to him. She was a vision in her white, lace-trimmed gown and her dark curls bouncing wildly. Her friend was close on her trail as the two women continued at break-neck speed to the meeting spot.

Terzo felt the world slow down and the only soundtrack was his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Sister Alessandra was without a doubt one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen in his life. Her strong, well-vocalized disdain for Terzo only made him want her more.

“Oh, ho, ho! Look who showed up!” Terzo gave her a disgustingly excited smile as he opened his arms for her. He could see her winded expression drop flat off her face as she stared at him in shock.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Alé hissed quietly to Liz as they slowly walked to Secondo’s side, away from Terzo. Alé brushed her fingers through her hair as she began to weave her locks into a braid, so it’d be a little more manageable in the water.

As Brother Garrett began to welcome the group and explain how the morning was going to go, Terzo, not one to shy away from awkward situations (or at least giving an attempt to make them even more uncomfortable for the other party), casually walked to the other side of his brother to stand by Alé. He gave her another warm smile and a wink as he nodded his head to her, “Sister Alessandra.”

“Cardinal.”

“How are yo--”

“Where is Primo?” Alé cut him off, not wanting to waste any energy on this trash.

“He’s fallen sick,” Terzo answered her, trying not to dwell on his own hurt feelings, “He’s starting to feel better, but there’s no way we will allow him to do anything outside; especially in this swamp. So Cardinal Secondo and I were called in as replacements to basically Ghostbust the Christ out of you all.”

Alessandra turned her back to Terzo and dug her nails into Liz’s arm, she lowered her voice so Terzo wouldn’t eavesdrop, “I’m not doing this.”

“Oh come on!” Liz groaned, “Just get it over with! You said something in your gut told you to do this, so what does it matter who does it?!”

“I know, but I already feel off about this and I’m not letting him touch me.”

Terzo leaned over to the two ladies angrily whispering at each other and also added in a hushed tone, “I think you’re making a bigger deal out of this than you think.”

“I do not need your input; also quit spying on me!” Alé hissed back at him, “How do I request Cardinal Secondo to perform my unbaptism?”

“You don’t,” Terzo sneered at her, “We already rock, paper, scissored it. Decision is final, Sorella. And clearly I came out on top.”

He gave her another toothy smile as his eyes took her in from head to toe. Alessandra wanted to puke in her mouth. This man was such a waste of her time. The more she learned about him, the more confident she was in her analysis: he was a slut and a moron.

“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” Alé glared at him, crossing her arms, and attempting to shut him out.

Terzo chuckled, clasping his hands behind his back, “Denial is not just a river in--”

“--and Cardinal Terzo, with that, we’re ready when you are,” Brother Garrett interrupted the future Papa with an oblivious smile.

Terzo masked his annoyance and gave Alessandra another wink, “We shall continue this. See you in a minute, dolce.”

Alé felt her stomach churn as she watched the walking headache give the rest of the group a big smile as he took the hand of the first sibling and escorted them out into the chilly water. 

She should have run.

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

All the other six siblings that had chosen to be religiously freed today had beautiful, private unbaptisms with the future Papa. One-by-one, Terzo had taken them out into the frigid pond and released them from their prior torment in such an intimate ceremony. No one could hear his words from the shores; odd for the usually boisterous man. 

From watching his face, you could tell he was taking this very seriously. Alessandra had thought a few times she saw him tear up as the sibling thanked him profusely after he had drenched them. Maybe she had judged him too harshly at their first encounter. He may have a few general character flaws, but seeing him like this had Alé reconsidering a lot. Plus he did look even more handsome in white. The classic dark eye makeup around his eyes, his upper lip crispy painted black, framed by his shaggy locks, Alé’s eyes darted to the floor as she noticed Terzo watching her and giving her a mischievous smile. 

“Pronta, Sorella?” Cardinal Terzo held out his hand for her, still grinning. His crisp white slacks were beyond waterlogged and his purple boxers could be seen from miles away. He might as well not even be wearing pants. Alé’s eyes dropped to his chest; a delicate golden Grucifix peered out from his unbuttoned cotton shirt. She felt her breath hitch as she finally took in his chest hair; her eyes began to wander again along his exposed arms, swearing she could see tattoo ink coming from under the cuffs of his shirt. As outgoing as Terzo was, he did keep his own life rather private. Other than the ongoing rumors of how well-endowed he was and his unmatchable stamina, Alé realized she hadn’t heard much else about this mysterious, cocky bastard. As far as she was concerned, his only hobbies were cream pies and sucking dick in the confession booths. 

Alé frowned and hesitated before going against her gut and taking the man’s hand. He was surprisingly warm, despite his damp hand. She almost considered moving closer to steal more of his body heat. Terzo gave her a gentle, comforting squeeze as they began to head deeper into the water. 

“It’s actually quite cold… I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long,” Alé spoke softly, making nervous, but polite conversation with the religious figure head.

“Eh. Cold yes; only thing I have to gripe about right now is the fantastic shrinkage I’m experiencing right now. Just don’t look down too long for it, I promise I do have a lot more going on than what you can see,” Terzo rambled on, trying not to chuckle at the horrified look on Alé’s face.

“You’re a pig,” Alé gasped, halting in her steps, stopping Terzo with her. She shook her hand to free herself from his touch, as if he were a disease, “I don't think I want to do this anymore." 

“Oh, come now,” Terzo chided, trying to gently encourage her onwards, “I was merely teasing, Sorella! I’ll tone it down.”

“I cannot believe that out of all the Ministry officials who could be doing this, I’m stuck here with you!” Alessandra glared at him, starting to lose her patience. The freezing water was doing no favors.

“Stuck with me?!” Terzo feigned horror, “You should be so lucky, Sorella!”

“Can we just get this over with?” Alé crossed her arms. She shouldn’t have let Liz talk her into doing this with the younger cardinal. She should have waited for Primo. She should have ran screaming as soon as she saw Terzo’s devilish smirk, “I thought this day was going to be a lot more meaningful, but this is clearly just a joke to you. I bet you’re going to dazzle them as Papa.”

“Huh.. I apologize, I took this maybe too far; we can fix this,” Terzo spoke a little more seriously than what Alessandra was expecting from him, “Pronta?”

“Yes, Cardinal,” Alé affirmatively nodded her head, glad he seemed to have moved onto business, still weary he might pull something again. She couldn't let her guard down around him. 

Terzo gently cleared his throat before speaking so only the two of them could hear, “Welcome, Sister Alessandra. Today, you and I gather to embark on a journey of healing from the wounds of a religious trauma. The undoing of a dedication to a religion you did not consent to. A reversal of spiritual decisions you made without clarity, reclaiming your personal power and finding solace within. Are you ready to proceed? “Yes,” Alé whispered in a hushed tone, finding herself unable to look away from his gaze; she let her arms uncross and fall to her sides.

“This act represents the release of the harmful teachings and reclamation of your own truth. Release the pain and wounds caused by religious trauma. Reclaim your power and define your own path. You are no longer bound by the chains of religious trauma. Embrace your strength, reliance, and the beauty of your unique journey,” Terzo prayed over her.

The butterflies in Alessandra’s stomach were out of control. Her heart was racing. She wanted to get closer to him. She could hear each purposeful breath he took between sentences. She could see his pupils dilate wide as he made unwavering eye contact with her; unable to look away from his Satan-given eye. She could smell his cologne overwhelming her senses. She felt her heart skip a few beats as she reached out for the dark clergyman and he firmly grasped her hand in return. With the warmth and energy that surged between them as they entwined their fingers, she could have sworn there were electrical currents in the tiny pond.

“Sister Alessandra, take a moment to reflect on your newfound freedom and the inner strength that resides within you. Today, we have taken a significant step towards healing from your religious trauma. As you move forward, remember,” Terzo paused for a second, finding himself unable to look anywhere but into her hazel eyes. He tried to shake himself from his trance as he continued, softening his tone, taking time to enunciate his words, “You are deserving of love, acceptance, and the freedom to shape your own path. May this ritual serve as a reminder of your own resilience and the power of reclaiming your own truth!” 

Alessandra looked deeply into his eyes as they shared a soft smile. It was only them in the world at that moment. A shepherd and his newly found lamb. Alé leaned into Terzo as he respectfully wrapped his arm around her waist, she felt at ease letting him handle her so intimately. 

“All bonds of servitude have been broken. Power and agency have been restored. Thyself is thy master. Hail Satan!” Terzo grinned as he felt Alé’s suddenly shoulders sag and a heavy, invisible burden seemed to remove itself from her. She stared at him wordlessly, seemingly hypnotized. Terzo cleared his throat, “You ready for a dip, sis?”

“No funny business,” Alessandra whispered, eyes pleading to him. She couldn’t help but look at his soft lips, failing to use every ounce of strength inside her to avoid thinking about kissing him.

“None,” Terzo crossed his heart, “Unless you have also felt the encouragement from The Dark One here with us and are also so inclined for another kiss…”

Alessandra stiffened against his touch, shaking herself out of this trance. What the actual hell was wrong with this man? And how was he also feeling this!? Did this lech hex her!? Alessandra shoved his arm off from around her waist as she stabbed a threatening finger into his chest, “I promise, I will drown you here in front of your family and followers. Don’t tempt me. Keep your hands off me.”

“You keep saying that, but how am I supposed to complete your upbaptism if I can’t touch you?” Terzo grinned cheekily, cocking his weight to one hip, as he laughed at her.

Alé huffed and rubbed her face in annoyance, “You are so unbelievably annoying.”

“Signora, I am a man of the cloth, I have a little more restraint than you seem to give me credit for!”

“Oh because the bullshit you pulled at Yule was you showing restraint?!” she scoffed, hesitant to go back to the dark-haired man.

Ave Satanas. What a spitfire, he thought to himself. Terzo itched at his chin before offering Alé his hand again, losing patience, freezing to the bone, and wishing to just get this over with. Alessandra took his hand and walked into his embrace again as she let him begin to gently lower her backwards into the water. One arm still around her waist and the other firmly clasped to hers, with her hands clinging to him for dear life. 

Terzo paused as he looked down at the beautiful woman in front of him. Her full lips and dark, feathered eyelashes. Her gorgeous raven hair tied off to the side in an extravagant braid as the February sun bounced off the gold flecks in her eyes. He should have stopped there, but his eyes couldn’t stop wandering as he craned to peer through the white cotton gown at her ample bosom.

Alessandra had been transfixed in his green and white gaze; she found herself lost, yet so comforted. Something about him seemed to call to her. As she blinked, she noticed he had broken eye contact and was obviously staring at her breasts.

“So tell me, Cardinal,” Alé interrupted his x-ray advances before continuing her wicked thought, “That night I rejected you… did you have to go home empty handed? Or did Omega take pity on you as he always does and take you to bed like the whore you are?”

Terzo’s eyes widened, not believing what he just heard. I think I might be in love with this woman. He had been halfway to dipping her in the water, the ends of her hair barely submerged, when he quickly released his grasp on her. Alessandra crashed back into the icy water with a shriek. She gasped for air as she tried to find her balance, stumbling again over a sunken log and falling into the water again.

Terzo’s mind buzzed with white static as couldn’t help but feel slightly childish for what he had done. He pushed air out of his mouth before working up the courage to hold out his hand to her, “Sorella, I’m so sorry. My hands slipped!”

Alé’s assessment was confirmed: he was a slut, a moron, and a liar. She hesitated before taking his hand, second guessing her actions. Terzo gave her one quick apologetic smile before she yanked his arm past her, causing Terzo to lose his balance and also fall face-first into the lake.

Terzo pulled his head up from under the water, sputtering and shaking his hair like a dog. He blew a string of snot out of his nose before looking back at the fiery woman, he absentmindedly checked his ear piercings and fixed the chained Grucifix that hung from his left lobe. He sighed and found himself drawn to the damp, furious goddess next to him. 

“Alright. Fair is fair, sister. I apologize for accidentally dropping you,” Terzo managed to pull himself back up, laughing as he held out his palms to her in an effort for peace, “No funny business. Serio.”

“I cannot believe this," Alé murmured to herself as she saw Cardinal Secondo angrily waving them down from the shore with a furious expression on his face.

“Cardinal!" Secondo shouted in a very stormy tone, “Have you lost your mind!?"

Terzo began to scoff before being cut off by his brother again.

“Quit flirting with each other. It's freezing, everyone else is trying to go inside, you've prolonged this enough," Secondo seethed. 

“We are not flirting!” Terzo and Alé balked, loudly talking over each other to try and explain their actions.

“I don't care! Terzo, help the sister up and finish your job."

Terzo noisily sighed as he turned to Alessandra, “At least we knocked the Jesus out of you, eh, Sorella? “

He bowed forward to take her hand to help her out of the lake. Alé slapped his outstretched palm away, “I am perfectly capable of managing myself. Now did you successfully unbaptize me or are you still just fucking around?”

As Terzo opened his mouth armed with a sarcastic comment, his eyes drifted to her heaving chest as she lifted herself back upright from the water. Her large breasts were drenched, white gown clinging to them leaving very little to the imagination. Terzo felt his jaw slacken a little wider. 

Cazzo. I think I am in love, echoing in his brain. He suddenly became hyper aware of his erection pressing through his wet bottoms. He slowly began to wade backwards into deeper water, waving Alessandra towards the shore, “Eh, go on ahead, Sister. We’re all good here.”

Alessandra’s jaw dropped, did he have a boner!? This couldn’t have gone any worse. Her gown dragged against her in the water as she tried to jog back onto land. Liz had a towel opened wide and quickly embraced Alé in a bear hug.

“I need a drink,” Alé uttered from inside the towel, begging to forget this entire experience.

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

Shortly after, the crowd had begun to disperse leaving the Cardinals by themselves. Secondo stared wordlessly at his younger brother as Terzo trudged up from the lake, readjusting his cock in his trousers. His eye paint was smeared down his cheeks and soaked from head to toe, but he sported the biggest shit eating grin on his messy face.

“Primo is going to rip you apart for this one, fratellino,” Secondo shook his head, arms still crossed over his chest, “Is that why you chose to punish her? Because Primo has taken to her and she wants absolutely nothing to do with you? Are you are feeling jealous?”

Terzo shrugged noncommittally, still smiling as he threw a towel over his head, “I did what I had to.”

“I hope it was worth it.”

Terzo nodded, drying off his face, “Absolutamente. Now, if you don’t mind, I left a rather large ghoul alone in a bed and I think it’s high time I go see to him.”

“I’m keeping these as emotional reimbursement for you making me hear that,” Secondo crossly replied, wagging the case of cigars and busty lighter at him.

Terzo chuckled as he walked past his brother, “Fair is fair, fratello.”

Translations: 

Onore -- Honor

Non importa -- It does not matter.

Come sta Primo? -- How is Primo?

Potrebbe essere morto, per quanto ti importa! -- He could be dead for all you care!

Cocca di papà -- Apple of Father's eye, Daddy’s girl

Sasso, carta, forbici? -- Rock, paper, scissors?

Sei un rompicoglioni -- You're a pain in the ass

Qualsiasi -- Whatever

Grazie mille! Sono elettrizzato! -- Thank you so much! I’m delighted/thrilled!

[greenaswildfire]

how u have more sympathy for a rapist than a victim of assault who’s had his childhood and dreams of knighthood taken from him is beyond me 😭

Hey, anon! :D

First, I'd like to clarify that I love all the green characters. Some more than others when we compare A with B or C, precisely because of one "writing reason": catharsis.

I love Aemond, how he's the epithome of zero to hero and how we gradually see him reaching his peak:

No dragon? he gets Vhagar;

Lucerys blinds him? he kills Lucerys;

One-eyed? Even so, his skills are worthy of praise by his father figure;

Neglected in favor of the heir, in this family that has no "traditional male role model" to look up to? (I mean, he has Cole to teach him the fighting skills, honor loyalty, etc, but he's a white knight, so in theory he can't teach Aemond about the fatherly aspects of family) His aura reminds me a lot of Tywin's, Aemond proves time and time again that he easily could take over as head of the family, overpowering even his mother in terms of "grandeur".

Victim of assault & bully? he almost gets to kill the abuser/bully;

He was denied the pleasure and glory of killing Meleys by himself? Now he can bask in the glory of being Regent and the only powerhouse of the family, if he falls, so will the Greens.

As we see, all his issues are addressed, he's had his catharsis and I can cheer and be happy for him.

Which is not the case of Aegon, who has been beaten down by the plot and the writers over and over again. All his actions (or lack of) just make things worse, and even so, he's the one to suffer from other characters actions because the writing refuses to let him address his issues (Aegon provoking Aemond in brothel scene, instead of let him confront Aemond about how Luke's death resulted in Jaehaerys death and depending on how things go, allow them to make amends).

He simply isn't allowed any kind of catharsis, he was doomed from the start, they take and take and take from him, and at least for now, scripwriters seem no interested in giving him any "zero to hero" moment like Aemond, and that's why I tend to empathize more with Aegon.

I hope I've answered your question ^-^

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || AO3 || My Website

Epilogue: September 2018

A few clouds scudded their way across the velvety blue-grey of the morning twilight. The scent of petrichor still hung in the air, mingled with the more earthy odors of freshly mown hay and cattle and, just beyond it on the faint edges of the senses, the crisp, clean smell of the sea. A gentle breeze was blowing, barely strong enough to ruffle the grass still wet from an overnight shower, carrying with it the distant, plaintive calls of the seabirds, the high twittering of a lark, and the gentle clang-clang, clang-clang of cowbells. There was no noise of traffic, no smells of exhaust or smog, no lights or oversized buildings to spoil the view. It was a scene of utter serenity and peace.

Jon rested his elbows on the top rail of a three-board fence, a steaming mug of tea cradled in his hands, and stared idly towards the horizon. The September air still held a bit of a nip, especially this time of day, and he was glad for the jumper that—he smiled to himself—he could no longer say he’d stolen, borrowed, or otherwise appropriated from his boyfriend. It was too late, or early depending on your point of view, to stargaze, but the sunrise wasn’t that far off now. He couldn’t wait to see what it looked like. Something special, that was for sure. There was no way it wouldn’t be. It was almost a completely perfect morning.

A pair of wool-clad arms, one of which ended in a hand clutching a mug of its own, wrapped around him from behind, and something warm and solid and heavy settled against his back. “Morning.”

Jon felt his smile widen. Now it was completely perfect.

“Good morning.” He managed to turn his head and see Martin’s resting on his shoulder, a playful smile on his face. “Sleep well?”

“As well as I ever do. Sure slept heavily, anyway.” Martin kissed his cheek, then stepped away. Jon barely had time to miss his warmth before he settled on the fence next to Jon and draped his arm around his shoulders. “Did you? I notice you’re up earlier than usual.”

“It’s so…quiet out here.” Jon nestled against Martin’s side and reached up to lace their fingers together. He smiled even more broadly at the soft clink as the plain gold bands brushed against one another. “I never realized just how much ambient noise there was in London, even in the Archives, until I was somewhere I couldn’t hear anything. I suppose I’m more accustomed to hearing sounds when I sleep than I thought, and the absence of them just…pulled me out of it.”

Martin hummed. “We can try and find you a white noise machine or something. Maybe a little fan.”

“I’ll get used to it. Besides, I think I would have chosen to get up early if I’d thought about it. This is a day I didn’t want to waste a minute of.”

“So you don’t mind?” Martin asked. “That we didn’t wait until…I dunno, December? The winter solstice, longest night of the year, light starts winning over darkness, that sort of thing?”

Jon looked up fondly. “Martin, if we had been allowed to do it, I would have gone straight to the register office and had the ceremony the day you asked me.”

Martin laughed. “I know that, Jon. I’m just asking if, once I told you I wanted to pick a date for the actual ceremony that had some kind of significance, you minded us not picking something more…dramatic.”

“No.” Jon looked down at their joined hands again. “The exact halfway point between our birthdays is perfect.”

He would carry that memory around for the rest of his life, he knew that. They hadn’t wanted a fancy party, just a simple exchange of vows with their family there, so they had just gone to the registrar’s office and done the basic ceremony, with no additions or flourishes. Still, the moments had impressed themselves into his mind: the genuine emotion in Martin’s eyes as he repeated the rote words, the way his hand had trembled as he slid the ring onto Jon’s finger, the sound of the others cheering as they kissed, the swell of emotions when the registrar pronounced them legally wed. There had been promises—or threats—of a bigger party when they got back, but for the time being, they’d had to set off in order to be sure of making the first of the trains that would take them where they needed to go.

The journey had been nice—long, but nice. It was something of a novelty to be able to take a long trip with Martin that wasn’t with the end goal of investigating or stopping something horrible, eldritch, or potentially world-ending. And from the number of people who had asked them, it was probably incredibly obvious, if not where they were going, then at least why. Jon had been extremely surprised to be met by anyone at all at the final station; they’d expected to have to rent a car, something neither of them were keen on—as Martin said, if they’d wanted to be able to drive around they’d have driven themselves up to begin with—but instead there had been a weathered old farmer with a piece of cardboard with BLACKWOOD-SIMS scrawled on it in marker. While Jon was still riding that particular high, they’d followed him out to what turned out to be a farm cart and pony, both equally as old and weathered as the farmer himself.

It had been dark when they arrived, too dark to fully appreciate the place, so they’d eaten the cold supper Daisy had insisted on packing for them, toasted one another with the small bottle of champagne tucked into it, and collapsed in bed together. That wasn’t new either, not exactly, but it felt new, and Jon had lain awake for some time listening to Martin’s gentle breathing and marveling at the fact that he was no longer curled up against his boyfriend, or even his fiancé.

He had, for the first time in his life, spent the night with his husband.

“It was good of Daisy to let us use this place,” he said, a bit absently, as he turned his gaze back to the horizon. “She didn’t have to.”

“She didn’t have to come up last week and clean it out for us, either, but from the things she said she found while she was, I’m glad she did,” Martin said wryly. “Wouldn’t have wanted to spend the first day we were up here cleaning out ancient tins and dessicated dry goods.”

“Do you think there were any peaches in there?” Jon teased. Martin groaned dramatically. “Why does she have a house in Scotland, anyway?”

“It was one of her safe houses. You know, somewhere she could go when she was hunting…or being hunted…and needed to lie low for a few days. Especially if she needed to escape jurisdiction.” Martin took a sip of his tea. “Honestly, the fact that she even told us about it, let alone offered to let us use it for our honeymoon, is a pretty good sign that whatever she’s doing in therapy is working. I know she’s been opening up more to Tim and Gerry about all of her bolt holes and strongholds and whatnot, but…”

“She likes you. Or at least trusts you.” Jon took a sip of his own tea, which had started to go slightly cold. “I’m surprised she’s the only one of us who’s actually still in therapy.”

From the rustle of fabric, Jon guessed Martin had just shrugged his other shoulder. “The Hunt’s a bit easier to talk around than most of this stuff. And I can understand why, once she found a therapist who was willing to help her actually work through her problems instead of justifying everything she ever did, she was keen to keep her.”

Jon mulled that over for a moment. “I’m…I think I’m proud of her,” he said finally. “I can see how easy it would be to…to say that you did things because you had to, because it was the job, because you didn’t have the choice. And how easy it would be to stay with a therapist who would let you.”

Martin pulled Jon a little closer and rested his chin on his head. “The lot of us can probably keep Laverne in business for the rest of her life if we let her. Well, maybe not Sasha.”

“Or Basira.” Jon sighed. “She probably needs it more than the rest of us, but…”

“She has to do it because she wants to, Jon. Not because we tell her to. Otherwise it won’t help.” Martin sighed, too. “And you know Basira. She will never admit there’s anything she can’t logic and will her way out of.”

Jon nodded solemnly. Basira’s idea of dealing with her problems was to give Martin a statement about her time working for Peter Lukas—and particularly the final encounter with him and Jonah Magnus—in the expectation that it would mean she would be able to just stop thinking about them and move on. She’d avoided him for almost a month after it became clear that Martin hadn’t lied when he’d told her it wouldn’t work.

Speaking of…

“I saw you last night,” he confessed. “I didn’t realize it was you, just—I-I tried to ask you for help and…”

“I know, Jon,” Martin said gently. “I was there, too, remember? It’s okay. I’m sorry me being there wasn’t more help.”

“I just—I need you to know that’s not why I wasn’t in bed when you woke up this morning. I was just feeling restless, a-and then I realized the sun was coming up and…I was going to wake you, but you don’t get enough sleep as it is and—”

“Jon.” Martin turned Jon’s face towards his and kissed him, which effectively shut up his slightly fearful babbling. “You left a mug out, with the teabag already in it, and the kettle still warm. And you took my jumper. For God’s sake, you married me, apparently of your own free will.”

“Of course it was of my—” Jon began, and then stopped when he saw the amusement in Martin’s eyes. He relaxed and smiled. “You bastard.”

“Hey now, according to Papa, my parents were married well before I was conceived.” Martin laughed and tucked his chin over the top of Jon’s head again. “Trust me. I don’t need to use the Eye to know you’re not actually upset with me when you’re awake for anything that happens in the dreams. The only one who consistently recognizes me and still gets mad at me about it is Basira.”

Jon pressed himself closer to Martin. There had been a lot of fallout from the twenty-fifth of May, both predictable and not, but the thing that was still, oddly enough, taking the most getting used to had been that all of them started having dreams about the things they’d once given statements on again. 

Jonah might have lied about being a literal dead-man switch—Tim’s theory was that he’d simply been trying to keep them from discovering the eye transfer thing too early because it would have been impossible at that point for him to use Martin or Jon for his ritual if they’d known too much and threatening Basira was the only thing that would have kept Daisy from doing it, and it made more sense than anything else—but he hadn’t lied about being the “beating heart” of the Institute, in a sense. His body, his original body, had crumbled to dust, finally giving in to the weight of the centuries, in the instant Gerry reaped his remaining eye, but they hadn’t had long to gloat before Martin and Daisy leaped into action to triage Basira, who, with Jonah’s eye gone, had begun to bleed out through the ruined socket. Jon had lost all track of time in their desperate, headlong rush for the surface, worrying with every step that it had been too late, that they’d end up sacrificing Basira anyway, until he’d grabbed Martin’s hand and tried desperately to remember the route and suddenly seen a shining silver thread running ahead of them, like a kite string through a labyrinth.

Melanie had taken to calling him Ariadne off and on, but at least she didn’t mean the Mechanisms’ version.

They’d emerged, unsurprisingly enough when they thought about it, into a crime scene swarming with sectioned police officers and EMTs. Martin had been quietly devastated when he’d learned just how much destruction Trevor and Julia had managed to wreak on the Institute before they had managed to find the Archives: three dead, a dozen more wounded, and Manal had been badly burned trying to put out a fire before the 999 dispatcher had finally convinced her to evacuate with everyone else. Fortunately, the Hunters’ dead bodies, and the fact that they were unmarked—the coroner had eventually determined that Trevor’s lung cancer had caught up with him and Julia had suffocated from a previously undetected, likely because she’d been avoiding medical care herself for so long, form of aggressive throat cancer, both caused by extensive tobacco use, and if it was at all suspicious that they’d both died in the same moments nobody wanted to think too hard about that—had lent credence to their story that they had fled into the tunnels, and Sasha and Jon between them had spun a convincing enough explanation for what had happened to Basira’s eye while an officer who’d worked with her on the Brodie kidnapping yelled for the paramedics. Once she’d come out of surgery, she’d confessed readily enough to killing Elias Bouchard and Peter Lukas, but the police had pretty much decided at that point that it was self-defense and closed the case without too much fuss. There’d been a bit of worry that their families might kick up a fuss, but Elias had apparently cut off his family shortly after becoming Jonah Magnus, presumably so they wouldn’t notice his eyes were a different color, and the Lukas family was too busy dealing with their own problems. The families of the three employees who’d been killed had filed wrongful death suits against the Institute, and the Lukases, as both the family of the last man who’d run the place and the biggest donors, were largely on the hook for that. One thing had led to another, and within a month of the attack, it had been clear that the Institute was going to have to shutter its doors permanently.

The first night after they got their severance papers had been bad for all of them, but especially Martin, who’d described the mental landscape as standing in a room with a dozen locked doors all around him that suddenly blew open all at once, drawing him in through an ever-shifting sequence of clowns, spiders, fans, fires, clutching tunnels, and yawning doors; the rest of them hadn’t seen him, but he’d known all of them and woken up with his face soaked with tears. The rest of them had had to sit down with Martin and assure him, over and over, that they knew it wasn’t his fault, that he couldn’t control the dreams, and that there was no way he could have known—that any of them could have known—that it was the Institute itself that had locked their doors. The fact that it was happening before the Institute was even technically all the way closed down was unexpected, but at least it gave them time to shore Martin up before they were completely cut off from what was in it.

They’d spent the last week of June packing up the Archives, putting the hundreds of thousands of files into boxes to be put in storage or sent to one historical society or another, and if they had secreted a few to take home with them, well, nobody was going to miss them; after all, even they hadn’t known exactly how many files were down there. Martin had estimated that what they’d managed to get would run him at least a year, maybe even longer, if he rationed it out properly, but he’d admitted privately to Jon that he was a bit worried about what would happen if he couldn’t get more of them. Gerry had solved that particular problem with a series of quiet advertisements, and now Cinnamon Rose Books had a dedicated quiet room where anyone who’d had an encounter they couldn’t explain or get over could come and make their statement, either to Martin’s face or to a tape recorder. Since those lasted longer than the written ones, every one he took meant that much longer before Jon would have to start getting seriously concerned about the possibility of him starving.

“Did you bring any statements with you?” Jon asked, bringing himself back from that particular train of thought.

“I’ll be fine,” Martin assured him. “Someone came by the shop day before yesterday with a statement. Pretty hefty one too. I’m probably good for a month as long as I don’t try to See anything, and, you know, we’re on our honeymoon, so I’d rather not.”

“I’d rather you didn’t, too,” Jon admitted. “I-I mean, I’d rather you didn’t at all, but…”’

“I know, and I’m trying not to. It’s easier now that we know we don’t really have to worry that much about any rituals.”

“You’re not worried another Fear might figure out that they need to bring them all in?”

“Not really. The Web and the End are the only two that might, and Gerry reckons neither of them have what it takes to actually come up with a good ritual that will pull it off. Anyway, most of them have tried too recently to build up enough power to go again any time soon. Since the details of what Jonah came up with died with him, and I think that technically counts as a ritual fizzling out, we’re safe for now.”

Jon hummed. “Well, since you’re—what does Melanie keep calling you? ‘The Ceaseless Watcher’s special boy’—I think I’ll take your word for it.”

Martin gave a mock groan. “I’m going to have to start calling her Venkman again.”

“I—I don’t think I know that reference,” Jon confessed.

“Ghostbusters. He was kind of a jerk, actually, and in the second film he’d started a psychic reality show.” Martin chuckled softly. “We’ll have to get everyone together and have a movie night when we get back.”

“If we can drag Melanie out of her editing studio.”

“You’re assuming Daisy isn’t going to take an interest in that, too.”

With the Institute gone, and all of them suddenly without jobs, they’d flailed a bit. Martin had simply moved in and started helping Gerry with the shop, but it didn’t need all of them—it barely needed two of them—so the rest had been at loose ends. In sheer desperation, and    also because she’d found the equipment still intact when she’d moved back into her house, Melanie had decided to try and get Ghost Hunt UK up and running again. She’d told Jon she wasn’t ready to leave the paranormal completely behind, and besides, she’d liked that part of things. This time, though, she was doing a much more stripped-down version, with Sasha as her cohost and Daisy doing everything that didn’t involve getting in front of the camera. She’d proven to be quite good at sound mixing, and ferreting out hauntings sated the Hunt enough that she could concentrate on healing. Melanie was hoping for a Halloween premier, but as Gerry pointed out, she’d hoped that before and ended up having to wait until the following May. Her argument was that she knew what she was doing better now, and that she wasn’t being held back by perfectionist jerks, and also that if Gerry didn’t have anything useful to contribute he could take a long walk off a short pier and hug an octopus.

Tim had picked up a summer job at a climbing gym; the pay wasn’t great, but it got him out of the house and moving. He’d turned out to be quite popular with the kids in the camps he was working. One of his students had apparently been so enthusiastic that the gym had put him in charge of another session she was part of, which turned out to be for kids in foster and residential care. He’d enjoyed the week so much that the gym had added a second session. Daisy had mentioned offhand, at dinner one night around the middle of August, that Laverne was proud of her for finally setting a concrete goal for her therapy, and Tim’s surprised eyes and Gerry’s pleased grin when she replied to Jon’s dutiful prompt with to get to a place where the three of us can have a serious talk about signing up to foster had made her laugh. She was doing more of that lately, and it was doing everyone good to see it.

Basira, once she got out of hospital, had had a harder time of it than the rest of them. She was still learning to navigate the world with only one eye, especially since it hadn’t been her dominant eye, something made harder by the fact that she absolutely refused to let anyone else help her. They were all still trying to strike a balance between giving her space and making sure she knew they were there for her. Jon suspected that part of her problem was that, while Daisy still knew her better than anyone else—because Daisy was the only person she’d really let get close to her—the same couldn’t be said in reverse. Not only did Tim and Gerry know and understand Daisy the same way they did one another, and vice versa, but it was becoming more and more clear that Basira had never really known Daisy all that well at all, and her pride couldn’t handle that. She helped out at the bookstore a time or two, although she got grumpy when people tried to buy books she was reading, or attempting to read, out from under her. The last few weeks, though, she hadn’t been around as much, and she hadn’t been at their wedding.

That, at least, wasn’t much of a surprise, since she didn’t like to leave London.

“Look,” Martin murmured.

Jon looked—and his heart caught in his throat as the first ray of sun stabbed at the horizon. The gentle sounds of the village waking up went on around them as the great golden disc rose slowly, as if uncertain it really wanted to come out, then suddenly burst forth in all its glory. The grass turned to waving sheets of gold, tipped with sparkling diamonds of damp and dew, and a new day dawned. Their first sunrise as a couple.

They watched for a few minutes, and then Martin pressed a gentle kiss to Jon’s temple. “Come on. Let’s go back and get breakfast.”

As Martin made pancakes—not the ones filled with farmer’s cheese and topped with cherry preserves that he and his siblings always made when one or all of them had survived an encounter with the Fourteen, but more traditional British flapjacks—and Jon took inventory of what else they had, he said, “I missed this.”

“What, peace?” Jon asked distractedly, shifting aside the tinned goods Daisy had stocked the pantry with to be sure she hadn’t left them any peaches.

“Well, not…living in the city, anyway. I mean, Lancaster’s not exactly a small town, but, well, you saw Granddad’s farm.” Martin turned a pancake over carefully. “Next time we go—I mean, if you want to go back—I’ll show you the house I lived in before we moved to London. It’s just…quieter, I guess. I’d kind of forgotten how much I missed not being in the middle of…everything.”

Jon considered that for a moment. Martin had been shocked to get a letter from his grandfather’s solicitor a month before his birthday, telling him in detail what he would need to do in order to take possession of the trust the old man had evidently set up for him to inherit on his thirtieth birthday; Jon wasn’t sure if he was more surprised that his grandfather had left him the property or that he’d survived to be thirty. Either way, the farm and its contents were his now, and they’d all gone up for a day or two in order to see the place before the wedding. Jon had liked it, not in the least because of how comfortable Martin had seemed while they were there. It was certainly quieter than London, without being too quiet for Jon.

“Would you be all right there?” he asked. “It’s—I mean, it’s not exactly close to…everything.”

“It’s only two and a half hours from London by train,” Martin said with a shrug. “Easy enough to go down to visit. And the Fourteen are in more places than just London, you know. The better question is, would you be all right there? I mean, it’s…well, two and a half hours from everybody else you know.”

“Yes, but consider: It’s two and a half hours away from Georgie, who is possibly dating or attempting to date Basira and is at the very least friends with her, and therefore likely to turn up in our lives if we stay in London,” Jon said dryly. Martin, who knew better than anyone that both Melanie and Jon—or at the very least Melanie—had a grudging tolerance for Georgie at best these days, laughed. “I—I could. I think. I mean, I’m just…drifting these days. At a loss for what I’m going to do with my life now that I don’t have the, ah, rigors of academia. Might as well drift in Lancaster as London.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, actually.” Martin paused, pancake balanced on his spatula, until Jon handed him a plate. “You know, the part of Lancaster near where Granddad’s farm is—”

“Your farm,” Jon reminded him.

“Where the farm is,” Martin amended. “There’s…you know, there’s not a used bookstore near there. We could open one up maybe. Sort of a northern branch of Cinnamon Rose Books. We could come up with a good name for it, get in some stock, deal with people who don’t want to travel all the way down to London to sell their antique books. Keep all those statements we…rescued…from the Archives in the back and set up a place for people to come give statements if they wanted to. Just…build a life up here that’s about us.” He shrugged. “Or we can go back to London, do something down here, and keep the farm as a…vacation place or something. Or sell it. You know, whatever we decide.”

Jon smiled. “I like the sound of that.”

“Of whatever?”

“Of we.”

At that, Martin smiled, too. “God, you’re such a sap.”

“Maybe.” Jon slipped in to steal a kiss. “But I’m your sap.”

Martin caught him before he could pull away. “Always,” he said in a low voice before kissing him properly.

Jon let himself get lost in the kiss, and tried not to think about the implications of that word. He couldn’t help it, though, and when they broke apart, he found himself asking, “Martin?”

Something in Martin’s eyes told him he’d guessed what Jon was about to ask, but he said, “Yes, Jon?”

“Are you…” Jon bit his lip. “Can you…die?”

“Yes,” Martin said, without hesitation. His eyes didn’t even flash. “Nothing lasts forever, no matter how it tries. It’s…possible that having already died once means I can’t die of natural causes, o-or of old age or whatever, but…well, the Eye doesn’t really go in for the future, so I don’t Know. Still, I can die. And I’ve already talked to Gerry about it. If it doesn’t look like I’m going to die normally…well, when you go, he’ll help me to follow you.”

Jon’s shoulders relaxed. “That…that shouldn’t be comforting. And yet…”

“I know. We’re not exactly the world’s most normal couple. But I promise you, I won’t live forever without you.”

“Good. Not because I wouldn’t want you to live forever, but…I don’t like the thought of you being alone.”

“I don’t like the thought of you being alone, either,” Martin admitted. “Luckily, it’s not something we have to think about right now. Any more than we have to decide what we’re going to do about the farm, or the future, or anything like that.”

Jon nodded. “We do have to talk about it, but…”

“Yeah, but not today. Not even this week.” Martin turned the final pancake out onto a plate and set it on the table. “Let’s eat breakfast and then…I dunno, go for a walk maybe. We can let the idea of moving or, or starting a bookshop or whatever sit for a while. We don’t have to make a decision today.”

Jon smiled up at Martin and slid his arms around his husband’s neck, pulling him close. “No,” he agreed. “No, we don’t. We have all the time in the world.”

As the souls of the dead live fore'er in my mind, As I live all the years that they leave me behind, I'll stay on the shore but still gaze at the sea; I remember the fallen, and they think of me, For our souls in the ocean together will be...

[shadowed-vigil]

day 2: horizon

noun: the limit of a person's mental perception, experience, or interest characters: warrior of light (and her parents) word count: 513

It isn’t that she doesn’t love the Twelveswood. 

Because she does; it’s her home. There are few things she favors more than a quiet night up her favorite tree, lyre at her hip and bow in her hand, cloaked in the safety of midnight. There’s an appreciation for the security of the tall boughs, the slips of moonlight that make their way through the canopy, the soft hum and click of the everpresent fauna. Her tribe, her friends — she was born to the forest, raised by it, and she’d return such love twofold if she could.

It’s just that she longs to see more.

The feeling always becomes most unbearable during any of her father’s infrequent visits. He always arrives with all sorts of goods — ornate weapons, tools for hunting, some dizzying variety of food. Sweets he passes in secret to her beneath the table when her mother isn’t looking, as she has to press a palm to her mouth to stifle the giggle. Stories he shares with her the early hours of the morning, painting pictures of faraway places — by the sea, in the desert, across the ocean. Places far beyond the reach of the trees.

“When I grow up, I’ll travel, just like you,” she tells him one night with no small amount of longing, unadulterated determination in her voice. “I’ll see Limsa with my own eyes, and all the rest.” 

Her father regards her as he always does: a small smile, too polite to be honest, an inclination of his head. “And leave your mother all alone?”

“She wouldn’t be alone. She has the rest of the family.”

“She wouldn’t have you. It wouldn’t be the same.”

“You could stay,” she pouts, tail fluffed in disdain. “For once.” 

He laughs like she’s said something funny — like she’s joking. 

“I think not, spitfire.” He pats her head, ignores the flattening of her ears. “You should know by now how these things work.”  -

As if it ever mattered how anything worked once Dalamud fell.  -

(As if the Calamity truly mattered, either; as if her mother hadn’t crafted her a bow from the beginning, taught her how to hunt, that tracking prey isn’t so different from defending herself, should the situation arise. Her mother had rarely left the Twelveswood, with few to none glamorous adventures to share, and yet she tells her daughter she’ll go one day, to broaden her horizons should she want to — even if she doesn’t want to, now, that Kipih would keep her safe, that they’ll find each other again after the danger has passed and the dust has settled.) -

Arcelia still visits the Twelveswood when she can. 

What she brings varies, depending on her visits, where she comes from. Her weapon changes with the summers, her old bow eventually replaced with a newer one, a nicer one — eventually replaced with a greatsword, in the end. 

The lyre stays at her hip regardless. Sometimes, perched at the top of her favorite tree, she sings to no one.

(Ghosts don’t make for the best conversationalists, but at least they’ll always listen.)

[familyagrestefanblog]

Honestly, I'm kinda surprised that I (personally at least) haven't seen anyone bring this up regarding how season 5 ended and what it might mean for Marinette in the future.

Of course it's important to discuss what Gabriel wished for, concidering he rewrote all of reality to his liking and we will have to deal with that. Of course thats a priority.

But there's a very specific angle that's not to be underestimated in my opinion, and I'm just surprised that even after all these months I've yet to see anyone bring it up.

The very specific angle of: Marinette Dupain-Cheng doesn't know what Gabriel Agreste actually wished for and is a highly paranoid person who thinks herself to death.

So if Cerise as Chrysalis will from season 6 onwards be out here and manage to raise the absolute hell for Marinette she's being set up to unleash, then we can absolutely reach a point where Maribug might genuinely come to the conclusion that the reality around her is the product of Gabriel wishing for Ladybug's/ Marinette's demise since that's by itself not an unreasonable conclusion to reach.

Clarification: There is this frustrating approach going around in the Fandom about the wish. Yes, one can wish for ONE thing only. Mate, if I make the wish that the earth NEVER had land mass above the water in the first place, then reality would be rebuild with a completely different chain of evolution here on earth that led to a different "equivalent" of us humans. It would change earth as we know it entirely, and yet I still only wished for ONE thing. Guys, get tf creative please.

And that would obviously mean she'd want to undo the wish to get out of this new reality bc that would in her mind be what it needs to SAVE reality from Gabriel Agreste's legacy and get back to her family, friends, to Adrien, and Chat Noir even.

You know, similar to what Toxinelle wanted.

That would also obviously include that Marinette at some point, when everything spiraled far downwards enough around her, starts mentally distancing herself from this reality she's in - like a villain, only that she's not - and comes to think of this reality and it's people kinda as "collateral damage" because whatever happens here isn't really important since Marinette wants to get back to her actual reality anyway. Meaning she might actually push away her friends and family ect.

Honestly, it all depends on how much hell Cerise/ Chrysalis raises for her. Cause once Maribug is pushed beyond a certain line she will be out here screwing herself over further and further by being caught in a mental devil's circle, where she then WILL become a person who needs to be fought/ pushed back againt for everyone's (including her own) safety but that would reinforce Marinette's paranoia that she's trapped in a reality specifically designed to turn against her.

The original mission Ladybug and Chat Noir were once chosen for is now OVER, but in Marinette’s head the war against Monarque could go on. Even Chrysalis to some degree would then merely be an extention of Gabriel in Marinette’s head. So "getting rid of her" by using the wish would on paper not be an extreme action, but merely fighting fire with fire.

And yeah, all of this would also mean that at some point Marinette would justify in her head to turn against this reality's Chat Noir, to get his Miraculous and make the wish. In her eyes she wouldnt really be betraying Chat Noir - HER Chat is waiting back in reality for her while THIS Chat was made by Gabriel to keep her here to met her demise.

(if you want it angsty, let her find out where he was locked up and by whom in the season 5 finale, without letting her know that he's Adrien Agreste. Cause Adrien and Kagami having been locked up by Gabriel (and Tomoe) in all that global chaos still meant they were save enough because of their parents being their captors, to keep them out of everything. But give her the vague information that Gabriel Agreste held Chat Noir as civilian captive under horrible nightmares too, in a different country and in some white hell cell, and you tell ME that she wont be motivated to get through this new reality's Chat Noir to get back to hers. Especially when Chrysalis is out here turning everyone against her? Of course she would want to go back to her Chat Noir who's her anchor and who sacrificed himself to keep his Miraculous safe from where he is? Which she would in turn feel horrible about cause she then LOST. Honestly, all things concidered, Adrien Agreste and Kagami Tsurugi were fine enough in Gabriel's (and Tomoe's) grasps, but what reason does Marinette have to think that Monarque would show Chat Noir the same concideration? Especially when he had just send away his Miraculous?)

Yes, this would also mean that Marinette would slowly distance herself more and more from Adrien, bc even if she thinks Gabriel made the wish in Adrien's benefit doesn't it mean Marinette agrees with the outcome. For all we know Adrien will go back to working for the Gabriel brand now so in future he can step into his "hero father's footsteps as his heir to uphold his legacy (since Adrien already HAS the needed career for it, he would just need to learn under Tomoe and Nathalie as his father's successor until he's of age)

Yes, this would mean that the friendship between Marinette and Alya would get seriously challenged since, by all means, Marinette’s dialog at the end of S5 still names Gabriel and Monarque as two seperate people. So Alya may know Gabriel Agreste made a wish, but not that Gabriel was Monarque and why Marinette is getting more and more paranoid. Add how Cerise normally tends to use Alya against Marinette, this isn't unlikely to happen again.

Alya may very likely at some point take over as team leader (the way shes set up to do) bc Ladybug doesnt trust her own team anymore and they somehow need to save her from herself.

I'm just saying. It's kinda weird for me that I saw no one ever even humoring this angle. We're talking about Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and you're trying to tell me that she's not ever going to think back to the fact that's she LOST against Hawkmoth and doesn't know what he wished for while basically being locked up in his new reality in which Lila/ Cerise will rise as the new Butterfly?

Did you WATCH the Paris special?

Come the fuck on...

[shantechni]

Okay, so the Turtles visual history cover, I love what they did with the styles they gave each turtle, left to right. Turtles count it off!

1. We start with Raphael in original comic style. Not just original comic, where they were streamlined(?) into basically the 03 look, but first issue style, with the pointy beak for an upper lip. This fits because the original comic turtles all had red bandanas. And while the following issues did still have violence, I think first issue is still the most, if not one of the most violent, and Raph is traditionally the most violent of the group.

2. Mikey, 80s cartoon style. I mean come on, he was most people’s favorite when it came to this show, he was practically the mascot, he was the one used for that anti drug thing with all the cartoon characters. And Mikey’s personality across iterations would usually be the one most fitting of the 80s style. And he’s got a slice, he also tends to be the one who loves pizza most, and the pizza loving was introduce through the show.

3. Leo…Not gonna lie, I’m kinda drawing a blank with this one. He could be movie Leo, because the 90 movie was huge, and now that I think about it, he is the first live action turtle we fully, clearly see on screen in that movie. That’s significant for turtles fans. I was thinking it could’ve been 03, but that show didn’t get much in the book (which it seems they’re gonna remedy in the revised and expanded version coming out soon).

4. Donnatello in 12 style. Firstly, legacy VA returned to voice him. Secondly, (which I honestly didn’t consider till now), 12 Donnie might have the most going for him out of all 4 (you of all ppl could correct me on that if I’m wrong). 03 Donnie was still smart and a tech wizz, but Donnie had a return to 80s form with making crazy machines out of garbage and alien tech, or just straight up garbage, and they work! Plus he’s got the crush on April, rivalry with Casey, personal struggles I’m not sure I’ve seen before, some other things, and he’s funny! I don’t think I liked Donnie in general as much as I liked 12 Donnie, and I think that was a common sentiment. He was definitely the least often favored Turtle till recent times, especially with Rise, which came out a while after this book. 12 Donnie was the start of him getting a lot of love.

🎵I love being a-I love being a-I love being a turtle!🎵 Wait, sorry. The counting got me going.

I was almost certain that's IDW Leo due to his design (though he more so reminds me of how the turtles are drawn on the Ultimate Collection covers), plus there's a potential pattern of, "comic turtle, cartoon turtle, comic, cartoon."

I really do love the choices they went with for each turtle though, because it's arguable that the versions are representative of pivotal moments in their characterization. While Raph overall remained the same cynical, rough knuckled but soft-hearted turtle throughout the years (to great effect mind you depending on the execution), Mikey inevitably became known as the pizza loving party dude we recognize because of how the 80s cartoon depicted him, and that's something that's stuck with him for four decades now.

Again, not entirely sure of what Leo that one is, but if it is IDW Leo, that would make sense. The story he goes through in that era of the comics is undoubtedly unmatched by anything we received in the movies and cartoons. It was possibly the truest embodiment of him growing to be a leader and the largest amalgamation of hardships he goes through to reach that point.

'12 Donnie is such a silly little guy from a silly little show that ran at the same time as the IDW comics����, but I'm willing to bet most (read: most, not all) people look at him as a pivotal version of the character. Obsessed with machinery and chemistry, awkward from spending years underground with the same folks for so long, but undeniably willing to go above and beyond for his family and friends. He's not unanimously the definitive best version of Donnie, but he was a bit of a trendsetter for some of the traits that reappear in the future iterarions, and Rob Paulsen's voice 100% added to this version of him.