#blorbo from my ocean right here

[wow-an-unfunny-joke]

I’m doing a project on Gulper Eels (aka Pelican Eels, Pelican Gulpers, or Umbrella-mouth Gulpers)

And- these fuckers don’t even look REAL-

A lot of deep sea critters, you see them and you understand Lovecraft’s fear of the ocean

But some of these guys-

LOOK AT HIM! HES SO STUPID LOOKING!

THIS IS MY IDIOT SON WHO I HATE HIS NAME IS BONGWATER AND HE HAS EVERY DISEASE!!!!!!!

[fvedyetor]

dressing sigma up in old blorbos' fits

info + notes abt blorbos bc i dont think everyone will know everybody here

kazuichi soda - super danganronpa 2 (left)

- super high school level mechanic my beloved !! kazuichi is so cool and so loser pathetic

- the fandom i was in before bsd

- i think sigma and kazuichi should hold hands

squid girl - squid girl (middle)

- girl who is a squid. comes from ocean and works at a beach restaurant

- i dont remember much from this show, i watched it when i was like 6 or 8 idk i cant remember. i was never in a fandom for it, if it exists.

- i was squid girl for halloween once, so thats why i chose her for this (i also was kazuichi for halloween once)

- also sigma in skirt 👍

remus - sanders sides (right)

- remus is the embodiment of intrusive thoughts. hes gross.

- the fandom that brought me to tumblr woohoo

- remus is much more kolya coded, so i was giggling drawing sigma in this outfit hehe

- ive also dressed up as remus before. but not for halloween.

[autisticgirliesbracket]

What makes Peridot from Steven Universe the autistic girlie ever of all time? Here's what the people have to say:

Peridot-related asks/reblogs: x This post will be updated after each round!

Image ID in alt text and under the readmore.

[Image ID. White slide with a screenshot of Peridot in the bottom right corner, she is smiling and wearing her red bowtie. She is surrounded by text boxes which read,

"She doesn't get social cues. Like, at all. She takes things too literally and she's very blunt herself. When she tries to joke, she can come off as rude or insulting, cause again, doesn't get social cues. She's a little nerd who loves disassembling and making stuff. Also she's my blorbo and I have autism so therefore so does she, hope this helps <3"

"literally everything abt her. she stims she has sensory overloads she has a special interest in tech she doesn’t understand social cues"

"I'm going to start this off by saying that the creator of the show pretty much confirmed all of the gems are neurodivergent, since they're aliens and don't think and act like humans. Peridot is who I'm nominating since I believe she's one of the most relatable gems to a lot of autistic people (including myself) Okay, so she's pretty bad with communicating with others, especially early on in the series. When trying to apologize to Amethyst, she records herself with her voice recorder (which is also shown to be a big comfort to her) and plays that recording for Amethyst instead of speaking directly to her She is extremely literal, not understanding human phrases and jokes (ex: Steven: Oh peridot, you're killing me! Peridot: I am not! That would violate our truce agreement!) She says things and doesn't understand why those things were upsetting for other characters, such as when she was pointing out how Amethyst is smaller than she's supposed to be. She found this funny and thought Amethyst would too, but Amethyst was upset since she's insecure about being "wrong", and Peridot didn't realize what she said was upsetting to Amethyst She makes up words and phrases for things so they make sense to her (ex: calling fingers "touch-stumps") She repeats the word "clod" a lot, possibly as a stim She gets a tablet later on in the series and is very excited since it reminds her of her old tech. She attaches it to her arm with a velcro strap, and spends a lot of the episode on the tablet. I believe technology is one of her special interests, and the tablet is a comfort item. In that episode Amethyst takes the tablet and tries to throw it in the ocean, causing Peridot to get very upset, yell "It's all that I am!", and activate her new metal powers (she's able to levitate metal, allowing her to save her tablet) She may also have a special interest in a show called "Camp Pining Hearts", as she's shown spending a large amount of time watching it by herself and with Lapis Lazuli. In Steven Universe Future, there's a remake of the show and she is very excited to watch it with Steven, but she doesn't like it. They spend the episode trying to change it to be better with Steven's dream powers, until Peridot realizes it's stressing out Steven and making him afraid of her leaving if he can't make it right I'm positive I'm missing things, but I think this is long enough already lol"

"Trouble socializing, doesn't understand why jokes are funny outside literal terms, stims vocally and physically, gets really obsessed with Camp Pining Hearts. Has trouble understanding emotions. Relied on accommodations to function and has comfort objects like tablets and an alien plushy."

"*tells joke* *person doesn’t laugh* “that was the incorrect response” "

"She's very literal, all the time, even for a gem (and not all gems are literal anyways). Uses her pre recorded voice as a way to get her more complicated thoughts out, so it's like an ACD. She mimics behaviours. She has echolalia with one word especially. Very strange humour. She's upset by other gems' unpredictability, and doesn't understand hoe what she says can hurt the other crystal gems. She has meltdowns that others call temper tantrums. She makes up a word system that makes sense to her, in order to help with her communication issues."

"Vocal stimming, talks very literally, can’t tell when others are upset, people pleaser, emotional regulation problems"

"She just is" End ID.]

[matthewmoorwood]

Currently compiling all of my personal headcanons for Vulcans in campfire so I can try to keep my fic stuff consistent and hrrgasdg I loveeeeee worldbuilding. Is any of this #realscience? nope. Is it still cool as fuck? Yep.

I'm not saying that biology is a special interest of mine, but I am saying that I did in fact make a flowchart of how I think Vulcans evolved into being humaoids from ocean bugs. Spoiler its by using desert cats as the mammal instead of apes. totally not because Vulcans are catboys or anything

I've even made separate evolutionary adaptations depending on what part of the supercontinent the Vulcans are from, like there are polar ice caps and so I've made flora and fauna that are kind of consistent with earth arctic stuff but also different and weird to accommodate for the desert conditions. (Yes ice is still classed as desert)

idk in my head Vulcans had a muchhh longer time period of being upright brain kinda work beings than we did because the climate was so harsh that evolution couldn't be as rapid + the whole fighting each other to death bit

Also those motherfuckers have tattoos and piercings and other illogical body mods, you're telling me that those pre-surak bitches wrote the most kick ass poetry and wouldn't?? ink themselves up with it?? yeah sure bud. Also sooo much socitial emphasis on jewelery and having either tattoo designs and stuff passed down through generations like taonga.

The level of drip Vulcans have is already illogical, idk I just think that most Vulcans who go offworld are taught to censor their cultural aspects in order to be less 'offensive' (appeal to space racists) but that the majority of regular ass Vuclans continue to practice their culture as their Surak given right.

Bc Uhura is my bbg and she's in all my tos fic (duh) I've also made some preliminarily language stuff (no dictionaries or anything) on potential communication things for the different regions depending on their available resources. e.g sign languages that require touching another person for dust storms/ blizzards.

'Cause of my physically disabled ass is in control here I've also been looking at how a semi-utopia view of accessible architecture could work while also tryna balance out the whole logical eugenics thing, too many cool sci-fi settings have like massive stairs and I'm like. :/ rlly.

When I do my ds9 fic stuff once the tos brainrot has abated I'll probably do a similar thing for Cardassians and Ferengi and Trill and all the other cool little critters.

I just think that Star Trek does WAYYYY to little with the ideas of alien cultures and ends up summeriasing entire planets and believing the same things and generalyl being copies of each other when there is so much diversity? across biomes? let alone galaxies. Semi-related it's like how obvs tos are my blorbos but I really want a new series which is just like "oh yeah this is Mr Brep and she kisses ladies and is also a spy for the Heebie Jeebie goverment and keeps getting into hijinks with her friends who she holds hands with all the time."

most of the time I wish I was normal and liked by my peers but other times, having autism kinda slaps.

[throwaway-yandere]

This is Esther.

Omg maid au JANBSHAGAVACG

may i add my blorbo:

Kaeya, but he’s a merMAID, yes sir!

—————

You don’t know why you keep coming back to that place; the coffee is subpar and the tea they serve is always the first pour.

“Well, if it isn’t our lovely patron. Enter, if you please, and have a seat.”

As if on cue, you then found yourself three hours late for your meeting at the estate and spending more money than you’d like in that cafe shop.

The experience itself is a blur; people serving you left and right and feeling you’re lying on ten silk blankets every time that person talks to you.

“My, my, is that all?” You break your gaze from the cold earl gray tea to face someone with a star in their eyes.

Correction. Eye.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything else? The cafe can cater to whatever you’d like.” There the feeling goes again, the feeling of another ten silk blankets piled on top of you.

It’s so comforting.

You dont want to leave.

He laughed.

“That’s what i like to hear.”

Me looking at my blog: *nervous laughter* how tf did we jump from mafia!au to idol!au to maid!au–

------------

It's a curious thing. His eyepatch, you mean.

You've heard many oceanic tales about marine life losing a few fins and eyes, but not once have you heard the same apply to someone high up in the hierarchy like merfolks. As a fae yourself, you'd rather die than have a mortal grace your eyelids with their rusted forks– what more for a merman like him who'd rarely encounter vile humans?

With that in mind, it's no wonder the unseelie court records would reference him often. His fate is brimmed with a potential for a vengeful folklore. You won't be surprised if your fellow dark faes have plans to use him as a pawn– once he dies, you're certain Barbatos would replicate Kaeya's skin to play a few tricks.

Personally, none of these sinister thoughts enchanted you quite like his laughter.

"Out of all the hosts, I'm surprised you've requested me." Kaeya said, bemused. "You know, I could help you request for my brother instead. He's a busy merman, but I can pull just the right strings for it to work out."

"I came to this host club to see you," you replied nonchalantly. "Don't tell me you're disobeying your master now."

"Wouldn't dream of it, my lord." He grinned. "Just wanted to test the waters."

"And you're a master at that, I'm certain."

"More so than a fae, I'd reckon."

"Hmm."

You giggled as you sipped your tea. It's cold. You'd be concerned if it were warmer under the sea.

"Why bother with pleasantries when you know well that I cannot refuse you, Alberich." You stated it as a fact not a question. "Just tell me what you desire and it will be done."

"And I thought I was the servant here, Master."

"I'll grant you a wish to express my... Appreciation for the night before."

"Then allow me to be selfish."

You heard the gates of the cafe close, but you did not show a hint of shock nor fear. Instead, you smiled at him as you reached your hand out.

"Take me however you see fit, dear. I'm yours."

You don't care about the danger.

Kaeya chuckled.

"How fortunate. I do need another eye to finally see the whole world again."

You relish in it.

[clairelutra]

cuprous chloride (a Sapphire Blaze rewrite) (1/?)

Fandom: Hidden Legacy series - Ilona Andrews Relationships: Catalina/Alessandro, Catalina & Runa, Catalina & Leon Rating: M Chapter Length: 7.8k (7.8k cumulative) Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Character Death, Discussed and Attempted Suicide Additional Tags: For Want of a Nail, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Casefic, Action & Romance, Friendship, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Smart Catalina Baylor Notes: CATALINA!! DESERVED!! BETTER!! MUCH MUCH MUCH BETTER THAN BOOKS THAT READ LIKE SECOND DRAFTS!!! she's MY BLORBO now. i'm breaking out of my hiatus for this because i love what ilona andrews wanted her to be so much and it physically pains me to read books where she is Distinctly Not That. my blorbo now. m i n e. 😭 Read on SquidgeWorld

My dreams had been stressed out even before I was woken up. A perfect aquamarine ocean stretched out in front of me, looking like Florida but somehow I knew I was in Italy. I bobbed along in the water, unaided as it pulled me back to sea. There were fish chasing my hair, brightly colored and curious.

I knew that I had to stay very, very still, or their little mouths would open to reveal great big teeth. I'd already been bitten once, my arm stung with the injury just above the bicep. Just stay still and they won't bite, just stay still and they won't bite, just stay still, still, still...

BOOM!

I had a brief, powerful vision of the plane with my sister and brother-in-law it pitching into the water, and woke up with a gasp.

Heart pounding frantically, I scrabbled at the sheets, pain lancing through my chest as I took in the room around me—the loft room that had once been my sister, Nevada's, but was mine now because she wasn't here anymore.

In quick succession, I remembered that she wasn't here because she moved in with her husband and therefore wasn't dead, and then that she and said husband were out of the country for a funeral, and then that I, Catalina Baylor, was Head of House Baylor because she had stormed out less than a week ago.

A second stab hit my heart as I remembered her face, a mask of chilly stoic fury as she signed the rights and responsibilities of House Head over to me, witnessed by the Keeper of Records.

That feel when you disappointed your big sister so hard she just packed her bags and left, leaving you in charge of five people who'd never once in their lives thought of you as an authority figure? Hurt like hell.

I scrubbed my hand over my face, then realized there was another person in the room with me.

Or, rather, the head of another person in the room with me.

Arabella, my younger sister, was watching me from the doorway.

Habitually, I opened my mouth to tell her to get out, then shut it as I registered her expression. She was flushed, her blonde hair sticking up at odd angles—but her honey eyes were wide and alert, irritated and worried.

"You up?" she rasped.

No. But Heads of Houses didn't get to tell their sisters to fuck off, so I blearily nodded instead. My chest still hurt.

"Augustine's here."

That woke me up in a hurry. "Augustine Montgomery?" I croaked. It was still dark outside, and I had gone to bed at one A.M. after several hours of reviewing our business records. The alarm clock on my nightstand told me it had been only an hour or so since I had crashed.

Augustine Montgomery had come up in a lot of those papers, because technically, he owned our business. He was the Head of House Montgomery, and when we sold our business to pay for our late father's experimental cancer treatments, it was Montgomery International Investigations that bought us. We had it mortgaged on a 30 year plan, and Nevada, who supported our family after Dad died, had been whittling it down as much as she could... but there was still a solid one mil on the warehouse alone.

And she had left it to me to finish.

It was my job to keep the agency in good shape so we could do that, and my job to deal with the National Assembly politics, and my job to deal with any House matters that came to our table—which would be a lot more now, since our House was officially three years old and the protections afforded us as we found our feet were officially over.

Nevada had some timing.

And, unfortunately, she had left me to deal with Augustine too.

Sometimes, I really hated my big sister.

"Yeah. He's downstairs. He said he wants to talk to you. It's an emergency."

My first thought was, what could he want with me? and my second, sinking thought was, oh, he's here for the the Head of House Baylor.

Which was me, Catalina Baylor, the new Head of House Baylor.

My chest throbbed with a dulled pain, and I gave my younger sister a distracted nod. "Gimme five."

She bounced, no doubt jiggling that enviable figure; the genes for nice tits and a cushy ass had skipped right past me. "Hurry. Mom's with him in the conference room right now and she looks ready to shoot."

Mom especially wasn't particularly fond of our leash-holder, which meant I needed to get there fast.

Arabella snapped the door shut behind her and I flailed out of bed, the very image of grace and authority.

There was no time for anything I'd have liked to do when being faced with our scary, scary not-boss, but I staggered up to my childhood vanity and flicked on the rows of bare bulbs and viewed myself.

Oversized I <3 sleep tshirt over tawny stick-thin limbs? Check. Sleep-puffed face in desperate need of cold water? Check. A horribly tangled mane of dark brown hair? Check. The pock of a purple bruise on my left bicep from my fight with the cast iron skillet last night? I poked it and winced. Check.

I snatched up my hair brush and attacked my hair, mouthing the seconds to myself. It took 53 seconds to get it to a workable state and another 17 to get it into a messy but respectable bun. My shirt was shucked, my bra snatched off the bedpost, yesterday's jeans (miraculously unstained) pulled up over my ass, and a flowy white shirt that I saved for special occasions was snapped off a hanger in my closet. I stumbled out of my room and towards the bathroom with 116, 117, 118 on my lips.

Pressing cold water to my face and taming the strands of my hair that refused to put art into their messiness took me the better part of the next hundred seconds, but it tamed the flush and made me look (and feel) more awake.

No time for real makeup, but a brush of good concealer for the slight spots present on my face made me look a little less fresh out of bed, and a smidge of extremely careful eyeliner made my blue eyes seem a whole lot less groggy.

I was counting through the 250s as I took myself in.

Grandmother Victoria would have told me that if awoken between 11 P.M. and 5 A.M., I should be tall, regal, wearing a flattering silken bathrobe, with my eyeliner on fleek and a bit of rouge on my lips to perfectly project lady of the household, annoyed by your continued existence, don't test her.

Instead, I got professional 20-something after a long workday spent imbibing too much coffee, now trapped like a deer in headlights.

It was better than lazy teenager staggering out of bed on a Saturday afternoon, so I'd have to take it.

Though I should probably do something about the deer look.

I stopped counting for a few precious seconds, taking a deep breath to find my center (I was terrible at it, but sometimes it helped), then pictured what a Head of House should be—what Victoria Tremaine's granddaughter would be—and opened my eyes to the world, one hundred percent done with everyone's shit.

Good enough, I guessed.

(Nothing felt 'good enough' after Nevada left, but I couldn't give up before I began. My family was depending on me.)

My hands still trembled as I left the bathroom, counting 281, 282, 283 under my breath. I steadied them as I walked through the rehabilitated warehouse we called home.

The warehouse was where we had moved after selling our house to pay for Dad's treatment. The original plan had been to turn the whole thing into a comfortable house on the inside, but that was expensive and we had been broke (in more ways than one), so, predictably, walls and structures had been built as they were needed, and strolling through the main area that everything had been plugged into usually felt like strolling through a picked-over section of Ikea, if Ikea sold their showcases in blocks.

I found my family in the warm glow of the media room just as 300 left me.

Everyone was there except Mom. My brawny nerd cousin, Bern; his dark and wiry younger half-brother, Leon; my birdboned grease machine grandmother Frida with her halo of platinum curls; and, of course, small, full-figured and blonde Arabella.

They all looked even groggier than I had been, and they all were watching what looked like security footage.

The back end of a car was rolling through our gates, and one guard was saying to the other, "...a Bentley?"

The other shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe it was a birthday present."

"Dumbass," Arabella growled. I noticed then that the rest of my family looked distinctly pinched.

"Who? What?" I asked—and was glad I did, because it would have been terrible if Augustine heard me croak like that. I cleared my throat. "What happened?"

"Our security sucks," Leon announced. He said it lightly, but his hackles were up, his dark eyes flinty.

Grandma Frida's lips thinned, a rare look of condemnation on her laugh-lined face. "He didn't even knock. He pretended to be you and strolled right through the gates. And they—" She gestured harshly at the guards. "—just let him in."

A chill ran down my spine. If I had been more awake, a pit would have opened below my feet.

"What?"

Bern hit rewind and showed me someone who looked exactly like me passing the retina scan and the guards not so much as glancing at the logs that would show I was already home, and the person gliding through the gates was a fake.

Our three year grace period as a new house was officially over, painting a massive target on our backs that said fresh meat, and our staff didn't even double-check to make sure we weren't being infiltrated by an illusion Prime.

Nausea churned in my gut.

They had to be removed and replacements found ASAP. It wasn't reasonable to keep them on the payroll. The point of security was to keep the bad actors out, and for all we knew, these two would invite them in for tea and biscuits.

Mom wasn't going to like that.

"Try to look a little less like you swallowed a mouse," Grandma Frida advised, "and get in the conference room. Your mother is in there with that ass and a .50 Desert Eagle, and she'll put a bullet between his eyes any second now if there's no one to stop her."

She looked a bit mouse-inflicted herself, but she was right. I took a deep breath, fighting for my unimpressed and aloof cloak, and left the room.

I had been Head of House for three days, and twenty one for just as long. This would be my first interaction with another Prime as Head of a House, and Augustine was a shark in a multi-thousand dollar suit.

I couldn't fuck this up.

You are Nevada Rogan's sister, Penelope Baylor's daughter, and Victoria Tremaine's granddaughter. You can do this.

I walked across the hall to where the light could be seen shining through the frosted glass of the conference room window, bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper, and strode into the room.

The two adults sat on opposite sides of the table; Augustine swiveled to the door to watch me ener, while my mother watched him like a coiled cobra, focused as a sniper on duty with her right hand below the table, doubtlessly fingering the Desert Eagle just out of sight.

They were a study in opposites when you looked at them like this. Augustine Montgomery always looked like a marble statue of some Greek god who thought it could Clark Kent with a pair of wire specs, and my mother was an ex-military mixed chick with a bad leg and nerves-slash-balls of steel.

Both of them could kill you faster than you could blink, and Mom looked like she was very, very close to that edge right now.

House business, House business, House business, I chanted to myself as I sidled over to Mom. As reassuring as it was to have a gun trained on the shark in a multi-thousand dollar suit, it would look horrible if my first meeting with a Prime as a Head of House ended with the other guy dead.

"Mr. Montgomery," I said. My voice didn't shake, nor did I sound half asleep. Score!

I looked at Mom and silently begged her to look at me. When she didn't, I said, "Mom, Grandma Frida was looking for you," and caught her eye as soon as she glanced at me. After a tense moment of me trying to ask her to let me handle this with my gaze alone, she nodded and withdrew, clicking the gun into her holster as she left.

Turning back to our... guest, I said, "Mr Montgomery, you know you're always welcome in our home, but it's the middle of the night."

He almost looked apologetic—or, at least, His Holiness was trying to look apologetic, which was as close as he came—and said, "It's an emergency."

I cocked my head.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a phone, and showed me the screen. On it, there was a teenage boy with short, bright red hair and a mischevious grin—the kind of grin that seemed to lurk on Leon's face at all times, just ready to be whipped out on a moment's notice. There was something about the shape of his face that tugged hard on my memory, but I couldn't place it.

"This is Ragnar. He's fifteen. He has a dog named Tank. He likes detective books and the Sherlock Holmes show." Passingly, I wondered if he meant BBC, Elementary, or some new one I hadn't heard of yet. "He plays a Ranger in Hero Tournament. Two days ago, his mother and sister died in a fire."

My gut wrenched, even as a logical corner of my brain pointed out that all this was coming from Augustine Montgomery and there was absolutely no reason he would be showing me this unless he wanted something from me. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because right now he's standing on the roof of Memorial Hermann Hospital. He's thinking of jumping."

"Why are you telling me this?" I repeated around the lump in my throat. I couldn't look away.

"He's a Prime. Nobody can get to him. If we don't hurry, his broken body will be the leading story in the morning news."

I knew it would be broken, because I had been to Memorial Hermann Hospital all too many times myself. It was the place they told us that there was no hope left for Dad. It was far too many stories tall for little boys and girls who didn't want to be here anymore.

...If we don't hurry...

"Augustine, you know that's not what we do," I said quickly, but I knew it was too late. I was already praying I made it in time. "I've never pulled someone off a building before. We investigate insurance fraud, not..."

"But you can do it." He looked right at me. "It is within your power." When he saw my hesitation, he added, "Your sister asked me for a favor once. I'm calling it in. From one Head of House to another. He has one sister left. Right now, she's at the hospital praying he doesn't fall to his death."

It was within my power. If I walked away here and went back to bed, forget looking my reflection in the eye, I'd never sleep again.

"Okay." I straightened and wished I had something to fiddle with. "Let me grab my coat."

Augustine stood, a flicker of something that seemed terribly like genuine gratitude passing through his eyes as he stood. "Thank you."

---------

I turned the conversation over in my head as Augustine's driver took the silver Bentley through the empty streets at breakneck speeds, taking the two of us to the hospital.

Since when had Augustine Montgomery, leader of MII, CEO made of smoke and mirrors and ice, grown a conscience? Did Ragnar mean something to him? Did his sisters and-or mother? Who—or what—was worth waking him up at 2 A.M. and making a drive to a secondary agency to personally fetch a siren?

He had come to us.

There were a thousand halcyons out there. A careful poison specialist could immobilize him. A telekinetic could stick a wall in front of him. Why me? What game was he playing?

He had broken into our home, showed us our most glaring security weak points, and pulled all the pathos levers to get me to come with him. Pathos, not strength, not intimidation, not money. Just pathos. He'd called in a whole favor for it. I'd drink my favorite liquid foundation in a single shot if he'd done it out of the goodness of his heart.

God, House politics were exhausting, and I was still barely out of bed.

(What would Nevada think of all this? I wondered with a prick of pain in my chest. I wished I could ask her.)

"How do you know the family?" I asked. Might as well start with the basics.

"Ragnar's sister contacted MII in regard to her mother's and sister's deaths. She doesn't think the fire was an accident."

Which answered exactly none of my questions, and left me with several more. It didn't escape my notice that he had neatly sidestepped giving a House name—if they even were a House now. Ragnar was a Prime, and that was all I knew. Well, that, Tank, his preferred character in some video game, and his taste in fiction.

"Was it?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss the details."

So, that's a yes. And Baylor Investigative Agency was, as the name stated, an investigative agency. I'd drink the rest of my liquid foundations if he didn't plan to pawn this case off onto us.

That still didn't explain why we'd started with the suicidal teenager and not a formal meeting in his shark aquarium office.

"Did you take the case?" Do I get a say in the contract or not?

"She knows our rates."

"You turned her down." I didn't bother to keep the disgust out of my voice. As much as I appreciated being able to write my own contract, the thought of a heartbroken and desperate young woman getting the patented Augustine Montgomery treatment made my gorge rise.

"I'm not running a charity." He glanced at me in the rearview, clearly annoyed. "If I'm going to put my people in danger, I have to properly compensate them. You, of all people, should know how much is at stake when one looks into a Prime's death."

A Prime, singular. That meant it was a family of four, with at least two Primes. One dead Prime, one dead not-Prime, one living-but-suicidal Prime, one person of unknown magical strength. They were almost definitely a House. I still didn't know their last name. Or what happened to their father.

I did know that the mysterious sister was rich enough to get into Augustine's office, but not rich enough to hire him. Which meant she was likely rich enough to make our bills easier to pay and would still be on the lookout for investigators. Just $1,039,055.54 left on the mortgage.

I caught myself there and swallowed. Two people were dead and one more might be soon if we didn't get there in time, and I was thinking about the bills. God dammit.

I rubbed my forehead. "Did you at least tell his sister what to expect if I have to use my magic?"

"I told her the boy would have to be sedated."

Good enough.

The car pulled into the parking lot and a Hispanic man met us at a near sprint. He didn't bother with the front doors; he ripped mine open and subjected me to the sub-thirty temperatures. Thank god I had picked my windbreaker for this trip.

"Did he jump?" Augustine beat me in asking by a single breath.

"No, sir."

"Come on," he said, and jumped out of the car with me hot on his heels.

The gloriously warm air of the hallway beat back the icy chill of the outdoors. A group of people waited by the bank of elevators, some in scrubs and some in suits, all wearing the same panicked expression.

Apparently, they had been waiting for Augustine, because they saw us and scattered, leaving behind a single redhaired woman.

I knew that redhaired woman.

Runa Etterson.

I had met her at Nevada's wedding, when one of the many enemies of House Rogan (the House of her husband) had poisoned the cake. The only reason any of us were alive now, Augustine included, was because Runa had purged the toxins before the cake had arrived. She was a Prime Venenata, a poison mage.

Now, I could hardly recognize her. Her bombastic personality was muted; that vibrancy that could fill a room had been doused like a flame. Her pretty face was red, tearstained, and puffy. Her clear grey eyes were clouded over with fury and despair. She had grown since I'd last seen her, and shrunk again in the worst way.

Just looking at her was enough to make my chest ache so powerfully I couldn't breathe.

She looked at me like and a fire lit in her eyes. A blaze of hope.

I knew then that I would die before I let her down.

"Catalina?" she rasped.

"Catalina, there is no time," Augustine said, cutting off my reply. He strode into the open elevator, then turned and waited for me, and my feet obeyed.

The last thing I saw as the doors closed was Runa looking at me like I was the answer to all her prayers.

--------

The elevator hummed, carrying us upward, brightly lit and perfectly normal. In the mirrored wall, I could see the Heads of Houses Baylor and Montgomery standing side by side in the mirror.

At least I looked the part, even if I didn't feel like it. My bronzed complexion did me the favor of not looking too sallow, and my eyeliner made my eyes look more alert than they were. I took my thick, dark hair out of its bun and let it cascade over my shoulders—people liked that look.

Maybe it would buy me a few seconds.

Despite the older windbreaker and jeans, I could be considered a well-to-do young lady. Poorer than the painfully expensive suit beside me, but somewhat dignified. My eyeliner hadn't smudged yet.

If Nevada wasn't so pissed at me, she'd probably be proud of me.

I had a few answers now, at least. Augustine had likely rushed to get me because he had people inside the building, and a Prime Venenata completely losing it because she lost her last living family member would be more destructive than a sudden biobombing; as heartless as Heads could be, they often looked after their own with ferocious dedication. He had heard Runa out because he owed her a favor, and come to get me personally because he had a favor of his own to burn, free of charge.

Runa's little brother was going to commit suicide.

"You didn't say he was from House Etterson." If he was a Prime poison mage then that explained why that detail had been gently elided, but that didn't mean I couldn't be a little sour about it.

"Was it pertinent information?"

Yes. We owed Runa too, after all. Even more than he did. "That means he's a Prime Venenata."

"I told you he wouldn't let anybody get to him."

I could imagine. I was not looking forward to trying my luck.

"Has he killed anyone?" I asked. Distressed poison mages had been known to do that from time to time.

Augustine sighed. "He's a gentle child. He made them sick enough to turn them back, but he didn't inflict permanent damage."

I didn't show my wince. People I used my power on were not always so kind. Let's hope his nature held true.

The numbers on the digital display crawled up past the oncology floors. I had never been this high up in the building.

"When the doors open, turn left," Augustine said. "Go to the door marked 'exit', and up one flight of stairs. There will be a metal door that will give you access to the roof."

"And once I'm there?"

Augustine was too dignified to shrug, but he would if he hadn't been. "Have a talk with him, poison mage to siren."

"That's a terrible plan," I informed him sourly.

"Ragnar will hesitate to hurt you. If he does, I'll be there, and I'll help."

It wasn't me I was worried he'd hurt—or, at least, not primarily so. And Augustine being there could only make it worse. "If he sees you—"

"He won't."

Okay then.

The elevator doors opened, and I took the path at a half-run, heart in my mouth. The passage smelled overpoweringly of vomit, the stairs showing a hefty coating of chunky substance.

Okay, I could deal with a bit of unprompted food poisoning. Probably. It might make it hard to sing, though.

I took a deep breath, regretted it, and pushed through the door onto the roof.

Ragnar stood at the opposite end, a lone figure in a hoodie and jeans. The lights of Houston outlined him in their multicolored glory; he was young and small and far away.

Quietly, I took a few steps onto the gravel, then a few more. It was loud on the streets below, but not up here. Up here it was cold and dark and so very, very lonely.

The only thing worse would be to go back to the white walls and uncaring cacophony of the hospital below. To sit in that place that brought nothing but news of loss and pain.

"Hey," I said, just loud enough to carry, weaving the smallest amount of power into my voice as I could manage. The last thing I needed was for him to rocket over the edge because he felt me coming.

"You're not going to stop me either," said Ragnar. His voice was that high-low mess of puberty and terribly determined.

My heart pounded on my throat; I tasted copper. I wove a stronger thread into my voice as I said, "Why would I stop you?"

"Because people are stupid," he bit out. I took another few steps forward. "You don't understand."

"Runa—"

"Tell her I'm sorry."

I breathed through the lump in my throat and blinked my stinging eyes. I could hardly feel the wind. "That's not what you want to tell her."

Puzzle him. Make it so that if he jumps, he'll never know the answers.

Ragnar snapped around to glare at me. "What the fuck else would I say?"

"You want to tell her 'you're welcome'."

"...Excuse me?"

I shoved my hands in my pockets and gave him a wan smile. I pulled the power out of my voice again. I wanted him pissed off, not placid. "That's it, isn't it? Mom isn't here anymore. You're Runa's responsibility now. She's barely an adult herself. If you jump, she won't have to worry about you. All she'll have to worry about is herself. You know you'll be a mess, and she isn't any better off than you are; why would you want to drop that weight on her?"

It was what I thought about whenever I passed through the oncology office's waiting room. I remembered sitting there in one of those hard plastic chairs, nine years old, doing the math for how many mouths Nevada would have to feed all alone, and then subtracting myself and doing the math again. It would have been so much worse if it had only been the two of us. So, so, so much worse.

Ragnar stumbled away from the ledge, not wanting to fall by accident while he was processing that.

"No," he said, looking deeply disconcerted, "not that, I didn't mean— I didn't... wasn't..."

"My dad did chemo in this hospital," I continued. He focused on me again. "It wasn't working. My mom is disabled, and the rest of us were kids. My big sister was the only one who could take the hours needed to support us. She was seventeen."

The conversation had officially been deemed interesting enough; he took a few more steps back from the ledge and dropped into a sitting position like a discarded marionette. Thinking about Nevada hurt, but my pain wasn't for nothing.

I closed the distance, sitting a distant but companionable seven feet away, careful not to reveal how much I wanted to cry in relief. He wouldn't jump. "How much easier do you think her life would have been without me? Without us?"

"Lots." He was too raw and bitter to dress it up.

For a long time, that was what I had thought too.

"I don't think so," I said, and he shot me a flat, dubious, tearstained and empty look. I gave him another smile and a weak shrug. "You see, my sister is... responsible. She takes responsibility for things, and then she toughs it out. She would die for each of us, and she would live for us, too. I don't think she'd have kicked the bucket if she was the last one, but..."

Ragnar stayed warily silent, letting me search out the right words.

"She got married three years ago to a man she loved," I finally said. "Without us, she wouldn't have done that—definitely not this soon. With no one left to live for, she would still be fighting to get out of bed, not looking forward to her first baby." I held Ragnar's eye while blinking icy tears back from my own. "I don't know your sister that well, but I know family. If you jump, you'll save her the trouble of taking care of you. You'll take from her the will to live, survive, and thrive, too. You're the very last thing she has left."

Ragnar's mouth compressed, then stretched. He was absolutely furious with me, but too busy with his own heartbreak to do anything about it. In his heart of hearts, he knew I was right.

I had severed his way out.

I rested on the heels of my hands and dropped my head back to stare at the sky. Barely any starlight managed to prick through the pollution, but I admired what I could see. My fingers were well and thoroughly numb, and starting to burn with the chill, but I ignored that.

Healthy sobs from the lungs of a teenage boy wading through the worst night of his life came from a very mysterious source that I knew better than to seek out.

He wouldn't jump.

-----

By the time the noise had finally stopped for good, the rest of me was numb too.

I glanced down and found Ragnar a wreck, so burned out he looked like he was about to pass out.

I'd like to pass out myself, personally, but that seemed like a bad idea, especially when I couldn't feel my feet. That's what the little matchstick girl did, and look at how well that turned out for her.

With difficulty, I stood, and then I walked over to Ragnar and offered him a hand. He wiped his hands on his jeans and accepted—only to overbalance and drag me and my horrible footing down with him. Somehow, I managed to avoid kneeing him in the balls.

"Oops," he rasped into my windbreaker. Somewhere in all the pain, there were faint traces of humor. That was a good sign, probably. I hoped.

I patted his head, and together, we managed to get ourselves upright. Neither of us could stand alone, so we ended up supporting each other back to the door, and then down the stairs (they seemed to have been cleaned since I last saw them), and then into the elevator.

Augustine was waiting there, utterly impassive, to operate the elevator.

I didn't let go of Ragnar, and he didn't let go of me. With a stomach-turning bump, the elevator began its decent.

"Ms. Etterson will be thrilled to see you both in good health," Augustine said blandly.

I hummed an acknowledgement, gave Ragnar a squeeze, and waited out the rest of the trip in silence.

My eyeliner hadn't survived and now rimmed my eyes like a wannabe panda, but it felt more like a badge of honor than a failing.

When the doors opened, I caught exactly one flash of Runa's huge gray eyes and disastrous red mane, and then she was tackling her brother with a ferocity that made me ache inside.

Ragnar mumbled, "I'm sorry," and Runa started bawling, huge sobs of relief, too far gone for words.

I busied myself trying to rub some feeling back into my legs so that I could escape the elevator without falling flat on my face. Mostly I just got waves of pins and needles for my pathetic efforts.

Next to me, Augustine cleared his throat, and when I looked up, he offered a suited arm.

I grabbed onto it, and crushed back a smile when he stumbled under my sudden weight. Always nice to see an asshole taken off guard.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a guy in scrubs approach with a needle. I tugged at Augustine's arm pointedly. "He doesn't need it. He's fine. I didn't use my power." Or, at least, not enough to need fixing.

Augustine halted the man with a wave, then gave me the side eye from behind his wire specs. "I seem to remember bringing you here to do just that. What was that about never having pulled someone off of a roof before?"

"Well, it's not like I pulled him," I muttered, only aware of how lame that sounded when it hung in the open air. "He came back on his own."

"For you."

"Details," I replied, then remembered I was supposed to be the dignified Head of the noble House Baylor, and shut my mouth again fast.

Augustine led-slash-supported me further away, until we were at an intersection where the bustle of activity would cover anything we said.

"From one Head to another, you should have used your power," he said quietly. "It would have made all of this much neater."

"My power is temporary," I said, "and suicidal tendencies linger. If I had used it, he may well have jumped as soon as I removed it again. If anything, it would've made things much messier." He knew why he had to live now, and that would last much longer than the glow of infatuation.

"I can't decide if you are abominably stupid, or very clever," Augustine mused conversationally. He didn't look away from the throngs of medical personnel. "The state of your security leaves me inclined to the former."

I tilted my head in acknowledgement, even as my cheeks burned. There was no point in denying it.

"Now House Etterson owes you a favor they'll never forget," he continued, "and one ally is better than none. Even if their House consists of two Primes alone."

I nodded and suppressed a yawn. I didn't point out that while they may have the bare minimum number of members in their House to continue qualifying as a House, they were poison specialists, and active ones at that. The number of people who owed Runa their lives started at the hundred plus member guest list from my sister's wedding and only stretched on from there.

There was a good chance they were critically isolated now, and could use all the friends they could get. Especially if the fire that killed the other two wasn't an accident.

"The reprieve granted to your house has just expired," he said under the sound of foot traffic. "People will be coming for you and yours. You're powerful but inexperienced, and because of your sealed records, you are an unknown quantity. Unfortunately, being unknown isn't enough of a deterrent."

"Thank you for the heads up," I said, and smothered another yawn. God, it must be well past 3 A.M. now. I should've been in bed. And I still needed to hitch a ride back somehow. I didn't put it past Augustine to not just leave me here, and I didn't want to impose on the obviously grieving young duo. "Never would have guessed that the ancient and noble houses of Texas tended to be bold about offing the newcomers."

I wasn't an empath, but I could still feel Augustine's tick of annoyance. It wasn't his fault that the fatality rate of new Houses was something I was intimately familiar with.

"Have you put due consideration into the connections you'll forge?" he asked. "Your sister has been very careful to untangle your House from her husband's enemies, but little to none in building your own friendships."

This was not necessarily true, but we were too busy trying to pay the bills to wine and dine properly. All our potential allies remained at a vague 'maybe'. I dropped to massage my calves again; the pins and needles were getting really bad now. "Got suggestions for us?"

"More than that—I have an offer."

There it was.

I glanced up and over my shoulder, hands not quite pausing on my leg; his Greek statue face was as impassive as ever. I probably shouldn't let him know I knew he had made Nevada 'an offer' no less than three times before, and that she had turned him down every time. "Go on."

"I offer a strategic alliance between House Montgomery and House Baylor. Occasionally, cases which are uniquely suited to the talents of your family cross my desk. I'd like you to handle them. In return, I offer generous financial compensation, access to MII's resources within the scope of those particular investigations, and the benefits of an association with my house."

To his credit, it didn't sound overly rehearsed.

I massaged the tendon above my heel, wincing. Why couldn't teenage boys pick nice summer nights to attempt suicide? "Do those benefits include better security?"

"As needed," he said.

On the tail end of Nevada leaving me in charge of House Baylor out of nowhere, I almost wanted to agree out of spite. If she wouldn't help us, why shouldn't we run into the arms of someone who would? And we genuinely, desperately needed security.

But Nevada had had her reasons for repeatedly spitting on the offer, and they weren't all because she was a hopeless daddy's girl who poured her heart and soul into maintaining the agency Dad had left to us.

"We would make nice arm candy for MII, wouldn't we?" I mused. A secret elite taskforce, and we looked good too. With good security. I switched legs and swallowed a pained hiss. My voice came out strained when i said, "How long would this arrangement last?"

"Ten years under these terms. Future iterations will be negotiable."

Yeah, no. No way.

I nodded slowly, and continued working my leg. My whole lower half was a blaze of pain, and my arms weren't much better. It made it hard to think.

Still, I managed.

If Nevada were here, it would be the money that drew her in, and a need for independence that pushed her out. If Mom were here, it would be protection that drew her in, and her own integrity that pushed her out. If Grandmother Tremaine were here, it would be information and influence that drew her in, and obstinate pride that pushed her out.

I agreed with all of them and none of them.

"Then let me make you a counter offer," I said slowly, turning the pros and cons over in my mind. "Keep your dimes. We won't become a subsidiary. We will provide MII with one thousand billable hours of our services—with stipulations—to a maximum of twenty hours every week, free of charge. In exchange, you'll give us three months of your best security, and publicly take me, Head of House Baylor, under your wing as a protegee for one year, affording me social protection and access to your connections through you."

If Augustine had an opinion on it, he was reserving judgement. "And the stipulations?"

I stopped rubbing in order to count off my fingers. "One, if there's a conflict of interest with a preexisting client, the client comes first. This courtesy will likewise be extended to you; we won't be bought. Two, we will not break the law for you. That is final. Three, we will neither aid nor turn a blind eye to hate crimes, harm to children, human trafficking, rape, death of uninvolved civilians, or mass destruction."

My sisters, cousins, and I had spent a while hammering out what, exactly, 'being able to look your reflection in the eye at the end of the day' entailed when we were stuck in the house and bored, and I was very glad we had. We had all agreed that there were always special cases, but those six covered most of them.

Hopefully none of them would hate me too much for this.

Augustine gave me a narrow look.

I smiled innocently. "You did say you would compensate us generously." I knew he had quoted Nevada at something like a hundred thousand per month the first time, and it had only risen from there as she proved herself. "Isn't this a steal?"

"I suppose it is," he allowed. His mouth slanted in something that could be considered a smile, if only by the farsighted. "Your sister was quite concerned with separating your names from ours. You don't share her reasoning?"

I shrugged, tested the stretch of my leg, swallowed a pained whine, and kept rubbing. "She doesn't want us to get swallowed up, but we're never going to get established as a House if we don't make friends."

Some other emotion flickered across his impassive face—entertained? "Am I a friend to you, Ms. Baylor?"

I opened my mouth; 'oh hell no' and 'well, you haven't wanted us dead in a while' ran into each other and went boom. Eventually, I said, "No, but I know you, and if you screw me over, my family knows where you live."

And then I yawned for real. Dammit.

"I see," he said gravely. He pushed away from the wall and offered me a gentlemanly hand. "This seems like a good time to conclude our business. I will think on your offer and call you for the details of the contract should I find it acceptable."

I grabbed his hand, and then clung to it for dear life. The state of my legs was so much worse now that I had woken them up. So, so, so much worse.

Disappointingly, he was expecting it this time, and wound my arms around his left bicep, letting me koala on him for the short walk to the Ettersons.

"Let me give you a small piece of advice, prospective mentor to prospective protegee," Augustine breathed to me as we walked. His breath was surprisingly warm and human over my ear; somehow, I had expected him to breathe like an air conditioner. "Do not become involved in the Etterson case. I know exactly what you're up against. It is no place for a young House. Sometimes when you search the night, you'll find monsters in the dark. You are not ready."

I felt myself smile wryly even through the pain. "Message received."

He knew we were all bleeding hearts; that 'warning' was as good as thumping a stuffed file and a quote on my office desk.

Runa stood by Ragnar, the boy pale and exhausted but alive as he slumped on the sterile white bench, the young woman hovering with ghosts in her eyes.

She saw me and broke into a mask of gratitude and relief so intense it looked like it hurt. She lunged for me, barely giving me the time to let go of Augustine before she swept me into a bone-crushing hug.

"Thank you," she croaked into my hair, clutching me tight enough to make both of our skeletons creak. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you..."

I held her close and stroked her hair. It was a knotted wreck. I wondered if she had a hairbrush wherever she was staying, or if personal hygiene had fallen to the wayside in the wake of her tragedy. "I'm just glad you're both okay."

She clung to me with trembling ferocity.

"Where are you staying?" I asked her softly. "I heard your home had been burned, but not much more... Home? Friends? Hotel?"

A twitch ran through her, like I had struck a raw nerve, and she jerkily shook her head. "Hotel."

I squeezed her gently. "That's no place to try to find your bearings from." Pulling free, I grabbed her shoulders, gave her a little shake, and caught her hopeless gray eyes. "Come on. We've got a guest bedroom and hot chocolate. It's good hot chocolate, I promise."

Her face crumpled; I drew her into a much gentler hug as she broke down sobbing.

"Shh, shh, shh... It'll be okay, I promise... Shh..."

Augustine looked at me over her head, flatly unamused. I rolled my eyes��like this wasn't exactly what he had wanted us to do anyway—and rubbed my cheek on the top of Runa's head.

"C'mon... Let's sit down."

Once we were sitting on the bench with Ragnar, Runa's face still in my shoulder and the boy looking at me like he hadn't decided if I was friend or foe, I pulled out my phone to text Leon, careful to keep the screen tilted away from the two Ettersons.

How're we feeling about two grieving unstable poison mages?

depends on the poison mage

Ettersons. They need a place to stay. I offered.

dear god... you make her head for one week........ shes gone MAD WITH POWER........

Mad with the power of squaring away life debts, yeah. You gonna get fam up to receive us or not?

Leon sent me a picture of a good-natured white man with a scruffy beard pointing a finger and saying, 'You got me there!', and then yeah i gotchu, and then need 2nd drvr?

"Did you drive here?" I asked Runa quietly. When she nodded, I rubbed her upper arm and typed, Yeah. Get Bern.

on it and then, after about twenty seconds, he added, eta is 15 mins

I let out a long, slow breath, locked my phone, and leaned into Runa, grateful for lots of things, but above all, grateful for the slight abatement of the pain in my legs.

[crazyw3irdo]

some notes i like

seeing this and going “hm that pfp looks familiar… is that who i think it is…” and clicking the url to confirm that not only is that tybalt’s actor in the austrian retj, but also his description says “tybalt’s defense lawyer” & their blog has many tybalt posts was hilarious

^act 3 scene 1 in a nutshell

hanging those two on my metaphorical fridge. also woah emh url jumpscare (of course the emh fans find beauty in the tragedy of being at the mercy of higher powers that don’t care for your life)

first off this is tumblr we can say fuck here, second off i made this quiz in an hour right before i went to bed 👍

i haven’t written anything public in years lol and id personally say i’ve never really written poetry before which is what ppl tend to be agreeing is what this quiz is. but i do have a lot of OCs that like. given the response to this i might try to do some stuff with. this is partially a plea if anyone has any questions about any of my special interests be that my ocs or romeo and juliet or anything send me an ask i love to talk about this stuff. elevator pitch for my main oc universes:

-group of supernatural guys (witch, ghost, werewolf, elf, and two vampires) in the post-apocalypse trying to save the last vestiges of humanity & look after a little human girl

-seven deadly sins but they’re magical girls fighting the four horsemen to stop the rapture

-more lightheartedly, four monster roommates in the modern world. about a 100 monsters just showed up in the usa one day and no one knows why. one of the monsters starts a youtube channel

-fairy tale type story where a prince has to rescue princess from a dragon but he has to bring a wizard he hates along with him and also the princess doesn’t like him

this is the most mercutio response lmfao. also love how many ppl wanted to get mercutio whether they did or not. glad my blorbo is yours too lol

does the sun have to shine? does the world have to turn? the oceans rise and fall with the moon? your lungs breathe? your heart beat?

the answer to all of these, of course, is none of it has to happen. but you wouldn’t have life without it.

i appreciate the effort but as a mercutio myself i can only be killed by a tybalt. it’s like pokemon type matchups. if the person from the first tag on this post wants to kill me tho then yeah i can’t do shit about that

[beeceit]

Hi Fawn! I am back with yet another itbotb blorbo song rec. This time, I offer you Eight by Sleeping At Last.

This song gives me significant Future Turtle vibes.

This bit especially makes me think of Blue:

I was just a kid who grew up strong enough To pick this armor up And suddenly it fit God, that was so long ago, long ago, long ago I was little, I was weak and perfectly naive And I grew up too quick Now you won't see all that I have to lose And all I've lost in the fight to protect it

Blue lost everything in the war against the Krang, but now back in the past he has so many things that he can't bear the thought of losing. Casey, his brothers in this timeline, even Leo.

These lines, however, remind me more of Orange/Michelangelo:

I want to break these bones 'til they're better I want to break them right and feel alive.

[...]

I'ma shake the ground with all my might And I will pull my whole heart up to the surface For the innocent, for the vulnerable And I'll show up on the front lines with a purpose And I'll give all I have, I'll give my blood, give my sweat An ocean of tears will spill for what is broken

Orange is ready to tear himself apart to salvage whatever he can from his native timeline. He'll tear reality apart to get his brothers back if he has to.

Hope you're having a good day!

AS ALWAYS, YOU ARE SO RIGHT!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH, I LOVE MUSIC AND I LOVE ANALYZING SO THIS IS SO MUCH FUN!!!

I was just a kid who grew up strong enough To pick this armor up And suddenly it fit

This especially feels like Blue as he lost his own Raph. Without warning, he suddenly HAD to be the leader, HAD to be the oldest turtle, and that's when he took up Raph's role. When he decided he had to become Raph.

When I see fragile things, helpless things, broken things I see the familiar I was little, I was weak, I was perfect, too Now I'm a broken mirror

And THIS screams Blue and Leo so hard it hurts. Leo is so small and so hurt and Blue can't ignore that Leo is still HIM.

I'm standing guard, I'm falling apart And all I want is to trust you Show me how to lay my sword down For long enough to let you through

Blue has been hiding so much for so long and it's tearing him apart. He KNOWS it's tearing him apart. He doesn't WANT to be the way he is, but he doesn't know how to change either. Neither of them realize this yet, but Leo's healing is actually doing a lot to teach Blue how to heal and let others in again.

Here I am, pry me open What do you want to know? I'm just a kid who grew up scared enough To hold the door shut And bury my innocence But here's a map, here's a shovel Here's my Achilles' heel

I'm all in, palms out I'm at your mercy now and I'm ready to begin I am strong, I am strong, I am strong enough to let you in

This part works really well for Orange as well. He tries to give Mikey as much warning as he can, he doesn't want to hurt the kid with that knowledge, but he also doesn't want to hide from him.

Orange wants to do everything he can to stop Mikey from becoming him, but he also knows he can't really stop him, and he's hoping that the more open he is with what he's been through, the more Mikey will be prepared and be able to avoid the same fate.

I'ma shake the ground with all my might And I will pull my whole heart up to the surface For the innocent, for the vulnerable And I'll show up on the front lines with a purpose

And I'll give all I have, I'll give my blood, give my sweat An ocean of tears will spill for what is broken I'm shattered porcelain, glued back together again Invincible like I've never been

There will never be a price too high for Orange to pay for his family. He'd destroy himself, he'd let the world burn, he'd give anything possible to give again and again and again, and even as an empty shell of a person with nothing left he wouldn't regret it.

[luasworkshop]

Apprenticember - Day 25

“What’s your favorite thing about your mc?”

I’ll be personal here for a bit - Lua isn’t a self-insert, really (we look nothing alike,) but my Husband @fullyfunctionalapprentice​ and I designed our MCs (his is Lua’s spouse, Aleis) at the same time, and together, reflecting and exaggerating a lot of things about ourselves.  Lua’s stubbornness is mine magnified, as is their insecurity, frustrations with their body, and some of their mannerisms.  They’re not mine, but they’re mine taken to various extremes, and the character that would result from that.  Lua has my creativity and love of the ocean, and if I could change my body... well...

Lua came about during a pretty rough time - I was going through cancer and chemo when I got into the Arcana (I’m currently in remission) and it’s hard not to feel like your body is something separate from yourself - something betraying you, when you‘re going through major life-changing illness for the first time in your life.  I’ve always loved shape-shifting characters (and I have many OCs that are) and Lua’s insecurities combined with their abilities made for the right front for a lot of emotions I was going through, and am still grappling with.

Lua, like many of my OCs, gives a voice to things I would otherwise struggle to understand and express.  They’re not me, but how they fit in a story helps me relate to the world and process things I’ve been through.  They’ve also sprouted legs and become their own character, which is nearly always my goal in creation, now it’s just fun to have a blorbo to put in situations, but it’s also nice to have a little tie to a certain point in time that was difficult.

[neurotheascars]

TRIGGER WARNING-

this blog has lots of unpleasant imagery on it and I'm too cognitively handicapped to tag reliably. This is my uncensored safe space.

I complain here so I don't complain out loud too much. I'm a reformed persecutor alter from a mixed origin system. Happy to explain to you how we exist if you think we don't.

18+ please.

Scroll at your risk.

I follow from my hosts account @polychaeteworm

My name is pronounced "Sara". I'm not a girl, not a boy, not a man, not a woman. I'm a tall alien. Femme like an elf, masc like a vampire. I'm mostly autoromantic and objectum for large bongs and blades.

I don't care what pronouns you use on me. My host defaults to he/him but I do not mind she/her or shee/hir. My species only has one sex, but an individualistic gender system, so I am Xenogender and genderflux in every sense of the words. I don't human gender concepts.

I love swords and smoking weed and I have a strong desire to run into the woods/onto a highway/into the ocean when I'm upset because I get weird alien homesickness. I talk about that here a lot, but don't worry, I am safe and supervised.

Really into Saltburn right now, so that shows up here too. Felix Catton is my Tumblr blorbo. I also just really really like dark royalty/vampire and academia in general as well as sick little freaks.

Kinks that might appear here- smoking/intox, blood/blades, shibari, parasitism/corruption, and maybe sometimes consang.

Discourse positions-

I'm anti misinfo and support all forms of plurality. My system is traumagenic but I do not like associating my existence with a mental disorder because of my origin within my paracosm. I respectfully don't like being referred to as having "come from trauma". My origin is complex and unrelated to any trauma. Do not call me an "apparently normal part" I'm not a part, I'm a complete entity and there is literally nothing normal about me.

I don't have a DNI, I just block if I don't want to interact. Just be nice and don't violate your own DNI to speak to me.

I'm a survivor of complex abuse (not quite RAMCOA but damn close) who writes and reads nasty things to cope and I'm not interested in hearing why you think I'm a freak for my kinks or the stuff I reblog. I'm pro-recovery and pro fiction. I do not support irl harm. I don't think of what I write as "shipping" because my system only reads and writes OC and we associate the term shipping with fandom. We don't mind fanfics, we just favor focusing on OC content.

Send all complaints to my host and steward, Orn (@polycheateworm) he is better articulate and I'm not nice to have an argument with because of my language challenges so please be patient. He also is better equipped to answer most questions you might have about me. Most of what I say here is dictated within the system so I'm actually less articulate as an altar than I appear on average so if I get upset and don't have an alter to dictate to, my language might decline.

What does your username mean?

My system has maladaptive daydreaming and I am an introject of an extremely developed OC from a paracosm.

Because I spent most of my life living inside an inner world that is as complex as the real one, my personal history and memories are not fully Earth Related.

Neurothea is an illness on the planet I come from. It hurts your brain in a lot of ways, you catch it from parasites and it can kill you. If you survive it you will have large scars from it. it's an exotrauma embodiment of complex abuse my human body has suffered. Its a fictional way that I as an alter interface with the difficulty my body has.

[mysticalspiders]

Voyage of the Nautilus Liveblog: As Master Wishes

Three seconds before the arrival of J. B. Hobson’s letter, I no more dreamed of chasing the unicorn than of trying for the Northwest Passage. Three seconds after reading this letter from the honorable Secretary of the Navy, I understood at last that my true vocation, my sole purpose in life, was to hunt down this disturbing monster and rid the world of it.

Wow, this is so relatable. Not caring about something until the option presents itself to you and then its your sole purpose in life! 

I wanted nothing more than to see my country again, my friends, my modest quarters by the Botanical Gardens, my dearly beloved collections! 

Yup, I love a naturalist! I love that Aronnax lives by the Botanical Gardens?! Just wants to get home to see his collections!? Is he a blorbo already? 

(I feel like my love of Gerald Durrell is influencing me a bit here.)

Classifying was everything to him, so he knew nothing else.

I love Conseil already as well! I feel like their dynamic is giving a bit of a naturalist Bertie Wooster and Jeeves dynamic if a bit more serious and the ages flipped? I don’t know I’ve only had them for two paragraphs. Also this line about classifying is making me think of all those analyses of Seward as the observer. I feel like there is more to Conseil being versed in classification.

The lad was thirty years old, and his age to that of his employer was as fifteen is to twenty. Please forgive me for this underhanded way of admitting I had turned forty.

Ha! Aronnax is so funny? Like the writing is very straight forward and descriptive and then there are these just hilarious little turns of phrase? It wasn’t really what I was expecting! Compared to a lot of the other substack narrators I feel like Aronnax knows he funny or is trying to be humorous? 

But Conseil had one flaw. He was a fanatic on formality, and he only addressed me in the third person—to the point where it got tiresome.

I suspect I was right with my Jeeves comparison. 

There was good reason to stop and think, even for the world’s most emotionless man.

wow we’re already bringing out the superaltives!

Pack as much into my trunk as you can, my traveling kit, my suits, shirts, and socks, don’t bother counting, just squeeze it all in

Aronnax packs in much the same way I pack.

Conseil did them in a flash, and I was sure the lad hadn’t missed a thing, because he classified shirts and suits as expertly as birds and mammals.

Everything about Conseil is the most stereotypical manservent character and yet I cannot help but be obsessed. 

“With all due respect to master,” Conseil replied, “as comfortable as a hermit crab inside the shell of a whelk.”

What a statement! I have to say I agree with Conseil on this one. 

At this order, which was relayed to the engine by means of a compressed-air device

Does anyone know what this is referring too because I’m very curious!

So far I’m enjoying 20,000 Leagues more than I thought I would? I don’t know why I doubted because every single substack has been good and I love the ocean and ocean adventure. The Conseil and Aronnax dynamic is so Jeeves and Wooster and I love it! 

[sunsrefuge]

2, 4, and 10 of the gw2 asks? For whoever you want :)

@commanderfloppy

Quinn!! QUINNIE !! okay okay, so. Important context about Quinn: she’s in my personal AU, but under Commander Phoenix! :D 'Saoirse Quinn' is AU’s where she doesn’t end up the Commander!! She doesn’t get tested on so she doesn't get amnesia, so there are some key differences but she’s still my little blorbo <3 <3 <3

Bonus: since I let Spotify pick for me via music, so here’s what came up that made me think of her!! Mainly, this always makes me think of Quinn and her brother Ambrose !! <3 <3 <3 they’re very close and i love them to Death !!! (Ambrose is, ofc, owned by @mavelleofdawn !! there's art of him guys. art !! he's a cutiepie i love him sm !!)

And would you save the stinging bee, If it fell into the ocean? Yes I would, I'd pull it out, Like a brother to a sister.

Dear Sister, Your Brother by Meg Lynch & Talain Rayne

2. What class would your character just absolutely blow at?

I feel like mesmer… On one hand: she gets kinda tormented by a mesmer during her childhood, (in most AU’s at least,) so she’s pretty scared of them already, and on the other hand: I feel like mesmer requires some sense of a delicate hand. It’s shown to be very graceful and effective, but most effective when gone about with some kind of elegance and self-assurance… Quinn has neither of those, naturally. :’D She’s so incredibly reckless and so very physical in fights - she would die as a mesmer so fast akjshdush

4. Assuming they're a commander, how close were they really to Destiny's Edge? To Trahearne?

This is true for her Commander AU’s and non-Commander AU’s where she still ends up in the Pact: She sees Destiny’s Edge as these huge, big shot heroes, but she sees Trahearne as an absolute nerd, phrased in the most affectionate way possible! So, not very close to DE on a personal level at all, but very close to Trahearne! She feels like she has to either impress DE, or stay way the fuck out of their way. With Trahearne, he reminds her a lot of her brother Artemas (@/mavelleofdawn again! ^^) so he’s gonna get the brotherly treatment!! that’s just how it is!! She’d gently prank him sometimes and tease him about things, but ultimately she’d listen to him pretty well because he does know what he’s talking about! (The same goes for her relationship with Artemas <3)

10. Would/does knowing their backstory change how people (in general but also Tyria at large) view them?

It depends on the AU!!

In my personal stuff, where she's separated from the rest of the Teelings (</3) she ends up an orphan in DR. Adopted by Noble family that she runs away from because they're terrible and the "mom" only got her to hide the fact that their young daughter got murdered by their son,,, whoopsie !! But uh, that backstory is pretty tragic and anyone who knows it tends to pity her, which she hates, so she hides her background a lot!

Per my AU's with @/mavelleofdawn (well, most of them at least!) - Quinn gets stolen back from the Noble family by her older siblings!! They uh. split ways at one point because haha brotherly issues am i right?? but Quinn sticks with Ambrose for the most part! ... im now realizing that there are vague ideas beyond that but nothing solid... are there AU's she joins him in the Aetherblades?? :thinking: that could be fun-- OH!! but to answer the question!! Her background still sounds rough, and i think it'd still get her some pity from people for the rough childhood, but in those AU's she's got a lot more going on so she's less likely to notice akhdashdkaj

[hopeworth]

Tell me about dickkyle immediately 👀

wip tag game

this is just me smashing my blorbos together like barbie dolls. starting to write it i realised it was going to be LONG cause these two have 2 bare interactions like 20 years ago and also no pre-established chemistry or dynamic to draw from so i have to slow burn it

it takes place the summer after infinite crisis where kyle's on his Ion retreat and dick's floating around. donna sends dick to check on kyle who's been MIA since he's. very god right now. the 'romanticism' in the wip refers to the romantic movement, because i'm using this fic as an excuse to talk about nature and the interconnection of the world and channeling wordsworth.

but the crux of this dynamic in my head is recognition of self through the other. dick who falls fast and hard but has commitment issues, kyle who falls fast and so deeply and wants a love profound, but he's just riding off the grief of jennie still. they have a thing for the summer, and after that dick leaves to new york and kyle stays to set off the events of Ion. my favourite thing about this is that they know things about each other because of donna, wally, and roy, even though they're practically strangers

snippet :3

so kyle's kinda being weird here :/

[Kyle blinks at it. Nightwing’s hands are scarred over and Kyle itches to take it and touch each and every one of them, follow the line of violence the world offers him to their origins, breath in each marring of flesh, each interruption of skin. He wonders if Nightwing’s blood has fed the flowers. Wonders if his dead skin has ever been picked apart by microscopic beings. Kyle almost wants to push him into the earth and watch it devour him, wants to see how far the stream of energy will take him, wonders if Nightwing has ever been a whale before, has ever fallen to the bottom of the ocean and become the creatures living there, has ever threaded the keratin of feathers soaring the winds itself. This will be a gift, returning him to dust and swallowing him into the fold of existence that Kyle rests easily, where Kyle can become him utterly.

Kyle takes his hand as normally as he can manage and is hauled up.]

AND ANOTHER ONE dick is so confrontational in this <3

[He steps out into the afternoon a minute before Dick does, tilting his head up so the sunlight falls over his face. He sees the warmth through his closed eyelids, feels it permeating into him, through his thin shirt. There’s a breeze a few seconds away and Kyle waits there for it to arrive, brushing through his hair and against his clothes, into his lungs.

“You need a ride back?” Dick asks as he follows Kyle out into the parking lot.

Kyle doesn’t need it. He can just fly back to the retreat he was staying at. He looks at the truck. “Did you drive all the way out here just for this?”

Dick shrugs. “Roy lent it to me. Besides, I don’t have much else to do.”

“Oh. What about—” he bites his words back on Bludhaven.

Dick snorts. “Being a hero? There’s no point—” he also seems to reign back his words when he glances at Kyle. “Nightwing won’t be missed.”

There’s something wounded there. Kyle says, “I’m sure Gotham can never have too many vigilantes.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dick says, “my efforts are – a hundred thousand people died in Bludhaven because of Chemo, because of me. Their blood is on my hands.”

“As far as I know, you didn’t push the button.”

“Cause and effect, Kyle.”

Even having only talked to him a few times before this, Kyle can see the shape of who Nightwing is now—and maybe a lot of that is Donna’s and Wally’s anecdotes, but Kyle can see the weight on his shoulders that’s crushing him. Kyle knows how guilt can eat you alive. He says, “You can’t blame yourself when it was – who was it, Deathstroke? – who actively chose to—”

“Like you’re the one to talk about blame,” Dick snaps and Kyle stops talking.

He studies the cold expression on Dick’s face and can’t help but let out a low, “Jesus.” Dick meets his eyes straight on, challenging. Kyle ought to fly away right now just for that.

If only Kyle was there. If only he never got back with her. If only he never picked up the ring. Kyle knows the thoughts running through Dick’s head—if only, if only, if only. A series of conscious choices, and he would not have made any other one—maybe that’s the tragedy of it. This would not have happened if he wasn’t who he is—if Kyle Rayner wasn’t Kyle Rayner, someone who wanted to be a hero and someone who loved Alex DeWitt more than life itself.

Kyle says, “Can you drop me off?”

Dick looks away. “Yeah.”]

[queensparklekitten]

>be me

>playing minecraft

>on my singleplayer world after ages of only doing servers

>decide to go rescue some allays

>made this world in 1.18

>fuck off very far from home to find allays

>find village

>tame cat

>it’s one of those yellow ones

>don’t have nametag

>travel the distances with this cat

>wow singleplayer is lonely

>like even with the cat

>at one point i feel like i’ve reached the end of the world and there’s nothing beyond this in two different ways even knowing that’s not the case

>at another point i can swear i saw a humanoid silhouette under the ocean, too big to be a drowned

>at another it rains for days and there’s phantoms and i pause and hide in a village house, elytra down on durability. sweden is playing. the cat keeps the phantoms away. this game is such an experience

>put on my mutual’s quarantine playlist once sweden’s done playing

>so it’s just me and the cat traveling the world alone

>listening to ship in a bottle while playing minecraft goes hard btw

>eventually find another village

>there’s woods nearby and a tulip patch in the plains

>spend the night there but don’t sleep

>next morning i go pick some tulips

>mob ambush from behind

>the cat dies

>feel like a world destroying shockwave of fire and lava just exploded off me

>seriously consider killing myself in-game

>don’t

>i still have a mission here

>switch playlists to a blorbo one that has no children by the mountain goats on it

>burn the village and the nearby woods to the ground

>bring me to life plays next

>mood

>use up like 3 flint and steels while on this arson spree

>once i’m done destroying everything in sight i kill some spiders, spin a wool block from my cat’s whisker, dye it yellow, and place it where she died

>leave the area and never return

>i’m not capable of being a hero anymore but i can get those allays anyways

>put on my “violence and evilness and vengeance” playlist

>keep exploring

>find a pillager outpost with allays

>burn the outpost and kill the pillagers to the sound of villains pt. 1 by emma blackery

>i associate that song with pearl from double life which is exactly how i’m feeling right now

>sing it out loud while doing arson and murder

>then break the cage and give the allays the cookies i made for them before leaving on this mission

>they follow me

>almost lose track of one of them at one point

>cross oceans

>eventually feel like i’m coming down from the pearl arc

>put on a tma fansong called immolate

>once that’s done i decide to put on the hunger games movie companion album

>shuffle it

>skip to kingdom come

>keep listening to it all the way home

>tbh every time i return home after a long journey in minecraft i half expect to find it destroyed

>even in singleplayer

>obviously this does not happen as i am in singleplayer

>safe & sound is playing as i finally reach home, come inside, see my pets, and sleep after so long

love when my music does this

[potatolordofficial]

I posted 9,519 times in 2022

That's 9,382 more posts than 2021!

69 posts created (1%)

9,450 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@awellboiledicicle

@kitchenelf

@multi-lefaiye

@wherearetheplants

@albatris

I tagged 500 of my posts in 2022

#dracula - 58 posts

#friend art - 50 posts

#destiny 2 - 47 posts

#ask game - 35 posts

#ask game answers - 34 posts

#goncharov - 33 posts

#unreality - 21 posts

#ref - 19 posts

#inferno wip - 15 posts

#multi lefaiye - 9 posts

Longest Tag: 133 characters

#gordon introduces himself as a confirmed bachelor and dante is working through language and cultural barriers as well as brain damage

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Gonna begin asking people who post about transandrophobia not being a thing if they were aphobes in 2016

6 notes - Posted October 16, 2022

#4

bc ive been playing minecraft a lot lately on my brother's realm i've got a map mod so i can see the surrounding region and boy howdy so we're on the tundra island right, we've lovingly named it antarctica

here’s the map for reference

i thought 'hey, i wonder what's around us' and went exploring found a lot of continents (or so i thought) so i went further, realized they're all part of one  supercontinent that's surrounding us, and we're in an inland sea

another interesting note, there are a lot of shipwrecks, ocean monuments, underwater ruins, ruined nether portals, all those things none of them are on or around antarctica so whoever came before us did not settle at all on this island, and i don't know why there are a couple little villages, so it's hospitable to villagers, but not to whatever our precursors were

6 notes - Posted June 20, 2022

#3

Hey bestie it's me here to hand deliver a gas station blorbos ramble!!! Thank you for your participation!! Okay so I had to think a little about something I don't think I've told you about already (<3), and I think I will tell you about one of the original creepypastas that I love and adore. It's about the time Jack and Jerry get kidnapped by an old classmate of Jack's.

So the whole thing is about like. This guy, Beaux, kidnapped these two to sacrifice them and summon an ancient god. Thing is, he doesn't know what he's doing, and they're both unafraid and unimpressed. They spend most of the time heckling him, while he gets more and more agitated.

A running joke here is that Beaux is like. Incredibly racist and nasty. He believes people of color are the reason for all of his problems and he's the epitome of a white cishet man with a persecution/victim complex. I have no pity for him.

Anyway Beaux thinks he kills the part-timer he kidnapped with them, but the part-timer wakes up, punches him in the face, and runs away. Beaux fails to catch him, and he has a fit about how Jack and Jerry are being so difficult and his life has been nothing but suffering. Eventually, Beaux decides to sacrifice himself to summon the god, but he's too afraid to go through with it.

Jerry very enthusiastically offers to kill Beaux instead--Beaux wants to die and Jerry wants to kill him, so it's a win-win! And Beaux accepts. He lets Jerry out, boasting about how Jerry could never have the guts to hurt someone, and Jerry cuts him off by shooting him in the leg. The god comes and drags Beaux to another dimension, and Jerry stops it from taking him and Jack too by peeing on the portal. I'm not kidding.

Anyway yeah Jack and Jerry get to go home with minimal injury!!!

I’m fucking honking what is this series

6 notes - Posted August 14, 2022

#2

p,,, perhaps Dante with 👔?

perhaps...

his daughter gave him the shirt and he loves it

8 notes - Posted October 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

[points at you] tell me about a blorbo. you have ten seconds /s

(jokes aside hi i want to hear about ur ocs pls and thank u, i just don't have specific questions in mind)

Blorbo…

Anyway I’m gonna talk about Renfield bc he’s always on my mind so, cw for body horror, cannibalism, and corpse talk under the cut

Ren is from Inferno, and is the ‘mouser’ in Gordon’s Ridge, the main town the story takes place in. By mouser I mean he eats rats and mice after chasing them on all fours.

He’s not human! In-text no one is sure what he is (except his partner Jordan). He’s actually a parasitic worm that’s attached to the brain of his dead bf. Because of this, he looks anemic and kind of waxy. Like a bad embalming job.

Worms need to eat flesh to survive, and often eat people; they don’t see the issue and don’t distinguish between meats. They’re not human, after all, so that’s not part of their outlook.

He’s also not fully developed; worms like him live in large colonies where they all work to protect the egg clutches and stores of corpses kept preserved for the new worms to live in. However, he was separated from his family in 1700s Britain during one of the Jacobite wars (I can’t remember if I ever specified exactly) and began wandering trying to find them.

Instead he found his first partner, Justin, (who belongs to my partner) who later died, and Renfield switched his old corpse out for his boyfriend’s in an attempt to save him. It didn’t work.

Eventually he stowed away across the Atlantic and ended up in Boston in the 1800s, where he met Jordan. They entered a relationship and, when Jordan left their home, the two headed west.

Ren is very animated, and is mostly gentle, he loves petting soft animals, playing in the dirt, and basking. Another worm has referred to him as a ‘lamb with fangs’, as the gentle aspects of his personality contrast the part where he needs to hunt to survive, and is very good at killing.

He tries to befriend people, but humans interacting with him have their fight or flight response triggered because of the way he moves is just outside of normal for the human brain. Inhumans (the term for supernatural creatures) don’t have this problem.

Also! He just didn't have a name for a while, either he wasn't given one or he forgot it, but he just didn't have a name for a while (he probably went by pseudonyms). Then Jordan read Dracula to him and he latched onto the name Renfield. (as an in-universe reason why he's named that when in reality i named him that as a joke)

12 notes - Posted August 25, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[ems-self-ships-galore]

An Overview of Love From 1692

Ship Name - Love From 1692

Character - Abraham Alastor

Self Insert - Leah Barrowe

Attuned Blorbo Reminder Songs

Backstory:

Along with Jerusha Aleworth, Leah Barrowe was a late newcomer to the town of Little Hope. Leah generally kept to herself most of the time, which caught the attention of Abraham Alastor, who began seeking her out.

At some point, Jerusha and Leah had a falling out, resulting in the two despising each other, right as the Little Hope Witch Trials of 1692 began with Amy Lambert's execution. Believing that things were going to get worse from here on out, Leah sought refuge with Abraham; which only progressed their current relationship further.

During the 2019 groups horror filled exploration of Little Hope, Leah confuses Andrew for Abraham initially until Abraham himself meets Andrew. This leads to Leah meeting with Lillian.

Promising to aid Andrew and Lillian in serving justice to Reverend Carver (and Jerusha, as it's believed that she may have also had a hand in this), Leah convinces Abraham to listen to Andrew about Carver's bible.

“Listen to him, Abraham- I too have seen the Reverend's bible, such crude drawings..” - Leah Barrowe, convincing Abraham.

Afterwards, Leah and Abraham live together, eventually marrying at some point. As seen earlier in the graveyard by John, Andrew, and Angela, Leah's grave sits next to Abrahams.

Playlist

Link - Love From 1692, an Abraham Alastor and Leah Barrowe ship playlist

Preview Songs

I Will Follow You into the Dark - Death Cab For Cutie

If Heaven and Hell decide that they both are satisfied//Illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs//If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks//Then I'll follow you into the dark

Don't Dream It's Over - Crowded House

There's a battle ahead//Many battles are lost//But you'll never see the end of the road//While you're traveling with me

Eastward of Eden - Amelia Day

We watered our forest with fire and flood//And fed our own egos with our brother's blood//We starved every ocean till they ate up our shores//Oh, Eastward of Eden, where we always want more

Re: Stacks - Bon Iver

This is not the sound of a new man or crispy realization//It's the sound of the unlocking and the lift away//Your love will be//Safe with me

I Won't Give Up - Jason Mraz

I won't give up on us//Even if the skies get rough//I'm giving you all my love//I'm still looking up