#mentioned leonardo

[prince-less]

I think it might be the concussions talking. Or not. Who knows ❤️

Second panel drawn by @rushcolor

[purblethinkin]

Oh, no! You’ve run into the BAD DOGZ!

…they’re not very menacing, are they…?

[licorishh]

she's everything, he's just ken, etc. etc.

[twenty-something-ninja-turtles]

Here's the turtles 2003 "T-Files" for anyone interested!

[shantechni]

A short compilation I made of Mikey successfully (and unsuccessfully) ending arguments between Leo and Raph.

[intotheelliwoods]

This is part 1! Part 2 can be found here~

This is also, a slight follow up to this post from the ask event :)

Anywho, heres so hoping he can save the world (again) <3 and heres to hoping I can draw it happen!

Masterpost

[microsofttothemax]

its shark week for me so the blue one suffers

[ghostbredtt]

after a long day of eating and fighting

[glitter-alienz]

throws a quick OOP colored sketch at you, to remind that i didn't forget about this tmnt iteration

teh evil twins 😈 their mom hates them or whatever

[TMNT: OOP tag] <- lowkey empty cuz im still figuring them out

[bangs-coffee-fandoms-unite]

I am in the middle of rewatching the 2003 version of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles during my summer break from college, this time with my father, who had only seen bits and pieces of it when I watched it as a child. We are currently on season four, which fans often refer to as the "post-traumatic stress disorder arc" for Leonardo, as it depicts his mental deterioration and increasing anger, even surpassing that of his notoriously hot-headed brother.

While doing the dishes, I asked my father what he thought of the arc so far. He simply said, "He seems angry." I agreed, replying, "Yeah, he's angry at himself." My father responded, "Yeah, but he's also angry at his brothers." This made me pause. I knew Leonardo had moments where he was upset with his brothers for not training enough or for goofing off, but I had not thought of him as being outright angry with them.

Then my father elaborated, "He's angry because they're not perfect, like he expects himself to be." This was a revelation for me. I had always interpreted this arc as Leonardo being angry at himself for not being good enough, but it makes a lot of sense that if he holds himself to such a high standard, he would hold his brothers to the same—and get frustrated and angry when they inevitably do not meet it.

I think a less explored aspect of this arc is that Leonardo is exhausted from carrying the burden alone and was trying to share it with his brothers. However, they do not carry it the same way he does, which does not make them lesser—it just makes them young and still wanting a life outside of crime fighting. Michelangelo captures this sentiment best in the same season when he says,”I think all of you should just lay off the poor guy. I mean, it can't be fun. Always being the responsible one, and we’re the ones who really benefit. Raph's free not to think cause Leo does all the thinking for him, Don's free to dream, And I'm free to take it easy, all cause Leonardo is busy being responsible enough for all of us.”

Anyway, at the ripe age of twenty-two and in graduate school, I find myself once again feeling melancholic over little green guys.

[st4rryyynight]

✷ — headcanons: rise!turtles with a reader that uses humour to cope !! (requested by a user on quotev)

★ — summary: how the turtles deal and react to the reader using humour as a coping mechanism !!

★ — can be seen as both platonic and romantic.

★ — warnings / tw:  mentions of depression and self-worth issues.

★ — content warnings: canon x reader, androgynous reader, depressed reader, headcanons, short headcanons, angst-y (??), usage of humour, coping mechanisms, concern, the turtles may be occ, repeative vocabulary

★criticism and advice are advice are always welcome !!★

❤️ — raphael x reader that uses humour to cope !!

☆ — okay, your comedic way of deflecting the sad parts of your life is.. worrying- and although he doesn't want to offend you by not laughing or at your jokes, he doesn't exactly find it funny when you turn your struggling in life into something that's to be laughed at. sure he is glad that you are using a somewhat healthy way of expressing your negative emotions but yet again, hearing you reduce your  life trauma into nothing but a humourous remark is still concerning, isn't it ??

☆ — still, he'll throw a little laugh here and there, as to not bring you down, even if you just spat out something horrible about yourself. but that laugh is awkward, force- and you can see the reluctance in his eyes while he does crack a laugh.

☆ — so he kind of tries to be supportive of the way you choose to deal with your issues- but just.. can't really bring him to. though he is a bit reluctant about just saying straight at your face that 'hey, the things you are saying are NOT cool'. no, he's scared that if he does so- he may come off as too sharp, and that may dwindle down your mental state further- and he doesn't want that to happen.⁠

☆ — still, he is tempted to confront you about your coping mechanism. and he does- somewhat. he starts by making little remarks to every one of your quips, with the goal of reminding you of the worth that your life has, the worth that you have. he's there to remind you that whatever you're going through shouldn't be viewed as humourous quip, and that "uh- raph is willing to hear ya' out, if you wanna talk !" 

💜 — donatello x reader that uses humour to cope !!

☆ — oh god, not another leo situation, please not another leo situation. or at least, he thought that was the case- fearing that you will, as well- throw cheesy one liner's and puns that have been repeated over and over again.. but you- you throw dark one-liners that revolve around your life that are repeated over and over. it's definitely a cause for concern.

☆ — "what. what do you mean by that."  he questions, before giving you a firm look after you make a self deprecating joke about yourself. why are you laughing at yourself, it's not funny. matter of fact- it's frustrating seeing you demean your self like that.

☆ — congratulations, since you couldn't keep those dark-humoured comments about your life in, now you have a agitated softshell asking that you word out a whole essay as to why you would make fun of your struggles, urging you to tell him what that so called 'joke' that you made meant.

☆ — he may not be the best with handling others emotions- not even his own, but don't take him for a fool when you try to hide your inner struggles behind a comedic display, he knows you are hurting- you make too obvious, even when you put up your humourous facade.. yeesh, maybe you are a little too much like leo. Nonetheless, even if he has difficulty when comforting others, he is still willing with helping you out- maybe bringing out a whole statement as to how important it is to.. ewwwgh.. express your feelings instead of turning them into something funny.

💙 — leonardo x reader that uses humour to cope !!

☆ — WAIT ! waitwaitwait, he uses humour to cope as well.. but his way of joking around isn't so self-demeaning, despite him having self worth issues and such. but you struggle with said issues as well- so how about you two joke about your lives together ??

☆ — oh how fun.. he finally found someone that won't dismiss or talk down his oneliners. even if his humour is at times self-doubting and may be used at inappropriate. well- to be fair, your humour is equally as self demeaning as his.. maybe a bit more so.

☆ — when you two are around each other, it's like a battle of who can make the most self deprecating remark possible and you- concerningly, always seem to win. and it gets leo feeling down.. though he can't if he down about this situation because his sense of humour just got doubled down, or because you might actually need help.. spoiler alert: he figures that it's the second one of those options.

☆ — oh uhm. that's a bit awkward.. what he thought would be a friend that is willing to crack jokes with him, now views those little remarks that you make about yourself as warning signs. though, he sympathises with you. you aren't the only one here who puts up a mask to hide their issues- and he is there to let you know that- to empathize with you.

🧡 — michelangelo x reader that uses humour to cope !!

☆ — hah !! you're so funny.. or that's what he tries to tell himself - trying to sympathise with you in a way before jumping in to help manage your emotions. he is happy that you are not taking out those negative feelings in more destructive ways, but c'mon, belittling your own difficulties like that- laying off as something be entertained by- instead of treating them accordingly isn't exactly healthy for your self-image either. 

☆ — while this boy is all about fun-loving and humourous situations- that is not to be said for you downing your own worth as such, no matter how funny you try and make it out to be.

☆ — he in fact, gets sad when you to talk about your struggles as if you are a comedian on a stage, and if he was in the crows- he would constantly raise his hand to butt in and yell encouraging things at you, reminders that whatever you are going through matters, and that it bothers him when you throw your self deprecating jokes.

☆ — no but really, what made you think it was a good idea to joke about your issues while the heart of mad dogz is around ?? don't you know that he has a whole power-point prepared about loving your self ?? don't you know that he is going to sit you down on a chair and have you communicate about your struggles ?? 

[imagionationstation]

12 Donnie 🎲

🎲 -> The most unlucky day

Leo's surprised when Donnie joins him.

He looks dead on his feet when he trudges into the kitchen. That's not surprising. It's almost four in the evening. He's up earlier than he normally is. He slumps onto a chair, laying his head in his arms and looking off at the wall, and Leo tries to recall when he last slept.

His sleep schedule had actually been doing better over the past few weeks. Leo watched him go to bed the day before. He'd been smiling as he did, helping Raph tease Mikey about the horror film that they'd watched. The eye bags were not this massive.

He contemplates saying something, but he's too tired to interrogate him over whether or not he actually slept. He'll save it for when Donnie makes it a weekly endeavor.

But, he might as well- 

"There was no nightmare." Donnie announces, sudden enough that Leo almost spills the tea. Dull gaze lingers on the neon sign. "Yes, my eye bags are heavy. Yes, I should head back to bed. No, I'm not going to. And no, I don't want to talk about it."

The building conversation sputters out.

Leo pours his drink. Donnie doesn't move.

Since his brother is clearly feeling moody, Leo decides to excuse himself to focus on more pressing matters. Namely-

"Can I join you?"

Leo looks at his younger brother. He doesn't look back.

Donnie admits, "I know you're going to watch Space Heroes and I know you got up this early so you didn't have to deal with us, but can you please make an exception?"

"Um." Leo's tempted to deny him, but he sounds so... Defeated. Wait. How did he know that? Leo never told them. He was always meditating by the time that they came out. He was careful. 

Double wait. Is he misinterpreting Leo's mornings of peace as avoidance? Sure, maybe they were a little avoidy, but not like that.

"Sure." He agree awkwardly. "But-"

"No negative commentary. No fun facts. No interruptions of any kind." Donnie hauls himself to his feet. His looks at Leo and the leader notices his reddened eyes before he turns away. "I know."

Leo's concern mounts. He follows him out of the kitchen. The tea is left forgotten on the counter.

He expects him to find a place on the couch to collapse, so he goes to claim his own area. He does not expect him to go to his room, come back with a blanket, and drop himself against Leo's shoulder in a suspiciously cuddly fashion.

His knees are tucked close to his body, arms closed in a self-hug. Up close, his younger brother looks pale. For more pale than he'd been the night before, worn down by an unexplained enemy. It makes the bags under his eyes bigger than he originally thought.

Leo watches at him. Donnie looks numbly at the tv.

Captain Ryan heroically proclaims the adventure of the episode as Leo sets the back of his hand on his younger brother's forehead. It's not warm. Donnie leans into the touch. Leo slowly removes it, and Donnie follows it momentarily.

He blinks, the haze gone, and pulls back.

Okay, that's it.

"Donnie," He says, cool. "What's going on?"

"I should have chosen Raph." His younger brother tells the tv. "At least he'd have given me a few hours."

"Too bad." Leo tries to meet his eyes, "You're stuck with me and if you don't tell me what's going on-"

"It's a time loop."

Leo pauses, "Excuse me?"

"I stopped counting a while ago." Donnie's tone is even, recited. "It resets every night at midnight. Renet won't tell me how. She can't tell me why. I lost track of days. I used to tell you guys. You never believe me. None of you eher bulieve me."

His voice stutters, wet with quiet sob. He inhales, shakily, repressing the weakness. “Y-You keep going out. You keep dying. I’d tell you not to go and you’ll go anyway. Someone has to die out there. Someone always has to die.” 

Alarm has Leo swallowing, heart pounding as his hand instinctively comes up to brace his brother. Donnie won’t look at him. “I thought it would be easier if it’s me. I thought maybe once it was me it would end. It didn’t end. I woke up!” 

His voice shatters. Leo furrows his brows, feeling less than half awake. The tv is too fuzzy to watch so he looks back at his brother, “I don’t understand.”

“You can’t.” Donnie admits. “No matter how many times I tell you… You can’t.”

Leo stares at him. Donnie pleads, “I can’t watch you die again.” 

Something deep in his being softens, recollecting old moments where a much smaller Donnie would invade his bed when his brain got a bit to much for him to handle on his own. He watches his eyes as they’re cloaked with tears and brushes his thumb against his arm. “It was just a nightmare.”

“It’s not.” His voice drops into a whisper. “It’s not. It’s not.” 

“I can prove it.” Leo prompts gently. He’s seen how bad his brother’s stress dreams can get. Not to mention the repetitive ones. Leo personally knows that those are always the worst.  “We’ll go out tonight. A quick patrol.”

“I want it to end. I want it all to end.”

“They won’t last forever.” He presses as images flit by on the screen. He’s missing the episode. “You’ll get through it.”

“I thought it would end if I was the one to die.” Donnie's voice goes flat, contemplative. “Maybe I also need to be the one doing the killing.”

“Hey,” Leo cuts in, startled. “Hey, hey, don’t talk like that. You’re going to be fine. You’ll get through this. That’s never the answer.” 

“I’m so tired of being mad at you.” Donnie presses further against Leo’s shoulder. He blinks, hazily, trying to remember why Donnie might be mad. What did he do this time? “I can’t keep hating you and then watching you die.”

Oh. Nightmare Leo. Right. 

“Gee.” He roll his eyes, fondly. “Good to know you’re consistent, at least.”

He turns up the volume, relaxing onto the cushions, leaning into his brother’s heat.

“I love you.” Donnie breathes, abruptly. “I don’t think I told you that yet. You’re a good big brother. A really good one. Even when you drive me nuts. You’re really great. A-and you try so hard for us. I know you do. There’s so much I need to thank you for-”

“As much as I’d love a long list of reasons that I’m great,” Leo murmurs, taking note of the wild burst of tremors. “You’re freaking yourself out. And that’s admittedly freaking me out. We can talk about this later, okay? When you’re less frazzled.” He wraps his free arm around him, rubbing the blanket. “I should have respected you when you asked me not to the first time.”

Donnie wipes at his eyes, “Okay. Yeah. That’s- that’s what I wanted.”

He sniffs. Leo suggests, “How about you get some more sleep? You look tired.”

“I’m dead tired.” Donnie agrees, sounding the part. He closes his eyes, beginning to nod off instantly, only to violently gasp back in consciousness. He doesn't even give Leo a chance to ask.

“Once I fell asleep and you left without waking me up. You have to promise that you won't do that again. You have to. Please?” Donnie tilts his head, scanning his expression desperately. “Please?” 

“I won’t leave you behind.” Leo sighs because it’s so not fair that his brothers are able to pull on his heart strings like this. “You don’t gotta worry about me.” 

He laughs, short and brief, but it doesn’t sound happy.

Leo tries to grasp the joke.

Donnie lets his eyes close, curling into Leo as he does. His older brother tucks the blanket further up his shoulders, leaning his cheek against his forehead. Absently, he wonders how someone so tall could make himself so small. 

“I love you,” Donnie whimpers, barely audible.

Leo smiles, grateful that he made an exception, just this once.

“Love you too, little brother.” 

Awe how completely and utterly fluff. Just two bros sharing some nice bonding time 💙💜 Nothing else happening here.

[rottmnt-residuum]

heres that cut content

[harpval]

❈Blue Blood❈

Kaiser and F!Reader, Regency/Bridgerton AU.

synopsis: With the death of the late marquess, Kaiser finds himself falling into his father's role. Kaiser is many things, but responsible is not one of them. He must take on this season alone. He needs an escape, a sate haven, something to tide him over so he survives the season. That would be you, unfortunately.

disclaimer/content(overall): Abuse, alcohol consumption, semi-violent, PTSD, flashbacks, suggestive, slow burn.

prev: pilot next: Important Matters

A Moment of Weakness.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━━━ ✧ ₊˚₊

Dearest reader,

It has been but only a few days since the season began, and there is already a swarm of young ladies in pursuit of the new Marquess. It has become increasingly apparent that he has his pick of the litter, leaving the other gentlemen of the ton to hope he secures a match soon to leave some for the rest of them.

However, for the most eligible bachelor of the season, he appears to be all but satisfied. His endless selection of debutantes does not compare to the supply of liquor from the bar he frequents quite so often. It truly leaves us to wonder if the source of his cold demeanor and lack of speech is related to the contents of a bottle, perhaps. Or is he simply infuriated that he is receiving the same treatment the ladies of the ton have endured for years?

Poor sweet Marquess, do not crumble under the pressure. You shall find your bride.

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers.

“I do not believe I can read another word of this.” Laurence wrinkles his nose at the gossip column. He’s leaned against the table in the entryway to your home, his sleeves rolled up. Beside him stands Victor, partially amused as he holds up the scandal sheet.

“It is because you sympathize with a fellow drunkard.”

“That was unnecessary.” The younger of the two quips. You watch the interaction as you silently descend the stairs. It is a fair morning, and the windows open wide to allow in the sweet spring air. Sunlight filtered in and illuminated the room in a natural glow.

“What was it you said just the other day, Victor?” your words cause his eyes to flicker up towards you, eyes wide. “About the scandal sheets withering our brains away?” You cross the room, hoping to get a glimpse of the sheet. Laurence stifles a laugh and Victor sighs, shaking his head.

“We simply feel empathy for the Marquess Kaiser, this woman has shown him no mercy.” Victor smacks the sheet with the back of his hand before passing it off to you. Your eyes flit over the words, skimming over the important parts while ignoring the rest.

“So he is a brute, a drunkard, and miserable? He is a man of many talents,” You muse as your voice borders a laugh. You feel a pang of sympathy though nothing more, he is not your business so why should you dwell on such meaningless things? Laurence follows you to the drawing room. Lainie and Lucia playing some game with marbles on the floor, and your father’s lanky figure rests on the sofa. His gaze turns to you, work weary and aged.

“Father,” you greet him. The scandal sheet rested behind your back. He’s never been fond of things of that nature. He gives you a small nod, regarding you and Laurence before you join him on the sofa adjacent. The couch is positioned against the wall, the light from the window beaming down against you. A warm flutter coursing through you.

“You have a vacancy in your schedule?” Laurence chirps beside you. Your father nods.

“For the races, I have never missed a race, not since I was a boy.” He sighs, flicking through a paper as opposed to the gossip column placed beneath your rear on the couch.

“I forgot that was today.” Lucia chimes in from her spot on the floor beside Lainie. Every year the race is one of your family's biggest events, and since your father makes a big deal out of it you all do as well. Although you’re not quite so outgoing as the rest of them. Neither is Lucia, ever since she became serious about being perceived as more ladylike she stopped her loud cheering and throwing her fist in the air. No one remembers her as an outgoing girl, just a prim and proper lady. Only you have the luxury of your sister scolding you for the most ridiculous of things, or watching her boss around the staff and then thanking them with grand gestures later on.

“We should get ready soon, then. It’s another appearance as women, no longer just an outing for us.” You meet Lucia’s gaze. She composes herself with a nod and rises to her feet, Lenore moving in to clean the marbles off the floor as Lainie follows her around.

“Oh, I got us hats.” Lucia leans over the armrest to throw her arms around you.

“Hats?”

“Yes, I was out with Mama and I got us the prettiest of hats. I promise they’re much more tame than the rest of the ones we see sported at the races.” She beams excitedly, your father sighing and slumping on the couch. You pat your sister’s arm with a sigh.

“So you mean I won’t get to look like a peacock?” You quip sarcastically. She pinches your arm, earning a wince.

“Don’t be smart.” She orders you before heading out of the room. From your peripheral Laurence is mocking her, moving his lips and cocking his head to each side. You sigh in response.

–

You turn the hat over in your hands, standing alone in your room as Lenore adds the last touches to your dress for the races. More fitted than those you’d wear to a ball or soiree. The color was rich and fitted for spring, once again pumping up your bosom just enough to where it was appropriate for a Lady of your standing.

“May I,” Lenore gestures for the hat. A dainty hand reaching for it. If she had been so lucky she would’ve made the most proper of ladies. You nod, passing it off to her with a smile.

“Thank you, Lenore.” She smiles at the praise and begins to adjust the hat to your head. A simple design, cream colored with a sash across the center that matched the fabric of your dress and a flower made of tulle to the right. It was perfect for keeping the sun out of your eyes. Of unique fashion, but simple and elegant.

“I’ve never been one for hats,” You admit as you watch her secure the hat atop your head. Her lips quirked into a smile as she studied you in the mirror, carefully adjusting the flower on the hat to appear more pronounced.

“It flatters you, Miss.” She speaks softly before kneeling, smoothing out the bottom of your dress. You watch, a small smile creeping onto your lips.

“Thank you, Lenore.” She gives a nod of gratitude before sending you on your way.

You join your family downstairs, waiting on your father as you’re all gathered in the foyer. Victor and Laurence talking in front of the door, your mother fanning yourself. Lainie approaches you, giddy, Lucia trailing behind her.

“We all have hats!” Lainie beams up at you, a soft pink-colored hat on her head. It’s not functional, small, and clipped into her hair as it rests to the side of her head partially, tulle dangling off the side.

“And to think you didn’t like tulle,” You say as you kneel, her hands finding yours. She giggles and glances up to Lucia.

“Made an exception. But just this once.” Lainie says matter-of-factly. Lucia’s lip quirks, amused. Lucia’s hat is of a similar fashion to the one she gave you, though white with a patterned sash around the top. From what you can see the colors are a blend of teal, white and pink.

A crescendo of footsteps from behind you catches your attention. You rise to your feet as you see your father’s form emerge from his office. His hands smooth down his stiff black pants as he looks at your mother.

At that you all make your way to the carriage, managing to cram into the smaller space. You’re smooshed between your brothers, Victor holding Lainie in his lap as she babbles about something you can’t hear over the sound of the horse pulling the carriage along the clicky cobblestone road. Lucia sitting between your parents, tapping her foot against yours every so often to snag your attention away from the outside.

–

Upon arrival Lainie is glued to your side, walking beside you as you’re escorted by Laurence. Your mother and Lucia are escorted by your father and Victor. Everyone is dressed similarly, dawning the colors of spring and floral detailing. Lucia glances at you as you pass by a woman with a hat with extravagant feathers on it. Butter yellow with accents of daisies. You stifle a laugh, biting the inside of your cheek and lowering your gaze.

Around you, various Lords and Ladies of the ton intermingle in a sea of spring colors and delicate parasols. Your brother observes, grinning before leaning down into your ear.

“Porsha Certainly makes her presence known,” You wrinkle your nose as his booze-tainted breath tickles your ear, though fail to resist the urge to follow his gaze, Her hair is done up elaborately, a strange hat with a ribbon tied into it. However, your attention is snagged by an extraneous force, the man she’s conversing with. Two other young ladies are encircling him–Oh, the Marquess. You stifle a laugh, a gloved hand hovering above your freshly glossed lips.

“Ah, so she’s found her prey.” Laurence’s voice comes through quiet and woven with mockery. You smirk, watching the girl fan herself, casting a calculating gaze onto the man she is attempting to woo.

“Her eyes look threatening,” You mutter to your brother as the two of you slow your paces like the gossip-engrossed siblings you are. Lainie stands beside you, blissfully unaware. He snickers at your comment and looks ahead. He says something but his words turn to a blur as you’re met with a set of cold blue eyes.

Across the field where Porsha is putting herself on display, the man before her is looking directly at you. You urge yourself to look away, feeling the sweat accumulate in your hairline. The soft breeze futile to cool your nerves. His gaze narrows slightly. By some chance, your brother does not notice the sudden war of eyes between you and him, the Marquess seeming to challenge you silently. His hair was drawn back into a small ponytail at the base of his neck, blonde still framing his face, strands too short to reach the hairstyle.

He is dressed once again in blue and black, light blues as opposed to the royal blue he dawned the night of the first ball. The black collar was high, if not for his long neck he would’ve looked a fool. And a pair of black gloves once again. Most gentlemen of the ton did not wear gloves if they did not need them, and once again–it was most common to adorn white gloves.

You avert your gaze, your heart racing as you feel the heat rise to your cheeks, blushing indefinitely. You’ve never been stared at in that way, fighting the crease forming in your brow. Lainie tugs your dress, and you snap your attention to her. She is pointing outward, and you follow her little finger.

“The weather is quite lovely,” a voice emerges from your side. Lainie’s hand falls at her side as the man approaches the three of you. You feel your brother’s shoulders square, his arm still hooked through yours.

“Lord Luna! Pleasant to see you,” Laurence whirls the two of you around to face the blonde approaching. He was the first to have approached you at that first ball, you hadn’t seen him after that–a rather slow start to this season if you may. He greets your little sister and then you, gaze lingering on you before flickering back to your brother with that friendly smile. His smile was almost coy.

“I was hoping to be properly introduced today,” He states sweetly “To your sister?” he proposes as he slowly glances back at you. Your heart involuntarily races at the sudden attention. However, it is what you are trained for. Laurence seems to grin, patting your arm gently.

“Ah, yes! My younger sister.” He chirps before chuckling “You two met at the Duke’s ball, correct?” Your brother thankfully has the respect to turn his gaze to you. You nod, regarding Lord Luna.

“We did, I did not expect you to be quite the dancer, My lord.” You humor him, earning a small chuckle. Truth is, he’s one of the suspects who stepped on your foot.

“I did what I could to keep up with you, Miss,” he says. Your brother releases your arm from his before you hook your free hand through Luna’s. Your gaze goes to Lainie who’s now hooked to your brother’s pant leg–gazing up at you starry-eyed. You give a small wave to her before turning around and accompanying Lord Luna. A small, pleasant smile on his face.

“Are you a fan of the races?” You speak first as the two of you walk and bask in the sunlight and stares you receive from the nosy mamas of the ton.

“It is newer to me,” he admits as you feel his eyes wander to you. “This wasn’t common in Madrid, or at least I wasn’t aware of it. I spent most of my time abroad.” His voice is soft, his accent thick and oddly friendly. You nod as he speaks, a smile on your lips as you gaze at the ton.

“What about you? Now I don’t mean to pry, but it is rare to see the Baron out at such events.” He lowers his voice and turns to you. A smirk crosses your lips as you look back over to him.

“My family has attended these races for years now. My father will attend only the important events–and then this. This is Lainie’s first year too.” He nods as you speak, a good listener, perhaps? He is a good prospect–but you must explore your options, as you’re sure he has done.

“Your family must be close then, yes?”

“Very,” you say, amused by memories of your family only you will get to cherish. He laughs softly.

People slowly began to make their way to the stands to secure their spots, the two of you silently following the crowd. He gently guides you through, leading you to a spot towards the center. A spot that grants you a view of the race track, a smile on your face as you see the horse's heads from their stations, each wearing a sheet of cloth over their faces, colored in the fashion of their racers with holes for their eyes.

“We got lucky,” He leans over to you, chuckling as the rest of the seats fill in quickly. You look around, meeting Lucia’s gaze. Your father secured a spot to the far right as always to oversee the start and end of the race. She gives you a smirk before looking back out at the track.

“We did,” you reply, hands folded in front of your skirt as you squint your eyes out at the track as some man starts to make incoherent announcements, earning some giggles from you and Lord Luna.

You find yourself searching the crowd. So far, you’ve spotted the Duke and Duchess. To no surprise, all who accompanied them was their youngest, Nora. You spot Porsha, who seems to have noticed you too. Despite sitting in a lower section, she seems to stare down at you before whipping her head around. Maybe she’s in a foul mood because she failed to secure the Marquess? You ought to be delusional to believe you can secure a man like that, and so early on? You find yourself looking for the blonde man, curious as to where he chose to sit.

You'd spot him, his sharp side profile overlooking the race track. His gaze however exuded distaste. His posture was stiff as some girl beside him made her advances, gently fanning herself. You watch the curls on the back of her head bounce as she turns from him to the track.

“The Marquess makes his appearance once again,” Lord Luna seems to detect your attention. You swiftly look back at him, heat rising to your cheeks.

“My apologies,” You mutter, fearful you may have offended him. He merely chuckles.

“Are not necessary.” He completes your sentence for you. “He is a peculiar one. Has he called upon you?” He inquires with genuine curiosity. Your lips set into a line and you shake your head.

“No, we were introduced at the ball. I’m the daughter of the Baron so, I was naturally a victim–” You joke. He fails to stifle a laugh, a pleasant sound from a pleasant man.

“He is the talk of the ton, so it seems.” He remarked. A hum escapes you, your attentions wandering back to the Marquess for a moment.

“It seems so.” your eyes are drawn back to the green ones beside you, a gentle smile on your lips.

There is the pop of a gun and a crescendo of stampeding hooves against dry earth. Around you, gentlemen and ladies cheer. For you thankfully, Lord Luna is not as boisterous as your father and brother’s, sparing you from another year of temporary deafness. From where you sat, you hear the baron’s deep voice cheer on whatever horse he chooses to root for until the very end. You hear your brothers carry on that same deep tone they inherited from your father.

“Look at them go,” Luna claps his hands, a proud grin encompassing his expression. He looks at you, and you smile at that, nodding before clapping your own hands as the first lap comes to a close. A large gap between the two horses in the lead and the other three leading behind.

“It’s almost unfair to the other three.” You note, snickering. You’re well aware your father is cheering for the one behind the lead as his voice carries even further than before.

“Goodness, is that the Baron?” Luna snickers as he looks in the direction of your father. You avert your gaze, cheeks hot with embarrassment as you nod.

“Yes, that is. And he will only get louder.” You lean into his ear, a warning. This earns another laugh from him.

“His energy is remarkable!” He beams back at you. You look away again with a small sigh, eyes slowly roaming over the crowd. Your eyes suddenly lock on the Marquess. The girl he’s with clinging to him as he attempts to pull away. His hand swats her off, though thanks to the energy of the crowd they go mostly unnoticed. Irritation bubbles in your chest as you watch him storm off, hands clamped tightly over his ears as his shoulders hunched.

And that’s when you recognize her, Anastasia Baker. She is a friend of your sister’s, the girl leaves sobbing. Her shoulders shaking and her hands cupped over her face as she disappeared in another direction.

“That vile man!–” You mumble under your breath. Oh, how you sound like your father. No, worse–victor!

“Excuse me, I just need a moment of fresh air,” You excuse yourself. Lord Luna’s brow rose slightly.

“Would you like my company?” He offers and you shake your head no, declining as politely as possible.

“I shall be but a moment; I wouldn’t want us to lose our seats, " you say, giving a gentle smile. He shrugs and nods. With that, you weave through the stands swiftly, greeting those who recognize you with a fleeting smile and bow of your head before you hurry off to find Ana.

She was a close friend of Lucia’s, a sweet and impressionable girl you adored as if she were a little sister. She’s not of noble standing, and her family is not quite so known either so to find prospects is hard, it is a miracle she even spoke to the Marquess, much less attended the races with him. You were fuming, face so hot steam may as well have puffed out of your ears.

The field behind the stands is more vacant, with only a few lords and ladies disinterested in the races mingling over a floral lemonade. You compose yourself, avoiding any further attention on you as you begin to look around, a smile on your face as you maintain a composed facade, no matter how hard that may be with the frustration that threatened to wrinkle your brow.

Your search is futile, wandering around aimlessly with a strained smile on your face every time you’re pulled into aimless conversation.

Across from you is a small plot of woods, a cluster of trees surrounded by meticulously trimmed bushes, the perfect ratio of shade and sunlight. You approach the shade, though stop in your tracks as you stand before one of the bushes, behind the bush in the soft green grass is a figure sitting–hunched over and rocking side to side. The Marquess. Black gloves digging into blonde locks of hair. Your eyes narrow to slits.

“My Lord, fancy seeing you out here.” You sneer, watching his head spin around as if knocked off its axis.

“You–” He stammers. Was he drunk? He seems it. His hair was disheveled, sweat glistening on his skin, and a twitch in his brow. His breathing was erratic. “You shouldn’t be here. Go, be gone with you–” He swishes you off with his hand before turning away. You feel the heat rise to your face at the gesture, one of disrespect. Could he truly be this discourteous?

“Have you no manners?” You quip. He hisses through clenched teeth, rocking back and forth and shaking his head.

“I said go,” His voice trails off into a wheeze and he draws in a sharp breath “Leave me-” His voice remains strained. Your shoulders relax as you finally evaluate his state. He’s sweating, rocking back and forth like a madman with gloved hands clinging to blonde hair. He breathes as if someone has knocked the wind from his lungs.

“It is but- but a moment of weakness!”

“My Lord,” You begin softly

“Leave.” He demands. Something was wrong, very wrong. You look around, thankfully shielded by vendors and scattered trees. You squeeze your way between the bushes, mumbling under your breath as you tug the fabric of your dress through the bushes.to your luck, there were no holes, only a few blades of grass and pricks of the bush that clung to the fabric.

“You’re sweating. Please, take this at least?” You offer him your lemonade, a flower petal circling the top. You leave him no room for refusal. A gruff sound escapes him as he accepts the lemonade, taking a slow sip of it. His gaze is low, but you can see the sweat that drips from his chin. “Should I go find someone, My Lord?” You ask and kneel on the grass, smoothing out the fabric of your dress as you watch him. He shakes his head.

“No, Please, anything but that.” His voice trembles, as if he is going to burst into laughter. You watch the muscles in his jaw tense and relax like a reflex. There’s a long silence between the two of you. The occasional shaky breath slips past his quivering lips after he takes a sip of the lemonade.

“Are you injured?” To this he scoffs, laughing as he finally lifts his head to meet your gaze, eyes bloodshot but there are no tears, sweat cascading down his cheek before beading off of his chin.

“I said go.” His nostrils flared and he shot a hostile glare in your direction. His body language conveys a message akin to an abused street dog. His voice a deep rumble, he had given you an order. Your brows draw together and you step back. Did Anastasia say something to him? Was it the races? Alcohol? You’re not familiar with this, seeing such a proud man crumbling like this. A Noble no less.

Before you can speak another word there is a rustling in the bushes. A footman dressed in blue parting the bushes with his hands.

“My Lady,” He stammers as if shocked to see you. You feel your temperature rise at the realization of your isolation with the marquess. Unchaperoned.

“He needs medical attention–” You exhale and the Footman approaches the man on the floor, receiving a few swats from a gloved hand. The footman then looks back at you.

“It is quite alright, Please, My lady–return to the races.” He ushes you, quickly beginning to undo the collar of the Marquess’s shirt. You hold your tongue, pivoting on your heel and hoisting the fabric of your gown up so it does not snag on the bushes as you shift between the plants. The faint mumble and argument fade away behind you as you reappear in the open, smoothing out any wrinkles in your gown and brushing off stray blades of grass. The distant sound of cheers and roars of the crowd flooding your senses as you rejoin the festivities.

“My Lady,” A call comes from your right. Lord Luna. You compose yourself, a soft smile finding its way to your lips as you bow your head regarding the man.

“My Lord.” He eyes you skeptically, a crease in his brow in minor confusion. He simply sighs.

“I was starting to worry, wondering if I should send out a search party.” Humor laced in his tone. You return a soft laugh, shaking your head.

“Ah, that won’t be necessary. I apologize, I found myself sidetracked with the vendors.” Your lips set into a line as your gaze drops to the floor for a moment. “I did see the most enticing stand of lemonade, infused with flower teas. I would like to try it.” You meet his gaze again, similarly fluttering your lashes to your sister, Lucia. It seems to work, a smile on his face as he slowly hooks his arm through yours.

“That sounds delightful, lead the way.” The charming tune returns to his voice, and you can’t help but mirror his smile. Your gaze slowly drifts to the wooded area you once were as the two of you promenade about the greenery, greeting people as you walk by.

Your mind begins to wander. Your heart racing at the thought of being caught alone with the Marquess. Footmen hold little apparent social power, but if you know anything from your lady’s maids or Lenore–That the sort of power those who work for you have is slow processing.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━━━ ✧ ₊˚₊

A/N courses getting serious 🙂‍↕️ so I do apologize if parts come out slower/sloppy.

I always forget the tags

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@noomimi @syleepy

[forgetful-nerd]

The amount of leeway given to the 2003 and 2012 TMNT cartoons is incredible.

Someone would deadass suggest an idea for an episode that would boil down to be just…. physical and psychological torture for these turtles

And everyone working there just went “lol that’s crazy. Let’s make 20 more episodes like that.”

Incredible.

[hellblazeit]

JOHN CONSTANTINE ART I LOVE

↳  the books of magic (1990), issue #2 illustrator: scott hampton