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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 months

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1968 [Chapter 8: Demeter, Goddess Of The Harvest]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 6.2k

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Is it a story worth telling? I think so. It’s better than nothing. It’s better than watching raindrops slither down the cracked concrete walls until the prison guards come back to bloody us again.

Today I’m sending John McCain taps in the shape of the tale of Io. John has a hard time tapping back—they’re doing something to his shoulders, they’re destroying him—but he likes to listen. He’s getting it a lot worse than I am; perhaps even the North Vietnamese fear Aemond’s retribution if I die here. They should be afraid of him. He thinks he owns everything he touches, and he’ll snap bones to keep it.

So anyway, Io was a king’s daughter, a mortal who Zeus saw and wanted and took when her father kicked her out to avoid the god’s wrath. That’s easily half of Greek mythology, right? Zeus appears, irrevocably fucks up someone’s life, vanishes in a plume of clouds and thunder. He leaves human rubble behind him: ribs, nerves, disembodied hearts that leak blood from torn ventricles, minds broken in two. Zeus impregnated Io and then turned her into a cow to hide her from his wife Hera, ever-watchful, ever-vengeful, an aspiring mass murderess. When this disguise failed, Hera condemned Io to wander ceaselessly through the wilderness, tormented by the constant stinging of a gadfly. Eventually, Zeus returns Io to human form and she pops out a few bastard kids, as if Zeus needs any more of those. Then he ditches her and she marries some Egyptian dude. There are other details that I’ve forgotten. I don’t think John McCain will know the difference.

I’m sure you’re wondering how I acquired all this fabled trivia. I don’t seem like the type to lie around under trees reading folklore from religions that died thousands of years ago. You’re right, I’m not. But Aemond is. He would tell the stories, and Helaena would embroider scenes on quilts for us to burrow under in the winter, and I would dramatically act out the best parts (mostly murders), and Aegon would scribble comics in jagged black pen strokes. He has all these notebooks down in the basement filled with his new versions of ancient myths: Poseidon as a horny dolphin, Aphrodite as Marilyn Monroe.

Wait, I remember what I skipped. While Io was roaming across the globe, she bumped into Prometheus—chained to a rock for giving humans the gift of fire—and he cheered her up somehow. I guess meeting a guy who gets his liver continuously chewed out by a giant eagle would make me more appreciative of my circumstances too.

I have a lot of time to myself here in solitary confinement. My social circle is microscopic. I tap to John through the wall, I have dinner dates with Tessarion the rat. And I think about my family. They’re fucked up, but I miss them. I miss going to Monmouth Park with Fosco to bet on horse races, I miss getting hammered with Aegon while he sings Johnny Cash or Beatles songs. I miss my mother and Helaena and Criston. I even miss Aemond’s wife, though I only met her a few times before I deployed. She’s sharp, she’s hilarious. She’s mean as hell to Aegon, and sometimes he deserves it.

At first I wondered why Aemond hasn’t gotten me out yet, but I understand now. It sounds a lot better to have a brother being tortured as a prisoner of war than one who received a Get Out Of Jail Free card. It’s the kind of thing Aemond would consider. He understands which stories are worth telling.

I feel kind of bad for her. Aemond’s wife, I mean.

I don’t think she knows about Alys.

~~~~~~~~~~

On a chilly mid-September morning cloaked in fog, Mimi is laid to rest in the Targaryen family mausoleum at Saint George Greek Orthodox Cemetery in Asbury Park, New Jersey. Most of the golden plaques already have names chiseled into them: Viserys and Alicent, Fosco and Helaena. Aegon will one day be interred beside his wife. You have a spot reserved next to Aemond. All of you have already lived and died and been entombed; all of this was predestined by the stars eons before you had blood or bones.

Ari’s vault—an unnaturally tiny drawer, less than half the size of anyone else’s—is located just above yours. You can’t stop staring at it. You can’t hear anything the bearded priest in his black robes is chanting. Then Cosmo squeezes your hand and you look down at him. Mimi’s other children are somber but seem to be coping well enough—they are used to being raised by consensus, they would probably be more affected if one of the nannies died—but Cosmo always wants to be near you. He gazes up with those vast, wet, murky blue eyes, so much like Aegon’s, and you offer him a sad, reassuring smile. Cosmo smiles back. And you think: Life goes on.

Alicent is sniffling noisily; it echoes off the walls of the mausoleum. Criston—a man with no plaque assigned to him—is trying to console her. Aegon is watching you from across the cold granite chamber, grim and red-eyed in his black suit, the first time you can remember seeing him in one since your wedding. He wears no small gold hoops, only a row of stitches in his right ear. He wants to say something, to do something, but he can’t. Aemond is beside you, a hand heavy on your waist but muttering something to Otto. Back in Omaha, Otto had spent a few hours alone with the medical examiner, and when the death certificate was issued it revealed that Mimi died of a heart defect, a perfectly blameless sort of misfortune, an innate impending disaster. And so that’s what the newspapers printed, and any gossip to the contrary is confined to salacious rumors, untrustworthy and unproven.

When the ceremony is over, journalists are waiting to scavenge for photos and quotes under the guise of expressing their sympathies. It’s a shameless display, though they at least have the decency to wait by the cemetery gates. Aemond and Otto go to meet them. Alicent, Criston, Helaena, and Fosco, protective of the children, keep them far away from the feeding frenzy, hungry-eyed reporters like sharks without fins. Ludwika is reapplying her lipstick. Aegon is smoking a Lucky Strike and talking to his oldest son, Orion, a stilted exchange that holds the promise of turning warm with time.

You sit on a stone bench and Cosmo curls up beside you, rests his head in your lap, dozes off as you thread your fingers through his wavy blonde hair. In the mist there are shadows of gravestones and trees that turn skeletal as they shed their leaves.

“He is okay?” Fosco says as he ambles over, meaning Cosmo. He has his hands in the pockets of his slim black trousers that stop at his ankles. His suit is velvet, his eyeglasses speckled with drizzle from the slate-grey sky.

“He’s alright. He’s resting. Are you okay?”

“Oh,” Fosco sighs mournfully. “I keep thinking someone is missing. We came into this family together, Mimi and I. We got married six months apart. I have never had to do this without her. And I know she had her problems, but she was different when she was younger. She always liked a party, that’s why she and Aegon got along so well at first. But she was so loud and so funny, always telling these long stories, and everyone in the room would be grinning as they waited for the good part. Viserys loved her. Otto loved her. And then she had all those children one after the other, and that was hard, and Aegon self-destructed when he was the mayor of Trenton, and that was worse, and she was supposed to fix him and she couldn’t, the harder she tried the farther he ran from her. She started drinking her Gimlets before dinner, and then after lunch, and by the time you showed up it was never ending. But that wasn’t who she really was. She was like a moon that got smaller and smaller until the only thing left was a sliver.”

This family breaks people. This family kills people. “We’ll make ossi dei morti for Mimi tonight. I’ll help you, and we can teach the kids.”

Fosco smiles, swipes a tear from beneath his glasses, squeezes your shoulder with one wiry hand. “I am very glad you are still here.”

“I’m not trying to race you to that mausoleum.”

Fosco laughs. And then he says as he spies Aegon approaching: “Um…I will go avoid the paparazzi somewhere else.”

“You don’t have to leave, Fosco.”

“It is no trouble. And I suspect you enjoy your very rare privacy.” Fosco gives you a knowing glace and then heads back to where Helaena, Alicent, and Criston are lingering with the rest of the children. Now Ludwika is fluffing her blonde curls with her French tips, a smoldering Camel cigarette tucked between two fingers.

Aegon comes to you through the mist, plops onto the bench, and looks fondly down at Cosmo—now fast asleep, his face smooth and peaceful—before he speaks. “I can’t grasp that she’s really gone. We barely spoke for years, but she was always there, you know? Christ, she deserved better than this. She could have been happy somewhere else.”

“Your children need you.” It’s not the first time you’ve said it, but it’s the first time he believes you. He nods, staring out into the fog. “They have to get away from this whole circus for a while. And you have to learn how to be a real parent.”

“I’ll have time to work on it. I’m staying here. I’ve already been informed.”

You are alarmed. “What? By who?”

“Aemond and Otto.” Aegon says. “When the rest of you fly west, my kids and I will be at Asteria.”

“They’re getting you off the campaign trail,” you realize.

“They’re putting me on house arrest.”

Not seeing Aegon, not being near him? How long can I stand that? “I’m sure you’re relieved. You hate the grandstanding and the media.”

He shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I won’t be alone. I have Fosco and Ludwika.”

“I’ll talk to them.”

“About what?”

“About the fact that they need to look out for you.”

“Aegon, I’ve been doing the political wife thing for over two years.”

“But it’s different now.”

He’s right, it is.

“You’ll call, won’t you?” he asks. “You’ll let me know how the trip is going, you’ll tell me if anything bad happens? Because I can always get on a plane and meet you wherever you are. Otto might pay someone to murder me, but I’d risk it.”

“Of course I’ll call.”

“Hey.” Gently, he turns your face so you can’t hide from him. “Will you be okay without me?”

I have to be. I don’t have a choice. Instead you reply: “I’ll miss the weed.”

The tension breaks and Aegon smiles, and then he pats your cheek twice with his open palm. “Behave yourself.” He waves Ludwika over, interrupting her meditative chain smoking.

“What, what?” Ludwika says. “Are we leaving soon? Yes, it is so sad what happened to Mimi, but us standing around in the rain won’t resurrect her. And I look terrible in black.”

“I can’t be there for the last leg of the campaign.” Aegon points to you. “I need you to pay attention and check in with her at least a few times a day.”

“This is a common request. I should get a degree in it so I can charge people.”

Aegon furrows his brow at her. “What are you talking about?”

Ludwika smirks as she puffs on her Camel. “You are not the first person to ask me to keep an eye on her.” She nods subtly towards Aemond, then sashays off to give a quote to the journalists.

~~~~~~~~~~

In San Diego, Aemond meets with residents of a new public housing complex to hear their concerns about neighborhood jobs and infrastructure. In San Jose, he visits labor activist Caesar Chavez—being treated for debilitating back pain at O’Connor Hospital—and expresses support for the ongoing boycott of all grapes produced in the state. In Sacramento, he attends a Jimi Hendrix concert and receives a standing ovation from the audience; the next day he joins high school students protesting for a more inclusive curriculum. In Oregon, he makes a speech at Portland State University acknowledging the tremendous cost of the Vietnam War—in money, in time, in blood—and pledges to begin dismantling U.S. involvement as soon as he is sworn into office in January. Aemond talks about hope and despair, the bleak reality and the American Dream, and he is so overwhelmed by the crowd that he doesn’t even notice when someone takes his cufflinks as souvenirs. His lack of concern for his own safety exasperates Criston, but Aemond can’t be convinced to increase his security or his distance. If he expects the disaffected masses to carry him to the White House, he has to be real to them.

“What if another Wallace supporter tries to shoot you?” Criston demands. “What if a Nixon stooge stabs you or a crowd tramples you?”

“No one can kill me,” Aemond says, grinning wryly. “I’m not supposed to die yet. I’m supposed to be the president. It is God’s will.” And how can anybody disagree when that appears to be so true?

The earth dies as you drive north, summer withering into autumn. That familiar brisk cuttingness reappears in the air. You shake thousands of hands, smile for countless photographs. Mothers and wives of dead soldiers sob into your shoulder as you embrace them; teenage girls ask how they can get a good man like Aemond. Only one thing is missing from his glorious pilgrimage: something he wants desperately, something he cannot have (though he’ll never know why), you conceiving his child in time to announce it before Election Day. Each morning you sneak a pill and every night you bite the bullet. As often as you can, you duck into Dairy Queens to order lemon-lime Mr. Mistys.

George Wallace is in the South, galvanizing segregationists and accepting the endorsement of the Ku Klux Klan. Richard Nixon is working his way across the Midwest. He has chosen a politically moderate Greek as a running mate, Spiro Agnew; this does not strike you as a coincidence. He even shares a name with Aegon’s second son.

Nixon promises “peace with honor” in Vietnam, which means no immediate end to the draft. He makes speeches about “states’ rights” and “law and order,” ambiguous euphemisms designed to attract Wallace’s white supremacists without alienating too many suburban moderates. He commiserates with those lamenting the proliferation of sex, drugs, and divorce. He says he will return the nation to a more moral time. You wonder what he means. You can’t think of any such refuge in the bloodletting, spine-crushing history of mankind.

A kindergarten teacher tells you in Olympia, Washington, her eyes alight with reverence usually reserved for heroes, saints, gods: “People are voting for Aemond, but they’re voting for you too.”

And you find yourself thinking as a thousand miles roll by beyond the glass of limousine windows: How many people will I condemn if I don’t help Aemond win? How many lives is mine worth?

~~~~~~~~~~

The Hotel Sorrento in Seattle insists on giving you and Aemond the honeymoon suite: a retreat from the breakneck campaign, a romantic oasis for the future president and first lady…according to half the country, anyway. You are in the impractically large pink bathtub, surrounded by snowy dunes of bubbles. The wall to your right is a mirror, foggy around the edges; just a few yards to your left is the king-sized bed. In the top drawer of your nightstand is the card Aegon gave you in July. You aren’t sure where Aemond is, and you don’t especially care. You are relieved to be alone.

There’s a passion-red phone built into the rim of the tub, conveniently located for sudden room service revelations, champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries, steak and lobster. You have a different idea. It’s 7:15 p.m. here, so after 10 on the East Coast. On the steam-slick keypad, you dial the number for the main house at Asteria.

Eudoxia picks up and demands gruffly: “Geiá sou? Ti?”

“Hi, Doxie. Is Aegon around?”

“Where else would he be? Making himself useful somehow? Killing communists, driving a rocket to the moon? No. He is a burden as always.”

“Please be nice to him. His wife just died.”

“And so he cannot put his empty cups in the sink?” Without waiting for a reply, she sets the handset down on the kitchen counter with a clunk. There is distant, muffled shouting in Greek; she seems to back and forth with somebody. Then Eudoxia returns. “Antio sas,” she says, and hangs up just as a phone elsewhere in the house is lifted from its cradle.

Aegon answers with something halfway between a groan and a yawn. “Yeah?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Hey!” You can hear it riding the wire like electricity: a rustling as he sits up, a fresh clarity in his skull. His voice is deep, hushed, still husky with sleep. “What’s up, little Io? Any interesting happenings to report from your neighborhood of the solar system?”

“I just left a riveting tea party. Apple cinnamon scones and smoked salmon sandwiches. We talked about what kind of couches I should get for the White House and I wanted to kill myself. Are the kids okay?”

He’s smiling; you can tell. “They’re alright. I could have used you this afternoon. I was trying to help Spiro with his math homework. Trying, not succeeding.”

“Well he’s in middle school and thus beyond your skill.”

“How’s Jupiter?”

You know who he means. “I don’t want to talk about Aemond.”

“Okay.” Aegon says, curious. “So what should we talk about?”

A few seconds tick by, silent and perilous. “Where are you right now?”

“In my lair. Like a beast.”

“Alone?”

A transitory pause. “At the moment.”

“On the shag carpet or your futon?”

Now he’s very intrigued. “Futon. Why?”

“I just want a visual.” Beneath the water, your free hand is resting on the velvety inside of your thigh.

“Where are you?” Aegon asks.

“You wouldn’t believe it.”

“Maybe I want a visual too.”

You chuckle, peeking over at yourself in the mirror. Your skin is dewy with steam; stray wisps of hair stick to your face. “I’m in a gigantic pink bathtub. It’s ridiculous, it’s shaped like a heart and everything. They have a phone installed right here in case I find myself in desperate need of filet mignon.”

“Oh.” And then he hesitates, like he’s afraid to say the wrong thing. “Big enough for two?”

“More like five. You should get a tub like this for your basement, it would delight the campaign staffers.”

“My basement’s been pretty empty recently.”

Softly, vulnerably, glass offered for him to shatter: “You aren’t seeing other girls?”

“Nah, babe. I want something they can’t give me.”

You picture him, messy hair falling over his forehead, drowsy eyes that gleam with clandestine wisdom. You can smell the smoke and rum that bleeds from his skin. “I wish you were here.”

“In Seattle?”

“No. Right here.”

Aegon exhales shakily, swallows, takes a few seconds to collect himself. “How’s the water?”

“Extremely hot and full of bubbles.”

“So I wouldn’t be able to see you.”

“No,” you say, baiting him.

“But I could touch you.”

“You already have.”

“Not enough,” he murmurs. “Nowhere close to enough.”

“Do you remember what I felt like?”

“Oh God,” he whispers, and you envision him closing his eyes, rubbing his face with the open palm of his left hand. “Yeah. Of course I do. I can’t get it out of my head. But I’ve been trying not to…you know…it felt wrong to think about you that way unless you were cool with it. Like I was betraying your trust or taking advantage of you or something.”

“No, I want you to think about me.”

You can hear Aegon moving around on the green futon, repositioning himself, yanking down a zipper. When he speaks again, his breathing is quick and jagged. “Where’s your other hand, huh?”

“Under the water,” you reply coyly.

“You bitch,” he says, laughing. “I miss you so fucking much. The house isn’t right without you in it. You belong here, you belong where I am.”

Beneath the veil of bubbles and steam, there is no scar on your belly, no infidelity, no campaign, no distance of almost 3,000 miles separating you and Aegon. Your fingers slip between your legs, finding slickness the water can’t wash away. It’s a familiar sensation, though you haven’t felt it in a while: rising steadily until you hit a plateau like a jet reaching cruising altitude. From here, it will either glide along smoothly until it dies out, or eventually turn sharp and painful. “Tell me about you,” you pant.

He can hear it in your voice, a needful surrender that sets him on fire. He can’t believe this is happening; he never wants it to end. “I mean, I’m…I’m insanely hard.”

“Stroke yourself, imagine it’s me. I wish it could be me.”

“Oh fuck,” Aegon whimpers. “Okay, okay…I want you. I want you with my fingers, I want you with my tongue, I want you to beg for it, and then…”

Impossibly, incomparably, your own pleasure is climbing faster than you can reconcile yourself to it, no longer a hunger but a violent aching, a crushing gravity you can’t fight against, a ship being dragged to the floor of the ocean. What’s happening? When will it end? You moan into the phone, amazed yet petrified. You can’t get enough air; it feels like drowning, like dying.

“I need to see you,” Aegon says. He’s close to the climax that you know men experience, he has to be; he’s gasping. “I need to be with you, let me give you what you want.”

“I want you to finish inside me.”

“Io…babe…oh my God, you’re gonna kill me…”

There are sounds out in the front room of the suite: a lock clicking, footsteps, keys and a wallet tossed onto the kitchenette counter. You’re so consumed you almost don’t notice. Aemond is back. Aemond is back!! And every ion of your ascending euphoria evaporates. “Gotta go, bye.”

“Wait—!”

You hang up just as Aemond is opening the bedroom door. He walks in—immaculately tailored dark blue suit, polished black leather shoes trampling soft pink carpet—and turns to you. He has already taken his glass eye out and put on his eyepatch. Vaguely, fleetingly, you wonder where he’s been. His gaze darts to the red phone, your fingerprints in the condensation. “Who were you talking to?”

“My parents.”

If Aemond doubts this, he doesn’t show it. He crosses the room, sits on the edge of the bathtub, peers down at you with an omniscient metallic glint in his eye. He’s always been less a man than a force of nature. “I know this year has been hell.”

You envision Persephone being stolen by Hades, Orpheus searching for his dead wife Eurydice, Charon ferrying souls across the River Styx. “You haven’t made it easier.”

There’s a flash of something in his scarred face, blazing and instantaneous like lightning, and then it fades. He reaches out to touch your hair, swept up and neatly bound with clips and pins. “We can’t forget everything we’ve accomplished together,” Aemond says. “I still need you. You’re my Aphrodite.”

He’s going to tell you to get out of the tub, to lie down on the bed, to open yourself so he can fill you. You distract him, forestalling the inevitable. Each morning Prometheus dreads the return of the eagle that pecks out his liver; as every summer ends Demeter mourns the loss of Persephone. “Any luck with Nixon?”

Aemond sighs, furious, brooding. “He still won’t agree to a debate. Wallace is onboard, he’s rabid for it, he’d show up if we held it in the fucking asteroid belt, any opportunity to spew his idiocy. But not Nixon.”

“Because he knows standing on the same stage as you can only hurt him. People thought he looked bad in 1960, can you imagine now? Television has gotten so much clearer. They’ll be able to count his sweat drops from their living room couches.”

“So how do I get him to do it?”

You look up at Aemond. It’s not a hypothetical question; he’s really asking for advice.

“I have to debate Nixon,” Aemond insists. “It’s close in the polls, which means it will be even closer on Election Day. I’ll underperform whatever is projected, my coalition is less likely to show up when it counts. College kids, hippies, transients. That’s just a fact. But the old people vote. The suburban housewives vote. Nixon’s resting on his political experience and accusations that I’m a communist, an agent of chaos. But I could slaughter him in an hour on ABC.”

You think of the mutilated Vietnam veterans waving their signs and screaming at LBJ from the other side of the wrought-iron gates of the White House. “Challenge him in public. Say that the American people deserve to see the candidates debate, and do it where everyone can hear you.”

“What if Nixon still refuses?”

“Then you call him a coward. You say he must have something to hide. You ask how he’s supposed to square up with the Russians and the Chinese if he can’t even face you.”

Aemond grins admiringly. “You’re vicious.” And he lifts your hand from the rim of the tub so he can kiss your knuckles. Once you licked up drops of his approval like Tantalus, cursed with eternal thirst. Now it is poison that turns your veins black.

“If there’s a debate, everyone should go,” you say, seized by sudden inspiration. “We should have a united front, including Aegon. It can be his return to the public eye. A month will have passed since the funeral, the timing is right. He can pose for a few photos with the kids to show the nation that they’re doing well and distract from any lingering rumors about Mimi.”

Aemond isn’t grinning anymore. He’s studying you with his cold blue gaze; no, he’s trying to intimidate you, to overpower you. “Otto and I will decide what to do with him.”

“He’s a Targaryen. He should be with the rest of us.”

Aemond stands and motions for you to follow, a snap of his wrist like a man calling a dog. “It’s late. Let’s go to bed.”

Panic, tension, an iron sinking in your belly. The water is only lukewarm now, but you don’t want to leave it. “I’m not done yet.”

“Yes you are.”

There’s nothing else to say. Legally, a wife’s flesh is one with her husband’s. You slip as you step out of the bathtub, and Aemond grabs your forearm. Not like he’s helping you; like you’re something he owns.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two knocks, swift and forceful. “Hey, it’s me. You ready? Everyone else is downstairs in the lobby waiting for the limos.”

You hurry to open the door, almost twisting your ankle as you stumble in your heels. They’re an inch higher than what you’re used to. Aemond chose them, and your dress too, and your sapphire teardrop earrings, and the silver chains around your wrist and throat, and your future and your past, and your life itself. It’s mid-October, and the night of what will almost certainly be the sole presidential debate of 1968. Aemond’s retinue is staying at the Hotel Saint Louis. It’s harvest time, the fields beyond the city being reaped of their soybeans, wheat, corn, cotton, and rice, the beef cattle culled in mechanical underworlds. Aegon’s flight must have just landed.

As soon as he sees you his eyes drop, wide and bewitched, ensnared everywhere except your face. You say: “Can you help me zip this, please?”

He blinks a few times, then shakes it off. “Sorry, what?”

“The zipper’s stuck. I need you to get it.”

“Yeah. Sure.” He steps into the suite and stands behind you. The gown is a vivid blue like the Greek flag, gorgeous and shimmering but a size too small. It wasn’t tight a week ago, but now it is, and you aren’t pregnant just always gaining and losing weight in new places, first the baby and then the pill, and it wouldn’t bother you if Aemond didn’t seem so confounded by it. Aegon says as he tugs at the zipper: “I don’t think it’s gonna fit, babe.”

“It has to fit.”

“Even if I miraculously get this closed, you won’t be able to breathe.”

“Do whatever you have to. Just…just…” You push every last molecule of air out of your lungs, suck in your belly, and you hear the triumphant squeal of the zipper. “Yes!” Oh, but Aegon was right: you really can’t breathe. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“You’re not gonna last the whole debate in that. You’ll be sweating more than Nixon.”

“I’m fine.”

“Io…”

“I’m fine. Come on.” You snatch your matching purse off the coffee table by the couch, check your makeup one last time, and hobble in your heels as you walk with Aegon out into the hallway.

At the Kiel Auditorium a few blocks away, the Targaryen children—Aegon’s five and Helaena’s three—are presented for photographs before being escorted back to the hotel by the nannies. And even in the few weeks that have passed since you last saw Aegon’s kids, there have been extraordinary changes. They talk to their father, and he talks back, and he ruffles their hair and rests his hands on their shoulders and asks them about what they’re learning from their private tutors. Cosmo tackles you before he leaves—a powerful bear hug, though he can only reach your legs—and he says he hopes you’re coming home to Asteria soon.

“Me too, kiddo,” Aegon tells him, and then smiles at you; but above his gleam of teeth his cloudy blue eyes, like the Atlantic in a storm, are gloomy and troubled.

As the audience takes their seats and the journalists are poised to capture the best images and quotes of the night, the three candidates and their wives (minus Wallace’s dear departed Lurleen) meet briefly backstage to exchange the perfunctory well-wishes. Pat Nixon is introverted and bookish, though she tries to hide it; but Aemond reels her in like swordfish until her eyes are filled with him. George Wallace gets one glimpse of your venomous glare and escapes, claiming to need one last trip to the restroom before the debate begins. But Richard Nixon beckons you to accompany him to a quiet, discrete corner of the room.

“I tried to call,” he says. He’s a remarkably normal man: medium height, receding dark hair, rough voice, weathered skin, not a god but a mortal, and—you have the impression—more aware of his flaws than his fiercest critics will ever be. “But no one at that damned beach house would ever put me through to you.”

You aren’t sure what he means. “Oh?”

“I never got the opportunity to tell you how sorry I was for your loss in July, Mrs. Targaryen,” Nixon says with unglamorous, plain, genuine compassion. “Pat and I, when we heard, we wept for you. We truly did. And for your husband to be clear across the country…I can’t even imagine. It must have been awful for you. A parent never gets over something like that. It stays with you like a scar.”

“It does,” you say softly.

“I lost two brothers. Arthur died when he was seven, tuberculosis killed Harold in his twenties. God, it just about destroyed my mother. You’re a remarkable woman. You’re lightning in a bottle for Aemond, do you know that? You’re like one of those Kennedy gals, but even better. More personable than Jackie. More intelligent than Ethel…although, to be frank, who wouldn’t be? And you’re not afflicted with any ghastly vices like Ted’s wife Joan. What would Aemond do without you? He’d lose, that’s what he’d do.”

Nixon’s smart, but he’s wounded. He’s capable, but he’s so desperate to prove it. Power could ruin a man like this. “You’re very kind, sir. You did some great work under Eisenhower. Self-made like my father was, a devotee of the American Dream. I believe you have an important role to play in this country…” You smirk, a bit mischievously. “Just not as the president.”

Nixon chortles. “No matter what happens tonight, rest assured that I hate Reagan more than I could ever dislike your husband,” he says, meaning the Republican governor of his home state of California. “You know that bastard tried to primary me?”

“Actors don’t belong in politics.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Nixon says, and then bids you farewell as the lights turn blinding and the curtain begins to rise.

As soon as the adrenaline begins to fade, all you can think about is that you can’t breathe. You take your seat in the audience between Aegon and Ludwika, who won’t stop making jabs about Nixon: “He looks like a troll,” “He looks like a sasquatch,” “Do you think Pat makes him wear a Creature from the Black Lagoon mask in bed so she is not so repulsed by him?” The most you can offer is an occasional distracted nod in response.

“You alright?” Aegon whispers.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t look alright.”

“I’m great.”

“Sure,” he says, and he acts like he’s teasing, but there’s something tremendously sad underneath. He can’t save you from this. He can’t save you from anything. What must that feel like?

On the debate stage—broadcast to a national audience—Aemond performs brilliantly. Nixon salvages what could have been a bloodbath with a handful of clever retorts that Aemond pretends not to be rattled by. The real loser of the night is Wallace, who is brutally attacked by them both: Nixon because Wallace is commandeering some of his voting bloc, and Aemond because of his near-assassination back in May. After an hour, the contest concludes and the candidates descend to the main floor to pose for photos and get lassoed into brief interviews with various journalists. Everyone in Aemond’s entourage besides you and Aegon flock to his side. By now you’re gasping in shallow gulps, close to tears and in agony from your ribs to your wobbling feet.

“I told you,” Aegon says. And then: “Come on. We’ll take the first limo back.”

In the front room of your hotel suite—one yellowish end table lamp glowing dimly, the rest of the space like twilight—Aegon wrestles with the zipper as you struggle for every breath, trying not to pass out. “Ow,” you whine. “Oh fuck, this was so stupid…”

“Don’t let him make you wear shit you don’t want to wear.”

“I have to do what he says, Aegon.”

“He doesn’t own you.”

“Legally, he does.”

He’s tugging futilely at the jammed zipper. “Are you planning on using this again?”

“I believe that would be wistful thinking.”

“You probably look better out of it anyway.” He grabs his Zippo lighter from the pocket of his emerald green suit jacket and flicks it to life. “Don’t move, okay?”

“Okay.”

“At all.”

“Got it.”

You can feel heat, intense but not painful. Aegon has pulled the edge of the fabric as far away as he can from your skin and is singeing it until it turns black and charred and brittle. Then he tucks the lighter back into his pocket and with both hands rips your dress down to the small of your back. Cool air rushes to meet the ridge of your spine; goosebumps prickle all over. Aegon is marveling at you; you can see it when you glance over your shoulder at him. Then he lays a palm against your bare skin, leans into you, inhales everything you’ve ever been: smoke and sex and starlight, strategies, shadows, secrets.

The others will be pouring into the hallway from the elevator any minute. Aemond. Aemond could find us.

“We can’t,” you whisper, hating yourself for it.

Aegon kisses the nape of your neck—so slow, so kind—and then goes to the doorway. You wait for him to leave, but he doesn’t. He’s looking at you as you hold up the ruined gown so it covers your belly and your chest. You gaze back helplessly, wanting him, needing him, a moon chained to another world’s gravity.

We can’t, we can’t, we can’t.

“I’m so sorry,” you say.

And only then does Aegon vanish.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon x you #aegon x y/n

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ellecdc · 5 months

Note

The brainrot continues to grow by the minute….so here we are again lovey. After re-reading a lot of your blog last night when the insomnia hit me live laugh love.

I remembered you did a series with poly!moonwater about reader being pregnant and ect. So I was wondering what would be your headcannons for poly wolfstar pregnancy in terms of shy reader/the refugee type character in between gentle yet dominant Remus and loyal, protective, possessive Sirius type vibes.

awwwweeeee yes okay

wolfstar x shy/referee!reader headcanons for their pregnancy

Sirius:

freaks, like, catastrophic level 9 freak out

runs to Effie and Monty sobbing; begging them to help him, begging them to tell him what to do because he can't be like them - he just can't

has to show back up at your shared home a few days later with his tail tucked between his legs at having fled [will explain below in Remus] - sooooo super emotional

spends a lot of time with Effie and Monty - buys a lot of pregnancy, parenting, and baby books

quits his jobs and starts babysitting Harry (wants practice)

becomes a bit of a nuisance for reader; little bit of a coddler, doesn't want reader even walking, won't let her get up to get her own drinks, everyone who comes over has to hand sanitize and show proof that they're healthy ("what do you mean proof!? You want to check my tonsils??" "......yes Prongs, now say ahhh."), starts a sleep schedule for reader - encourages her to take a nap every afternoon

cries a lot lol - both from excitement and nerves

Remus:

he has to become the referee between reader and Sirius

constantly defending Sirius to you when he hovers too much or seems to worried "he just loves you and is trying to do his best, dove", but also has to tell Sirius when he's being too much and to back off "you're going to put her into early labour, Pads."

lets Sirius thinking he's handling everything but really, Remus is the one actually making sure reader is all good and healthy - prenatal vitamins, adds supplements to meals/food for extra nutrients, books all of the OBGYN appointments, tells Sirius that reader "has to walk because it's good for her and baby ffs"

starts visiting his mum and dad for tea more frequently; Hope sends him home every time with more of his old baby clothes, blankets, quilts she's made, his baby pictures, etc etc.

reads baby books as well, but mostly about infant development (wants his baby to be the smartest lol)

plays voice of reason

reader:

far feistier than usual (not her usual shy, placid self)

spends most of her pregnancy handing Sirius' ass to him and he is swooning (might just have to put more babies into her.....)

Remus does take over your role as referee but can't help but admit how much he likes seeing you so passionate

very worried; never saw kids in the cards for these three (Sirius with his family trauma and Remus with his affliction) and I think she'd spend most of her pregnancy sort of waiting for the other shoe to drop......like, maybe today's the day they'll leave? one more emotional breakdown made by her and they're definitely going to pack their bags (which makes her emotional breakdowns worse)

Remus has to take her to the healer for anxiety medication because of it

It makes for a lot of really sweet conversations and moments between the three of them though - the boys reassuring reader and just cuddling for the rest of the day

#ask elle #elle's headcanons #marauders headcanon #wolfstar #poly!wolfstar #poly!wolfstar x reader #poly!wolfstar x you #wolfstar dads #poly!wolfstar x pregnant!reader

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suzukiblu · 7 months

Text

Some assorted Smallville headcanons from some of my assorted WIPs for Plot Bunny. They did not specify which WIP they preferred, so I just picked a bunch of different ones and went from there!

Smallville does not approve of Clark Kent’s parenting style: Smallville is a tight-knit, proud little community where everyone looks out for each other that is full of people who want to continue living in a tight-knit, proud little community where everyone looks out for each other. The population at large still considers Clark one of their temporarily-displaced own and were therefore very willing to pretend to believe the “cousin” story when “Conner” showed up–right up until they found out it was NOT a story meant to help Clark’s displaced kid he’d just found out about settle into the Kent family in a low-pressure environment while he got over whatever obvious trauma had happened to him. Now? Now there are pitchforks being sharpened and torches being lit. CLARK JOSEPH KENT, YOUR HOMETOWN IS NOT MAD, JUST DISAPPOINTED.

Kara gets to Earth on time and the Kents get a two-for-one special on free kids: Smallville is pretty sure Jonathan and Martha did NOT get this emotionally-fraught teen mom and her weird but adorable little baby from any actual adoption agency, Norwegian or not, but what’s a little illegal immigration and identity fraud between neighbors? None of THEIR business, no sir. Especially not if any strangers ever show up in town asking QUESTIONS.

Jon and Martha, professional soulparents: Oh Jon and Martha absolutely will be clearing out the attic to make Conner a bedroom the absolute SECOND they get back to Smallville. And also being heartbroken about Clark, obviously. Everyone in Smallville is going to cry on them when they hear about Conner and be both very sad and very happy for them. And then they’re all gonna be Weird About Conner, who isn’t gonna know how to talk to ANY of them. He’s gonna get his cheek pinched by so, so many old ladies and SO many manly back-claps and it’s gonna be a pain controlling his TTK enough to actually let people do it. Meanwhile, everyone in Smallville, internally: oh he’s exactly as weird as Clark was when he first showed up, noted. Jfc, Jon and Martha, AGAIN?? WHERE DO YOU EVEN FIND THESE KIDS.

Kon is too trans for this pregnancy shit: No one in Smallville knew a thing about Kon’s physical sex, so they’re all gonna be VERY surprised very soon, but also Smallville in general is gonna take that whole reveal like CHAMPS and just roll with it, even if it might require some people having some Talks With Their Kids And/Or Slightly Bigoted Relatives. Like, there will be a few assholes and a few over-inquisitive weirdos around, because nowhere is a monolith, but overall Smallville is gonna roll with it and be chill about it while ALSO being incredibly out of touch with the up-to-date terminology/language and having very little grasp of the minutiae of queerness in general ( aside from a couple of very quiet people who are gonna feel a WAY about finding out that Conner Kent is trans and went completely unclocked all this time, and seeing how most of the town’s taking finding out really well, and does that maybe mean . . . ).

the one where Kon isn’t the father: Smallville has politely not asked any questions about Tim aside from if he wanted a baby shower or not, but also ALL of Smallville knows Tim was Conner’s “boyfriend” and Kyra is “his” daughter. That’s just gossip-by-osmosis that all of Smallville knows. A lot of casseroles and crocheted things and quilts have happened to the Kent household since Tim showed up pregnant and traumatized. And baby stuff donations. And babysitting offers. And general helpfulness in general. People weren’t necessarily close to Kon, but a lot of people felt very bad about what HAPPENED to Kon, especially after finding out about Kyra. Not that any of them actually KNOW what actually happened to Kon or the truth about Kyra, but that’s a clone of a different gene donor, okay?? OKAY.

#plot bunny #meta ecetera #wip: smallville does not approve #wip: kara gets to earth on time #wip: jon and martha professional soulparents #wip: kon is too trans for this pregnancy shit #wip: the one where kon isn't the father

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inklore · 2 years

Text

piteous toxin

premise: hate and humility ran your relationship with kylo, as did the heavy hand he loved having you wrap around his throat.

pairing: kylo ren x (f)reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: eighteen+ content, choking, enemies with benefits, unprotected p in v, creampie, dirty talk, sub!kylo x dom!reader, biting, humiliation.

etc: anyone who dislikes sub!kylo you will be hearing from my lawyer because with those mommy and daddy issues? come on let’s not kid ourselves here lmaooo. this is my first time really writing for sw so there’s the bare minimum terminology in it ok don’t attack me.

kinktober 06 | kinktober masterlist

“More,” he grunts into the air. Quilting the room in even more lewd noises as his lungs plant a gasp at the back of his throat, as you give him what he asked. As your hips continue that low rising bounce on his cock, and your fingers tighten around his throat.

“Like that?” You already know the answer, already know what he wants—what he needs—but you love how desperate he looks when his dark eyes look to yours. A satisfaction turning the corner of your mouth into something sly, as you bend down and hover your lips above his, “you’re so pathetic.”

You know if he wasn’t inside of you right now, if you weren’t riding his cock with vigor; the roles would be reversed, the mood change to one of cruelty and hatred. The fist around his throat becoming his around yours in anger, the despise in his eyes just as enticingly cutthroat as the look in them now.

Except there’d only hold malic, that hatred that would want to slam you against the wall and wring your neck until you took your last breath—use his saber on you to finally shut you up.

To rid himself of the humility of being bested by you, finally freeing himself from dealing with you.

The decade long rivalry and hatred of being on different sides, of wanting to do nothing more than conquer the other; instead of the constant fucking the two of you seem to always find yourselves doing.

That going on as long as the decade old rivalry, for as long as the two of you have hated each other—the intensity of that hatred turning into something with teeth that craved something as rough as lust fueled rage that left the two of you sweaty, bruised, and sometimes bloody.

You giving Kylo that humility he loved to hate so much, and him giving you the power of control.

Control over him. Over your own pleasure, sinful desires and thoughts; power.

You both knew when it came to real control, real power, Kylo ranked higher than you. His family name alone is enough to bring someone as less fortunate as you to your knees.

That’s why it felt so good—knowing like this, with Kylo stripped of everything and below you, you brought him to his knees. He let you fuck him like he was nothing, like you held this power over him, like a force.

There was some sickly connection keeping the two of you tied together, same insides of a rotting fruit everyone looked past; dangerous, poisonous, deadly.

And with your fist around Kylo’s throat right now you both knew all you needed to do was push down, to put all your strength in squeezing enough to catch him off guard and you could slam the knife in your boot through his chest cavity.

End an oncoming war before it even begins.

But there’s a festering wound of dread and betrayal that won’t let you; or was it that the two of you were so similar that you’d feel a scab missing from your body? A scab you keep picking at. You’d rather reopen it and heal it with licks and temporary bandages that you’re all too eager for him to tear off.

If anyone was to ever ask you’d forever claim Kylo Ren to be the worst tyrant you’d ever met, and couldn’t wait to put him down; out of his misery.

And right now, that thought—putting him out of his misery—makes you smirk for a whole other reason.

Every time you bounce down on his cock you dig your nails into the side of his neck, like a string pulling his mouth open, eyes glistening with a smog of submissiveness. The hand at your ass leaving indents in your skin with how he grips you back, the only roughness he’s feeding back to you.

His knuckles going a colorless red as his other hand grips your wrist, an indication to keep going, a beg for more, harder, faster, whatever he needs, whatever you want.

He’ll take it all, and wants it all.

“You’re trying so hard not to come right now aren’t you?” You chuckle around a moan, let your thumb move an inch up to the bottom of his jaw to pull his chin lower so you can put the pad of it against his lips. Your lips still hover above his, your eyes downcast and holding contact with his. “Does my pussy feel so good that you can’t wait any longer?” He doesn’t answer, only puffs of choked air wafting across your lips. “Tell me how good I feel, Kylo. Scream it. Let your little army know how pathetically desperate their leader is, maybe they’ll come watch. See how weak you get with my hand around your throat.”

“Fuck you,” he grunts, scowls. Tries to put on that tough face. That face that only means he wants more. Wants your words to cut him until it’s licking at that poison inside of him. Until you’re both drunk on it.

You smile, “I see how it’s going to be tonight.” You push your thumb into his mouth, nail digging into his tongue. Your hips stopping, his cock feeling even heavier inside of you now that you’re no longer moving. Kylo wraps his lips around your thumb without you having to ask, looking for a praise that you’re not going to give him. A praise he doesn’t deserve—a kindness neither of you deserve.

Instead you press harder against his throat until he’s gasping, until you have to tighten your legs around his hips to stop him from bucking up into you. A moan slipping from your mouth when he returns the pain with sinking his teeth against the skin of your thumb. Your cunt clenching around him, begging you to move, to return the bite.

“Tell me how good I feel and I’ll let you come, promise. Or I’ll choke you until your last breath, and I’ll swallow it down. Be the last thing you see, feel. I’ll be the hero of the galaxy.” Your breath his heavy, hips doing the slowest roll, getting off to your own words. To the throb of his cock against your walls. “Say it. Say. it.”

Your grip loosens on his neck, enough for him to speak, to spew out a plea of heavy words. “You—” Kylo swallows, eyes rolling back just as your hips rise and fall along his length. “You feel so good, fuck I hate–you–ahh.”

Your hand aches from how long you’ve been choking him, so once you’ve moved it, as he’s moaning against your lips as he comes, there’s a satisfying relief in your fingers; your bloodstream.

“Pathetic.” The smirk that spreads across your lips matching his own.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #star wars smut #kylo ren x y/n #adam driver smut #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x fem!reader #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren one shot #kinktober #kinktober 2022

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tangledinink · 1 year

Text

Chapter Nine of I'm Sorry, Teenage Mutant What Now? is up!!! With Donnie's help, Mikey makes some progress in his Hamato Ghost mission... read it on ao3 or below the cut!

[ prev ]

"Daddy! Daddy, look!"

Mikey was aware, dimly, that this was a memory. He could see that this excited child, racing to throw himself into his father's waiting arms, was just a younger version of himself. And though that was him, tiny and still new in the world, he watched the scene from above as a passive observer, floating above it all. For some reason, it didn't bother him. It didn't even seem strange.

"Watch! Watch what I learned how to do in class today!" His child self happily demanded, backing up out of his father's embrace, throwing his bag down and to the side. Once he was a suitable enough distance back, he wrinkled his nose with concentration as he moved into third position, the sides of his feet carefully pressed together and his arms held gently to the side. Mikey smiled a tiny bit from up above. How old had he been here? Maybe five?

After a moment of wavering, he moved, hopping across the floor in order to shift into a leap, his legs kicking out high, nearly parallel to each other, before gravity brought him back down and he landed neatly on the ground. And maybe this was kind of conceited, somehow, because he was watching himself, but even Mikey had been a little bit impressed. It wasn't polished by any means, but that was really good for a little kid. He had been told his whole life, ever since he started lessons, just how talented of a dancer he was. How wonderful he was at ballet, what a natural he was, blah blah blah. He was realizing now that hearing things like that was a very different experience than actually observing from an outside perspective.

He felt a dash of pride. But it was a shadow compared to his father. He could see from here that he was just beaming.

"Wow, Orange! Very impressive!" He praised, and the child practically squealed in response, grinning so wide that even Mikey’s cheeks hurt just from watching. Radiating sunshine. Warm.

"It's a Grand Jetty!" He announced proudly, and Mikey laughed. That was most certainly not the correct pronunciation. "It's just like the kicking we learned at the dojo, Daddy! Right!? That's why I'm so good at it," he declared, almost smugly, puffing out his chest a bit. "Because you taught me how to do it first!"

"Ah, yes," his father hummed, stroking his chin dramatically. "It must be my incredible teaching that makes you so talented! Yes, this makes perfect sense. I will accept full credit," he teased, and his son huffed loudly.

"Daddy! That's only part of why," he protested, grabbing onto his arms to kind of shake him a little, hanging onto his sleeve. His dad laughed.

"Okay, okay. I suppose I might be able to share credit. How about fifty-fifty?"

"Daddddddyyyy!"

"Sixty-forty?"

Mikey laughed. Both of them. Past and present; the memory and the dream. Because that's what this was, right? He wished he could get closer. He wished he could move and join them. He wanted to hang off of his dad's arm, too, to be close and laugh with him, instead of just watching from above. But he could never move.

He was only an observer. Because this was a dream. Wasn't it?

Mikey woke up.

He was starting to get used to the physically jarring re-entries into reality, as he could only assume that he had been floating up until a few moments ago... again. This had become a pattern now.

It had been eight days since they had last seen their father. But every night, he dreamt of him. At first, they were just dreams, just hodgepodge mixtures of memories and thoughts and feelings, all stitched together in an odd fragmented quilt, the way dreams usually were. The way his dreams always were. Strange and not meant to be navigated, just experienced. But the more time passed, and the harder they all pushed, clawing desperately and continually forward to try to find a way to reunite their family, the more the dreams shifted.

Every time now, they were memories. Flashes of his past-- some fuzzy and far off, echoing, but others in shocking clarity, so real and bright that he swore he was actually there. Most of these things he hadn't even thought about in years. He hadn't remembered showing his dad his Grand Jeté before now, the memory long buried and lost in his subconscious beneath mountains of time, like a crocus under snow. But he remembered it now. God, how many other things had he forgotten?

In every single dream, he was watching from up above, his father trapped down below him, reliving the past. He saw himself show off his ballet moves. He watched Dad refereeing their first ever ‘Lair Games.’ He recalled his father teaching him how to make rice. More than anything else, over and over and over again, he remembered Dad teaching them all martial arts, him and all three of his brothers together. And in every dream, Mikey always wanted to move closer, to reach out and grab him, but he never could. He could never get to him. So he always just watched, and he would see things that he had never noticed before. Now, he could see the way Dad's eyes glowed with pride whenever he complimented them, because he always meant it. He noticed how his brows always crinkled in the middle to form a crease whenever he was worried, the same way Raph's did. He saw how his body would dip with satisfied exhaustion in quiet moments.

Mikey laid silently in his bed, flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. The glow-in-the-dark star stickers he had put up there when he was four stared back at him. Or rather, that his father had put there on his behalf. His throat felt tight. He wondered when he was going to get used to waking up like this. He wondered if the grief was ever going to get easier. Because every night when he woke up it hit him like a goddamn train all over again.

He lingered for a minute or so, fighting off tears, and then laid there for a few more minutes, sobbing softly, his pillow shoved up against his face. And once he got through the worst of it, he rolled out of bed, dragging himself up to his feet and slowly plodding into the hall, wiping leftover tears from his face as he went.

This wasn't really a common occurrence, especially now that he was older, but in the event that he woke up in the middle of the night from a bad dream or a stomachache, he always took turns with which family member he would go find and climb into bed with. He could get something different from each of them. Dad would make him tea and lay with him until he fell asleep again. Leo would find some way to make him laugh and would play with the beads in his hair until he got drowsy. Donnie could always explain away anything that had scared him, always had tricks and solutions to offer. And from Raph, he could without fail find firm hugs and promises of protection that he knew he could count on.

He was heading in the direction of his oldest brother's room, his bare feet padding quietly against the hardwood, and was surprised to hear soft voices filtering from inside. He paused in his approach, leaning against the wall, focusing only on listening to the hushed conversation that just barely snuck through the cracked door.

"--trying." He only heard the tail end of whatever April was saying.

"I know they're tryin'. That's not the problem," Raph mumbled in reply, his voice sounding strained. "It's not like I blame them! I just. I just wish we had-- any kind of a lead. It feels like we're not gettin’ anywhere. All we're doing is finding more questions, and none of it’s helpin’ us find Dad! I mean, what am I supposed to do with this whole Hamato Destiny thing?"

"Hey, look. We'll figure it out, okay? It's not all up to you. Like, I know the whole... Hamato thing is, like... a lot, but... "

"It's not just that, April! I just. I don't know. I feel like it's… it’s dangerous. You heard some of the things that ghost guy was sayin'! I mean. Why else would Dad not tell us about any of it? It just... it just gives Raph a real bad feeling," Mikey could hear the hiss in his voice. He could almost see Raph's brow furrow into a crease. "I just. I dunno. I wish we never found the dumb thing," he laughed bitterly. "Isn't that crazy? I mean. Finding out you've got a magical destiny and powers or whatever the hell should be excitin', right? It should be cool."

"Maybe if you're in a book," April mumbled, and Mikey heard the bed creak, like her weight was shifting, like she was leaning into Raph, or wrapping her arms around him. "Look. Whatever happens, we're gonna figure it out, okay? But it's the middle of the night. You've gotta rest, dude! You're just as bad as Leo and Donnie. You guys have got to sleep."

"... I dunno..."

"We'll work on this more first thing tomorrow, okay? I'm sure we can figure something out. Right now, sleep. Big sister’s orders. Go the fuck to sleep."

There was more movement, more shifting, most likely April chasing Raph under the covers, but Mikey had kind of stopped listening. His chest felt kind of fluttery.

It probably wouldn't be very helpful if he walked in there now, huh? April was trying to get Raph to actually rest. He would just interrupt and worry Raph if he went barging in. And he was already, clearly, anxious enough on his own... And Leo and Donnie weren't sleeping very well either, were they? He already knew that. They all knew that. And they were all anxious.

So that probably wouldn't be a very good idea, either, would it? To go and wake them up and make them worry about him on top of everything else. To go and demand comfort from them when they probably needed it themselves.

And Dad wasn't home. So...

As quietly as he came, Mikey turned around, retreating back to his own room.

---

Leo used to be grateful every time he managed to fall asleep at night. But he was quickly becoming sick of it.

Move. Move. MOVE!--

And he must have, because he woke up with a start, his entire body jumping slightly. Same dream twice in a row? He wasn’t a huge fan, quite frankly, and he was really hoped this wasn’t the start of a pattern because it was pissing him the fuck off.

Leo groaned softly, his body feeling uncharacteristically sore as he rolled over onto his side. Please be in my own room. Please be in my own room. Please be in my own room--

“Leo?”

Nope.

Leo scrubbed at his face with his hands before slowly turning his head, glancing to the side. April and Raph were both staring at him as if he had just turned green. Leo thought quietly to himself that they could almost blend in with the eight-trillion stuffed animals Raph had piled up on his bed with how they were frozen, staring at him.

"Hey guys," he greeted as casually as possible, curling his lips back in a forced smile.

"Where the hell did you come from?!" Raph yelped, his eyes darting back and forth between his brother and the door, the door and his brother. "You just-- but we just-- I didn't see--"

"I don't know, okay!? I dunno!" Leo sighed loudly, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I was asleep about five seconds ago, I have no idea how I got here. I thought maybe I was sleepwalking."

"Sleep ninja-ing, more like!" Raph gawked. "How did you get in here without us seein’ or hearin’ you? I mean. I didn't-- I didn't even see the door open, you just--"

"Okay, uhm," April bit her lower lip, rolling to flop down on her stomach on Raph's bed, propped up on her elbow. "Look, you guys know I hate to be the one to suggest magic Hamato powers, buutttt..."

"I really don't wanna talk about it," Leo grumbled, slowly sitting up and rolling his shoulders.

"Ooh, wait!" April gasped. "This is totally how you ended up in Mikey's room last night, isn't it?!"

"Well--"

"Ooh, and then you got on his ass about floating? He is gonna be pissed--"

"Do not tell him!"

"You sure you're alright?" Raph questioned, and Leo could just hear the worry in his voice. Ugh, this was so not his goal, and so not what he needed right now...

"I'm fine," Leo insisted. "Seriously. It's not a big deal. I'm not hurt. I didn't even leave the house! Sooooo, sorry for barging in, my bad, now, uh, I'm just gonna..."

"Leo," April said, and Leo whined a bit, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling in quiet despair 'cause she was using her big-sister-voice. "Quit pretending like you're not just gonna end up sleeping here tonight and just c'mere already."

Ugh. Dammit. He didn't want to. I mean. He did. But also... He didn't... But...

"Fine," Leo grumbled, turning to slink over to Raph's bed, crawling in to join the other two. Luckily, Raph's bed was big enough that there was space for himself, his brother, his sister, all of Raph's Build-A-Bears, and then some. One of the perks of having a huge older brother, he supposed.

He hoped this wasn't gonna turn into a habit.

---

Trust was essential for any cohesive unit to work properly. Without trust, there would be no success, no forward momentum, no unit to begin with. Casey knew this perfectly well. She had known it for most of her life. And truly, she did trust her leaders. Over the many years, she had never once questioned their wisdom or the reasoning behind their decisions. She had always been happy to blindly follow, to obey, to leap at their command without thinking or seeing because they said to, and to trust that they would not send her anywhere without the wellbeing of the clan's future in mind. Even when they weren't thinking of hers.

But Baron Draxum? Casey did not trust Baron Draxum.

And she hated that she didn't! She wanted so desperately to have faith in the Foot Clan's glorious leaders and their newest plan to recover the Dark Armor. They had never led them wrong before, (mostly,) and she couldn't quite put her finger on it, but...

Something was off.

She couldn't quite pin this guy down. They brushed elbows rarely, and when they did, it wasn't as though she disliked him. She could appreciate a guy who knew what he wanted and pushed towards their goal without compromise, and she definitely found coffee runs to be much more enjoyable after he had tagged along that first time. Truly, she had been doing it all wrong. But there was just... something...

And she didn't know what. That was the worst part about it. It wasn't as simple as suspecting the newest recruit. She didn't feel, per se, that he would betray the Clan, or that he had ulterior motives, though she was sure that he did, but every time he was around, something in the back of her brain just twitched and wriggled, incessant and annoying and horridly persistent.

But she trusted her senseis. The plan, on paper, was quite good. Baron Draxum was a powerful criminal and wielder of devastating mystics. Each day they seemed to grow stronger. He had an enemy in the Hamato Clan, and of course, so did they. It made perfect sense that they would work together to gather the Dark Armor and bring the Foot Clan's Master back to power. He was an irreplaceable ally to the Foot and an essential part of their plan. He assisted in retrieving the scattered pieces of the armor. They assisted in providing lab equipment and spell components to restore his mystic powers. And they assisted each other in plotting the destruction of the Hamato bloodline, once and for all, and soon, they would strike.

So why did her gut twist like this when she was around him? She ground her teeth in frustration, squaring her shoulders and resisting the urge to glare at him from across their lair as he conversed with the clan's leaders. Was it jealousy? She had, admittedly, been training under the Foot Clan since she was ten, and there was a slight sting to watching him rapidly rise through the ranks above her, despite his short stint within their organization. But that wasn't it, either. Or at least, not all of it. Her eyes climbed upwards to the altar where the unfinished Dark Armor was displayed. Already, they were nearly halfway complete. Cassandra had never dreamed that they could make such rapid progress, but with Baron Draxum's aid, things were going, quite frankly, swimmingly.

She should be thrilled.

So what was it that they were missing?

---

He knew that he needed to get up.

He was fully aware. He was so deeply, desperately, nearly violently aware that he needed to get up. It was the morning. He had already been laying here for over an hour. His kids would be awake soon. They would be hungry. They would want food and attention. No, rather, need food and attention. He thought bleakly to himself that all they had were canned beans and jars of baby food right now, anyway. Lots and lots of canned beans and jarred baby food, at least, but not exactly the variety of nutrition a parent might hope for. He wondered if Raphael was old enough to work a can-opener. And then he thought to himself that Raphael was hardly even three, by his best calculations, so probably not.

You have to get up, he bade, scolding himself. You cannot keep laying here until they come to get you or cry. They are counting on you. Come on. Get up, you lazy, stupid rat! It is not even difficult. All you need to do is get out of bed. Remember when you used to wake up before the sun to go on runs? Remember when you used to begin training before the crack of dawn? What happened to that Yoshi?

God, he wished he knew. But that Yoshi wasn't here now. He grunted softly, turning just enough to bury his face in his pillow. He must have slept on and off for at least ten hours, but the exhaustion clung to his bones regardless. His stupid little rat bones. He wondered if that was ever going to go away. He wondered if this was a side-effect of the mutation, or if it was just a personal failing on his own part. Perhaps turning into a rat would shorten his lifespan. Perhaps, any day now, he would pass away from old age. He certainly felt old. The thought might have given him some comfort if it weren't for the four toddlers relying on him in their entirety for survival, sleeping soundly just across the room. If you could call the space they occupied 'rooms' at all.

The wails of a child, which he immediately pinned as Mikey, split the thick, musty silence of the sewers, and Yoshi grit his teeth with frustration. He continued to lay in bed for another full minute before he got up to go and fetch him, and he resented himself for each and every one of those sixty seconds. What kind of person listens to a hungry child cry like that?

"I'm here. I am here, Orange," he did his best to soothe as he shuffled his way around the corner, scooping the youngest from the cardboard box they slept in each night, filled with fluffy towels and shredded paper to make a ‘bed.’ Mikey still whined, but quieted a bit, clinging to his fur with chubby three-fingered hands, yanking himself up into his father’s arms.

Yoshi could admit that they were odd-looking children, with their scaled green skin and shelled backs, little claws tipping each finger. But it wasn't as if he didn't look quite odd as well. And though he had at first not been so sure about what exactly they were, or what to call them, as time had passed he had grown quite confident that they were, in fact, children, regardless of how they might look, or any turtleish qualities or habits they may have. Sometimes he even thought that they looked a bit like him, or perhaps acted a bit like him. But maybe that was just wishful thinking.

He had never imagined himself as a father before. Sure, there had been that one pregnancy scare with Crystal Yistal, but then it had just turned out to be a stomach bug and he had been more than happy to abandon any previous thoughts of raising a child.

He had definitely not imagined it like this.

With Mikey still on his hip, he got Purple and Blue up next, coaxing them out of their shared box, and then Red as well. He noted dimly that his biggest was rapidly outgrowing his current sleeping place, and he would have to get him something new soon. He kept meaning to find them something proper to sleep in besides literal boxes, but he had yet to manage to do so... Just another item on an endless list of to-do's that he never seemed to be able to get out from under. When they were still so tiny, small enough to fit in the palms of his hands, boxes had felt reasonable! But now that they were more akin to toddlers than turtles, it felt less appropriate.

They were children. Surely he could figure out something better than this… one of these days.

He slowly herded the group to the 'kitchen,' as he referred to it in his head, busying himself with preparing breakfast for the four. The area they occupied was not very big, only consisting of a few tunnels. There were more, sure, but Yoshi made it a point not to allow his children into any space that he wasn't confident was safe. He knew that they were too cramped, and it was not enough room for four growing children, and really, he was meaning to address it. He had every intention of taking the time to clear more space of any potential hazards so they could have a bit more room to run around, perhaps find some sort of proper furniture if he could, some more toys or decorations of some kind, he just...

Hadn't gotten to it yet.

Maybe the next time we go out to find more food, he thought wearily, doling out meals to his children who were old enough to eat on their own, and feeding those who weren't, balancing Mikey on his lap. He wasn't especially hungry if he was being honest, and skipping meals meant what food he could procure lasted longer, so he figured it was basically a win-win. He had gotten better and better at obtaining resources for them as the months had gone by, but it was still difficult on a bad day. Things would wax and wane now. There were times when he would suddenly feel as if his energy had returned, his motivation and drive renewed, and he would get as much done as he possibly could-- fixing things that needed to be fixed, finding supplies that he knew they needed, looking over anything of concern that needed to be addressed as quickly as he possibly could to take full advantage. But they never seemed to last as long as they needed to.

Most days were like this.

He was dimly aware of his children babbling things to him, occasionally making comments or asking questions to him, and he responded to them on autopilot. Yoshi still sometimes had a hard time understanding what Leo was saying. He would just nod along in these cases, and it usually worked well enough. Raph would translate if he wasn't getting it. He was only a bit better with his words, but he spoke much slower than Blue did.

“Daddy,”

“Yes, Blue.”

“Daddy!”

“I am listening.”

“... Purple?”

“Yes, Purple is here too. I see him. He’s sitting right next to you, see?”

Leo turned slightly to look at his brother, who was far more interested in breakfast than him, smiling contently and giving an enthusiastic nod now that he had re-confirmed his twin’s continued existence.

“Yeah!”

“Yes, and Red and Orange as well.”

“He little.”

“Yes, your brother is still very little, isn’t he?” He sighed.

“No,” Mikey mumbled. That was about the only word he knew so far besides “Dada,” but it was by far his favorite thing to say. Besides just screaming. Oh, Orange loved to hear himself. Yoshi was quite convinced that he often did it just for the joy of creating noise.

“Yeah! You are,” Leo insisted.

“No,” Mikey yelled this time, and Yoshi sighed.

“Ah, yes, but he will grow and get big, just like you and Purple and Red, won’t he?” He hummed. God, he knew they would. Hadn’t it just been yesterday that he could carry them all in one arm? They had been so tiny, and they had gotten big so fast. Especially Raph-- he was like a damn weed with how quickly he was shooting up. He almost wished they were still that small… It had certainly been much easier to keep track of them back then. It was a nightmare any time he had to venture out of the tunnels now, trying to keep four little turtle tots in tow and making sure no one went tottering off on their own or started touching things they weren’t meant to.

“I’m big,” Leo confirmed with a firm little nod, looking satisfied with this, turning his attention back to his breakfast. The rest of the meal was quieter, allowing Yoshi the time to focus on making sure everyone ate and got their fair share. Leo sometimes got distracted talking and didn’t eat, which he had to keep an eye on… But for at least a few blissful moments, things were calm and peaceful, with all his little boys gathered around him, munching on their breakfast. It wouldn’t last, however, naturally, and once Leo was done with his food, he quickly had a new focus.

"Daddy," Leo chirped excitedly, grabbing onto his dad's arm and shaking it. Breakfast was apparently over. "Play?!"

Oh god. His entire body ached with exhaustion at the simple thought.

"How about we watch a movie?" He said. Each time he suggested this alternative, his sons’ enthusiasm seemed to lessen, but they still agreed to it each time. Thank god. They didn't have a lot, (especially since their last 'home' was flooded out about five months back, at which time they had lost most of their possessions,) but the family had to their name a small, blocky television, a VHS tape player, and a dozen or so different titles to choose from. Splinter had figured out quite some time ago how to mess with the few breaker boxes down here until they could access electricity in a select few locations, but they still currently only had one single outlet that actually supplied any power. More often than not, this one functional plug powered their little television.

He selected a VHS at random to put on, settling down in the lawn chair they had in front of it, gathering all four of his children up in his lap. Oh lord, Raph was getting too big for this. Or he was getting too small. He had long suspected he was shrinking.

Admittedly, he knew that "The Mantis at Midnight" was not exactly age appropriate. But he didn't get to pick and choose which VHS tapes he could scrounge up, and he could only watch the one Scooby-Doo tape that they owned so many times. He recognized it as selfish on his part, but he was quite certain his brain would melt.

Next time, he told himself. Next time they ask to play, we will play. We will do something. I will not just put on another movie.

But even now, he didn't believe himself.

He was always doing that, wasn't he? Saying he would take care of things or change, and then never following through.

He had hoped that he would be able to find some alternative option, some way out of his deal before the deadline came. But of course, he hadn't. And now here he was.

The leg of his opponent passed no more than an inch before his eyes, Yoshi ducking down and out of the line of fire in just the nick of time. He grit his teeth, dancing quickly to the side and away from the next strike that he knew was coming, trying to allow himself the distance to anticipate the coming attacks and dodge those, too. For the second time in a rather short period of time, he wished desperately that he had not let his fitness routine fall to the wayside all these years. There were so many cramps. So, so many cramps.

He wasn't able to dodge the next blow, much to his frustration, only to block it, his own arm flying up to catch his opponent's foot and deflect. He took no real damage, but it still hurt. He was layered with so many bruises and bumps and scrapes from the past week that he was beginning to feel like an impasto painting, with nothing having the time to heal properly before new work was piled on top of it. He was sure Big Mama was thrilled with the reaction his debut had earned. The Nexus was packed each and every day. This demand, of course, meant that his performance schedule was quite full.

The spotted feline yokai flitting before him surged forward, leading with her chest as she sliced through his defenses and into the close-combat zone that she was best suited for, the best-suited position for her to finish things-- this would have been very bad news indeed if Yoshi had not already anticipated this. His knee thrust sharply upward to catch her jaw just as she moved in for the kill, a sharp crunch sounding between them, her head lurching back at an absolutely sickening angle. Yoshi inwardly winced. Not just because it hurt his knee, but because he knew that if it hurt his knee, it had to be much worse for her.

She crumpled to the ground. He quickly jumped backward, looking to put some distance between the two of them. It had been a solid blow, he knew, one that could and had ended many fights in the past, but he was not foolish enough to simply trust that she would go down and leave himself exposed. Not here. He knew much better than that.

There was a beat of silence. It hung heavy in the air for one, two, three seconds, with every single soul in the stadium waiting to see if she would get back up.

The referee above waved a red flag, and the entire Battle Nexus erupted into deafening cheers. Oh, thank god. He had been... a bit worried about this one.

He may be the undefeated champion, but he was not as young as he used to be. This challenger, in particular, had put up a wicked fight. He privately hoped that she would recover, but not well enough that he would have to face her again, and then felt awful for thinking such things. But if he were being perfectly honest with himself, he hadn't been so sure he would be able to win this fight.

His entire body wept in protest as he stood his ground, his shoulders squared and his back straight, trying to give an air of confidence. He resisted the urge to bend, to rest his hands on his knees and wince and inspect the damage before the next fight. He knew Big Mama didn't appreciate such behavior. Something about ratings and appearances.

And he didn’t like it. But if his sons' safety depended on his career as the reigning Battle Nexus champion, well, then...

He threw up his arms, and the crowd screamed in response, the roaring of cheers reaching a wild crescendo.

"Who's next?!"

---

"Look. I already said I don't wanna talk about the Hamato Destiny anymore," Mikey sighed deeply. "I already listened to you talk for, like... so long about this." Not that any of it made any real sense. What the heck was a Twilight Realm? Or a Kuroi Yōroi...? He really was trying to pay attention, but it was all just so... jumbled and weird and, uh. Honestly a lot. "I wanna talk about finding my Dad. That was the deal. I listen to you, and then you help me."

Ghost-Sensei, as they had taken to calling them, seemed a bit annoyed at being cut off, which only frustrated Mikey more.

"We have already explained that we are not aware of Hamato Yoshi's current location--"

"I know! I know that. You told us that. Many times," Mikey sighed, resisting the urge to snap. He usually had so much more patience than this, and he was trying really hard to get it together, this was just... really, really frustrating. And also the fifth time he had tried to talk to these guys. "And that's... fine. But. I mean. You guys have got to know something that can help us. Like... don't you know him? Is there anyone who would want to hurt him, or... do you know where they might take him? And can we use any of these... mystic power things to get in contact with him or something?"

Ghost shook their head. "The Hamato Clan has many enemies," they reported. "And many members of the Clan have been hunted over our history. But without proper training in the Hamato ways and the art of ninpo, you will not be able to contact him... especially given that his own training was never completed, and his ninpo remains locked. It would be incredibly difficult to accomplish. Assuming, of course, that he is still alive to begin with."

Mikey's head jerked slightly, his face flushing ruddy and dark.

"Don't say that!" He snapped. "Unless you know that he's dead and you know where we can find his body, then don't you dare say that!!! We're gonna find him!!! Whether or not you help!"

He grit his teeth, hunching his shoulders slightly.

"Why won't you help? If there's a way to mystically contact him, why won't you just teach me that?"

"This is a very advanced technique... That alone would take many months of training to learn, and to jump straight to such lessons while neglecting the basics that come before--"

"We can do the basics later! I promise we'll do the basics later! We don't have time right now!" Mikey pleaded. "I swear I can learn. Just teach me, and I'll figure it out! I know I'm not as smart as Leo or Donnie are, but you could teach them instead if you want! And then we'll learn whatever else you want, and do all the destiny stuff--"

"Michelangelo," the spirit leaned in closer. Mikey hated how empty their eyes always looked. "You have great potential. You have more connection to the mystic energies of the universe than any of your brothers do, and you have every opportunity to be a truly remarkable warrior indeed... but this does not change the reality of the situation. To be a Hamato is to sacrifice. And it is a terrible burden for us to bear," they sighed deeply. "But it is all a part of the great honor and destiny we share, which ties us all together. You are not like other people, Michaelangelo. You and your brothers were not put on this earth to live an easy life. None of us were. We do not exist for ourselves. We exist for the survival of the world."

Mikey felt like he was going to throw up. His body felt all shaky and numb, even though he was holding himself steady.

"I'm not asking for an easy life," he whispered. "I'm just asking for our Dad back. He's part of the world, too."

Ghost-Sensei pulled away, sighing deeply. "I know that this can be a difficult thing to accept," they said gently, in such a kind, soft tone that it made Mikey's chest twist with resentment. "Perhaps you need time to come to terms with this."

And just like that, Mikey was alone in the room.

The tears trickling down his freckled face became proper sobs soon enough, bending down to rest his head against his knees, his chest pressed across his thighs as he wept for a short while. He was getting pretty tired of crying about this, but it caught him by surprise every time. He was upset in a million different ways. He knew that these people knew more than they were letting on, he just knew it... and they wouldn't even let him try to learn these 'Hamato techniques.' Every time he talked to them, he just walked away with more questions than before, and with this trembling, hollow feeling occupying his skeleton.

Was this how Dad grew up? Taught that his life was something on loan to him-- not truly his, just something to trade away to a world that, seemingly, wasn't even aware of their sacrifice to begin with?

Because that sucked. Like... so much. And now they didn't even seem to care about him anymore.

I could learn, if you just gave me a chance, he thought bitterly. You said I have potential. But you won't even let me try...

He sighed deeply through his nose. Not only that... he had more connection to the 'mystic energies of the world' than the rest of his brothers. For some reason, this made Mikey frown. Once upon a time, if someone had told him something like this, he would have beamed, flipped his hair, and agreed that of course he did. His intuition was obviously off the charts, his creative finesse was something to be envied, and his therapist had been calling him an 'empath' since back before it was a cringe thing to say...

But now it just made his stomach flip-flop. He knew he wasn't the only one, but lately, he was questioning... everything. Every time they uncovered something new, it was like there was this little voice in his head that was wailing. It was, like... God. What else didn't he know? What else was he missing?

Frowning to himself, he quietly shut the chest again, shoving it back under their Dad's bed before getting to his feet and wandering out into the hall. He wasn't exactly sure where his feet were taking him at first, but he made his way up one flight of stairs, and then another, and eventually, he was knocking on Donnie's door, cautiously peeking his head inside.

When Donnie turned from his computer to face him, he seemed annoyed at first, but his expression softened quickly at the sight of his little brother.

"Hey Mikey," he hummed, kind of gesturing for him to come in, which he did. "Any luck with the ghosts?"

"Not really," Mikey admitted, frowning as he shut the door behind him, wrapping his arms around himself in a sad imitation of a hug as he trudged over to the other, plopping down on his bed to sit. "They don't want to tell me anything. They just wanna talk about old stories about evil creatures and the Twilight Zone and a bunch of other stuff I don't understand. But every time I try to talk to them about Dad, they shut me out."

Donnie sighed loudly, wrinkling his nose. "Yes. Well. I suppose we can't expect it to be easy..." they muttered. "Unfortunately, I'm not having the best luck myself. Everything I'm finding so far just seems... incomplete. Like I'm missing something, some sort of component..." He frowned, leaning over his desk, his cheek squished up against his palm. "I have all this data, but I have no idea how to make any of it work for us. I'm sure that there's some piece I'm missing that would make all this make sense, I just... I have no idea where it is. Or where to find it," he growled.

Mikey sighed a little, flopping down on his side, drawing his legs up to his chest. "Yeah," he muttered. "... I know that we have, like... mystic powers, or whatever. But I don't have any idea how any of it works, and Ghost-Sensei won't teach me. He keeps saying we have to learn 'the basics' first. But we don't have time for the basics," he whined softly. "If they gave me a chance, I know I could figure it out, I just..."

Donnie smiled a tiny bit, glancing over at the other. "You have always had an uncanny knack for those guessing games," he teased gently.

"I'm serious, Dee!" Mikey protested, bristling a bit. "I think I could. I mean. I know I could. I know that this kind of stuff isn't your thing, and I don't expect it to-- I mean--"

He paused, his sentence caught in his throat for just a moment before he turned suddenly to meet his brother’s eyes.

"Donnie, do you see colors?"

Donatello's brows pinched with confusion, his mouth wrinkling slightly. "Uh. Yeah. Of course I see colors. What does that have to do with anything?"

"No, not like that! I mean-- I mean, do you see colors on people? Like. Do you see people's colors? Like. What do you think my colors are?"

Donnie raised a suspicious brow, looking his brother up and down. "... Your colors? I mean... you have brown skin. And your hair is mostly black, except you bleached the tips... your shirt is black..."

"No," Mikey said sharply. "No, Dee, I'm orange."

"Well, I mean, yeah, your bandana is orange, and your pants are orange..."

"I'm not talking about clothes, Dee," Mikey insisted with a sigh. "I'm talking about me. About all of me. Like-- Like, I'm orange. And you're purple. Even if you weren't wearing any purple at all, you'd still be purple. Every time I look at you, I see that you're purple," he pressed. "The same way Dad is white, and April is green, and Carol is yellow. Everyone is totally different! Like-- like your purple and Mrs. Evanway’s purples are different, it’s all totally unique and, and--"

Mikey could feel Donnie's eyes boring into him. He frowned, curling up a bit tighter.

"Look, I know I always talk about, like, our life colors and stuff. And when I was little, I always just thought that that was just something that everyone saw! Especially 'cause Dad has the nicknames, so I just thought... And then eventually I realized that maybe it wasn't, and it might just be me. But any time I ever mentioned it people would act like I was joking or just ‘being Mikey’ or whatever, so I never really... pushed it. I just thought it was this weird thing I did and it didn't mean anything, so I never really talked about it that much, but now I, I dunno, with all this crazy mystic stuff and energies and all that these ghosts are talking about, it feels like, like maybe it might be real? Like, actually for-real real, and I know it sounds weird, and I know it's not your thing, and I know it's not gonna help us, but--"

He finally dared to look back up at his brother, only to be surprised to find Donnie busying himself with opening up a spreadsheet on one of his many computer monitors, hunching over their keyboard to type furiously for a moment.

"Uh... Donnie?"

"Okay," Donnie said, whipping back around to face him, his glasses nearly falling off his nose. "What color was the guy who took Dad?"

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#sorrywhatnowau #sorrywhatnow fic #tmnt #tmnt human au #rottmnt fanfiction #rottmnt fic #fanfic #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt human au

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anamelessfool · 9 months

Text

The Mission

Gen: Secondo & Family (600-ish words)

Tags: Domestic Fluff, Holidays, Children are extremely serious especially Secondo's, Secondo retired and moved away from the Ministry a decade ago, Secondo is disabled in my AU, Dad Secondo

Secondo's children enact the most important ritual of their entire year.

Blaming and tagging @riptide-kid for this

Ficlet below the cut!

“We all have to get up.” Eden stood by her parent's bed. Her eyes were enormous, blazing with determined intensity. Her round, pale face and lank hair gave her the appearance of some ghostly entity standing in the dark of the room. The littlest brother Sam was behind her, kneading his hands.

Secondo and Sandra were no strangers to their daughter’s habit of standing by their bedside with something cryptic to say. Maybe it was Secondo’s bloodline, or maybe the eight-year-old was just extra theatrical, it was hard to tell. Secondo didn't mind it all that much. Sometimes her mysterious statements became accurate portents.

Not this morning, though. They expected her here. In fact they were surprised it was this late. She was a very punctual child, with a strong sense of what was necessary.

No surprises there.

“Mommy, it's time. Everybody has got to get up.”

“Nope, this is your father's job,” Sandra muttered. She sleepily tapped his back. “Magician and man of the house and all that. I've got fifteen minutes until I'm getting up.”

“We need to hurry then,” Eden said solemnly. Sam nodded, still frowning.

“I'm getting up at the pace I'm getting up,” Secondo announced, pulling himself upright. He reached for his forearm crutch.”Go get Paul if you want somebody fast.”

“Paul! We forgot Paul!” Sam hissed. “We left him alone!”

“Well, go get him!” Eden ordered back. Sam slipped out the door to wake their older brother. Eden paced on the carpet.

Secondo snorted, shaking his head. “Serious business.”

“They take after you, dear,” Sandra replied from under the quilt.

The door opened and Sam dragged Paul in by the wrist. The teenager blinked slowly in the soft darkness, his hair looking like it was caught in a windstorm. “Whuh—”

“You and Daddy have to go check!” Eden insisted.

Paul tossed his head and he locked eyes with his father, his face now full of determination. Secondo watched his son struggle not to break character. “You're right. We need to make sure,” Paul announced in a hushed tone. Eden and little Sam hugged each other excitedly.

Secondo finally got the momentum to pull himself upright and onto his crutch. “You're the fastest of all of us,” Secondo told his oldest son. “You have to lead the mission this year. Good luck.”

“You can't let him see you,” Eden reminded him while Sam bobbed his head vigorously in agreement. “Not for even one second.”

“Godspeed,” muttered Sandra.

The four adventurers organized themselves at the end of the hallway. Down the hall was the living room, now slowly becoming awash with reddish light from the large curtained windows. “Go on, Paul,” whispered Secondo.

Paul nodded and crept down the hallway, dramatically stopping every few feet to look back at his younger siblings. Eden, the mission commander, glared as she observed his task.

At a pace that seemed like forever to the children under eight years old, Paul finally reached the end of the hall, peeking around the corner. He turned and tossed his hand at Secondo. “Now you,” ordered Eden in a whisper.

The old magician nodded solemnly and walked with as much authority and dark majesty as he could in pajamas. He met up with Paul at the end of the hall, craning his neck to observe the living room as cautiously as he could. He gave the younger children a satisfied nod. His mouth was a thin, firm line, his whitened eye gleaming in the dim light.

“All clear. Santa’s gone. And he left presents for you.”

----

My Fic List | My AO3

Fun fact, my dad would do this to us every Christmas Morning. And when he moved out, as the oldest sibling it was up to me to check. I don't know if you know this but apparently if Santa is down there by your tree and sees you EVEN FOR ONE SECOND, he vanishes and takes all your presents. (This fact had no bearing whatsoever on me, obviously.)

#ghost fandom #the band ghost #ao3 author #ghost scenes from the void #domestic december #domestic fluff #dad secondo #papa emeritus ii #secondo & family #ghost band headcanons

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stargazer-sims · 7 months

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The Art of Redemption

(part 12)

previous // next // story index

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"Good news, children!" Stan bursts through the doorway of the guest room without so much as a knock. He doesn't seem the least bit shocked or bothered by the fact that Beth-Anne is curled up next to Nikolai in the big bed. "You're gonna love this!"

Beth-Anne drags her eyelids open a little further. She’s tired, and it’s an effort. "Jesus, Stan! Ever heard of privacy?"

Stan quirks an eyebrow. "What? I'm not interrupting something, am I? I didn't think you swung that way."

"The fuck...?" She seizes the nearest soft object she can reach, which happens to be Nikolai's grey teddy bear, and flings it at him. "Fuck off!"

Stan catches the bear neatly. He's laughing. "And all this time, I thought you were a morning person. You too, little Kolya."

Beside her, Nikolai groans sleepily. "This is a bad dream, right?"

"Do you often dream about being in bed with your coach?" Stan asks, his tone filled with mock-innocence.

"Oh my God. Please stop." Nikolai grabs the edge of the quilt and pulls it up so that only the top of his messy brown hair is visible. "I'm not in bed with her."

"That’s not what it looks like, but okay," Stan says.

"You know what I mean!"

"I call it as I see it," Stan says, "Anyway, it's fine. Whatever the two of you get up to behind closed doors is none of my business. You're both adults."

"Stan, enough." Beth-Anne tries to put as much steel into her tone as possible. She knows he's only teasing and she's sure Nikolai knows it too, but just because she enjoys Stan's sometimes inappropriate sense of humour, that doesn't mean everyone's going to appreciate it. It's fairly obvious Nikolai is uncomfortable, and Beth-Anne isn't keen to let that continue. "What do you want?

"I just wanted to tell you the good news," Stan says cheerfully. "We had a shit ton of snow overnight. Everything's closed. Schools, shopping malls..." He gives her a conspiratorial wink, as if the closures were organized specifically for their benefit. "Municipal sport and recreation facilities."

Nikolai peeks out from under the blanket. "You mean, the rink is closed?"

"All the municipal facilities," Stan says. "Rinks, pools, libraries, the recycling depot. Probably even City Hall. We're having a genuine, certified snow day, and personally, I don't intend to waste it lying around."

"We weren't lying around. We were literally sleeping," Beth-Anne points out.

"Details," Stan says. "Now, let's go. Haul ass, kids. Milena's making breakfast, and then we need to clear the driveway. Betka's work isn't closed, and the whole fucking world would have to end before they gave her husband a day off, so she's bringing the boys over to spend the day. It's gonna be great."

"Can we at least take showers and put on some clean clothes first?"

Stan grins at her. "Sure, if you want cold breakfast. Come on. Eat now, shower later."

And so, unable to argue with the force of nature that is Stanislav Kovac, they do.

She and Nikolai climb out of bed and trail Stan to the kitchen where Milena is in the process of making what might be banana pancakes. The warm, inviting scents of coffee and savoury sausage fill the room, and there's already a pitcher of orange juice, a carton of milk and an array of condiments on the table.

Beth-Anne has lost count of how many times she's sat in the Kovacs' kitchen and shared a meal with them. After her accident, she'd lived with them for several months while she recovered her ability to walk and her courage to face the world beyond the safety of their four walls. They helped her stay sober and sane, and their steady presence healed her in ways she's sure none of them have words to explain.

Milena and Stan and their daughter Alzbeta — known affectionately as Betka — taught her what it was like to be part of a healthy and loving family, and from them she learned that relying on others isn't a sign of weakness, that there's far more strength in the care and support of others than anyone could ever find alone.

She feels at home in the Kovacs' house and comfortable with their quirks as well as their routines. It's not strange for her to observe Milena at the stove, dressed in old gym shorts and one of Stan's shirts, preparing what she and Stan both insist is the most important meal of the day, neither is it odd for her to see Stan dancing gracefully around the kitchen in his ridiculous plush moose slippers that would be a serious tripping hazard for someone less agile and less aware of the capabilities of his body.

The vintage radio is tuned to a classical music station, and one of Stan's favourite pieces of music has just come on. Beth-Anne recognizes it. It's Les Patineurs Op. 183, by the nineteenth-century composer Émile Waldteufel, and she'd once skated to it in a competition. She suspects Stan may have skated to it at some point too. His dance looks choreographed, the movements long-remembered and clearly beloved.

Milena says something to him in their native Czech, and he replies in English, "Yes, I remember." He spins fluidly across the floor until he's next to her, and then he kisses her on the cheek. "I remember we both got something gold that night."

Beth-Anne smiles. She knows exactly what he's referring to.

Stan delights in telling the story of how he proposed to Milena. He'd been planning it for weeks and had even bought a ring, but hadn't actually presented it to her when he asked her to marry him. Instead, he'd given her his newly-won gold medal from Skate Canada. Apparently, he'd been too excited and full of adrenaline to wait for their next proper date and he'd proposed right there at the competition venue.

The first time Beth-Anne heard that story, she hadn't been the least bit surprised. It was perfectly in-character for Stan. What was also characteristically Stan was how he'd later taken that very same medal to a goldsmith, where it'd been melted down and refashioned into Stan and Milena's wedding bands.

"So we can always wear our greatest victory for the world to see," he'd said.

Beth-Anne loves that Stan considers his marriage to Milena his greatest victory.

We should all be so fortunate, she thinks.

She asks Milena if there's anything she can do to help with breakfast, although she already knows what the answer will be.

"No, it's under control," Milena assures her. "Grab a coffee and have a seat. This'll all be ready in a few minutes."

She fixes coffee for herself and Nikolai, and then joins him at the table. True to her word, Milena carries a huge platter of pancakes and sausage to the table a few minutes later. Stan finally decides to sit down as well, and they all enjoy some carefree chatter and the delicious food that's as filling to Beth-Anne's spirit as it is to her stomach.

After breakfast, she and Stan dress up to go outside and clear the driveway. Nikolai offers to help, but both she and Stan veto the idea immediately. He may be walking more confidently now, but there's no way they're going to let him shovel snow.

Milena says he can stay inside with her and help tidy up the kitchen. Beth-Anne is grateful to Milena for offering him a way to feel useful, and evidently Nikolai is too, because he happily acquiesces.

With Nikolai left in Milena's capable hands, Beth-Anne follows Stan out through the garage. They collect two wide snow shovels and then make their way outdoors. Stan wasn't wrong about how much it had snowed in the night. Yesterday, she'd guessed it might snow, but she had no idea they'd be up past their knees in it. It's still snowing lightly, with no signs of stopping soon, but if they don't start cleaning up now, it'll be that much more difficult when the storm finally does dwindle to its inevitable end.

For the first little while, they don't say much, other than to comment about how cold it is or how astonished they are by the unexpectedly heavy snowfall. By the time they've removed all the snow from the doorstep and walkway and the front of the garage, however, Stan seems more inclined to converse. They're clearing around his car when he says, "So, last night...?"

"What about last night?" she queries. "If this is gonna be about me and Nikolai sleeping in the same bed..."

"No, it's not," Stan says. "I know nothing happened. Well, nothing like that at least, but even if you did get up to something frisky, it's like I already said. You're adults. You do what you want. What I'm talking about was you screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night."

"Oh, God." Beth-Anne moans. "I'm so sorry. It's bad enough that I woke Nikolai. I didn't know I woke you and Milena too."

"You didn't wake Milena. That woman could sleep through World War Three. But, it took all my willpower not to run downstairs and check on you."

"And you didn't come down because...?"

"Because I remembered Nikolai was in there with you. Or you were in there with him, I suppose, since you didn't come up to the room we offered you."

"Yeah, well it was a little, uh... noisy up there for my tastes."

Stan snorts in his effort not to laugh. "Right. Apologies for that, but when your wife's rocking the boy-cut underwear and looking hot as fuck, sometimes you just gotta do something, you know?"

"I love that you still think she's hot."

"And why wouldn't i? Sure, she looks different than she did when we were eighteen, but so what? She's my benchmark for beauty. Everybody else has to measure up to her."

"You're amazing, you know."

"I know," Stan says, but then he turns serious again. "Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you're okay after the talk we had yesterday, and then whatever happened last night."

"Yeah, I'm surprisingly okay," she says. "I'm not cured, obviously, but I do feel better today. It was a pretty bad nightmare, but Nikolai looked after me. We talked afterwards, and he gave me some stuff to think about, whether he realizes it or not."

"What stuff?"

"For one thing, he seems to think I'm not going to end up being a danger to anybody. Maybe he's an optimist, but he thinks the kids are safe."

"Of course they are," Stan says. "Don't I keep telling you that? We didn't have you in anger management therapy back in the day for no reason, did we?"

"No. There was a reason. It was to keep me safe. And other people safe from me."

"Yeah, but it was also for your future, and you see how well it's worked out. You're like a second mom to some of those kids of yours.

"Nikolai said something like that too."

"So Nikolai tells you one time, and you believe him?"

"No, it's not that," she says. "It's not like I believe Nikolai and I don't believe you. It just seems easier to believe when I'm hearing it from more than one person, if that makes sense."

"It does," says Stan. "Not that I'm telling you to take a poll or anything, but if you did, I'll bet you'd hear the same thing from all your students' parents. I mean, the fact that they trust you with their kids should tell you as much."

She smiles wryly. "I just wish I could trust myself."

"That takes time, but you know what I think might help?"

"What?"

"Remember how you used to be," he says. "Look at how far you've come since I first met you, how much fuckin' awesome progress you've made as a human being, not just as an athlete and a coach. Not only should you trust yourself to do the right things, but you should be damn proud of yourself for getting it mostly right so far."

"Mostly right."

"Nobody's perfect."

"True," she agrees. She moves a few more shovelfuls of snow before she continues. "There was something else."

"Something else Nikolai said to you, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"And...?"

"I told him about Abby, and I told him how I got the scars."

Stan makes a sombre hum of affirmation. "That took courage."

"It felt like the right thing to do."

"How'd he take it?"

"I'd say he was shocked, but not totally surprised, and he said he didn't think any of it was my fault. And do you know what he asked me?"

Stan plants his shovel in the snow. He rests his gloved hands on top of the handle and leans forward a little, meeting her eyes. "I get the sense it's something you didn't see coming."

"You're right," she confirms. She pokes the snow a bit with the blade of her own shovel before sticking it into the nearest drift and copying Stan's posture. "He asked me if I've tried looking for Abby recently."

"Have you?" Stan asks.

Beth-Anne shakes her head. "No, but the more I think about it, the more I think maybe I should."

"Are you prepared for something like that? Like, emotionally and psychologically prepared?"

"No, but if I wait for a moment when I fell like I'm totally ready, maybe I'll never do it, and maybe this is something I need to do now, you know? Maybe it's the next step I need to take to move on."

"What if you find out something you'd rather not know?"

"Like what? The worst thing I could learn is something I already accept might be a possibility, that my sister died in the eighties. But, Stan..." She gazes at him intently, willing him to comprehend her sudden earnestness. "Stan, what if she didn't? What if she escaped that hell, and what if some foster family loved her and raised her like their own? I could still have a sister out there somewhere."

"This may not have a happy ending," he says.

"I know, but even if she doesn't remember me or doesn't want to meet me, or even if she really did pass away years ago, I think I'd feel better knowing the truth about what happened."

Stan presses his lips together as if he's deep in thought, attempting to come up with an adequate response. "I don't want you to think I'm discouraging you from doing this," he says at length. "You should, if you think it's what you need to do. I just don't want you to be hurt."

"I know," she smiles at him. "You always want to protect me, and it's one of the reasons I love you, but remember what you're always saying. We don't achieve anything if we're not willing to take risks."

"That sounds like the kind of motivational shit I'd say at the rink."

"It applies just as well to life off the ice."

He frowns, but she understands it's not because he's upset. It's because he's worried but also has to concede her point. "Knowing the truth likely would give you some closure," he says. "Maybe it would help you move on.

"Nikolai suggested Milena might be able to help," she tells him. "He said she might know how to get access to family court records and old documents from Social Services and stuff like that."

"Milena's not that kind of lawyer," Stan says. "But I'll bet there's somebody at her firm who is. I can ask her, if you want."

"No," Beth-Anne says. "I have to be sure I'm really doing this. I need to think about it a little more. When I'm sure I’m going ahead with it, I'll ask her myself."

Stan nods. "Okay. If you need to talk about it any more in the meantime, I'm here."

"Thanks," she says. "I'm grateful I can always count on you."

He smiles. "Hey, what's family for? No matter what happens, we've always got your back."

#writing #the art of redemption #theartofredemption #beth-anne jones #stan kovac #nikolai pavlenko #stargazersims

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warcats-cat · 9 months

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Autumn's Bounties

A/N: Another gift fic for @muppenthings based on her delightful OC-verse with my favorite found family, Snuffy and Hilda! Posting a little late for Christmas, but oh well. My apparent writing style is "Better Late than Never"... 😅

This one is short and sweet. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 💜 As always please let me know if I missed a tag!

Or if you prefer you can read this on Ao3.

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Autumn.

Autumn meant cool breezes, the end of the warm summer nights. Little creatures storing up their food supplies and preparing for a long rest ahead. Autumn was the mark of the Earth itself preparing to sleep.

Autumn was humans bringing in great harvests, preparing meals for the entire village at a time. Sweet spices and warm drinks. Cozy fires and late nights telling tales of old.

Snuffy flicked his ear. He loved summer, but he really loved Autumn.

It was barely dawn, and the grass near the house was crisp with frost. He could smell rain in the air, coming in in a few hours perhaps. If the storm got too bad, Hilda would invite him inside; they would build a little fire and, if Snuffy was lucky, she would make cinnamon rolls or pancakes. Maybe even potato dumplings.

Snuffy licked his lips. One of the kids in town had been teaching him ‘puppy eyes’ for even better effect.

Hilda would knit, and Snuffy would watch; the soft yarn weaving carefully between long wooden needles. He loved just watching her work, all of the clever little things humans could do with their hands. He loved visiting the craftspeople in town with Hilda, inspecting colorful fabrics and shining metals.

As he got used to the humans, they got used to him. The mail-carrier hadn’t jumped upon seeing him move in at least a month now!

There was a girl in town who liked to visit, just to see Snuffy and ask him about his home and family. The way he had grown up. She had taken a few scales from the yard that he had shed, which at first he’d thought was a little weird, but she never seemed malicious about it, and she had brought back little necklaces with beads and a scale on each one. It was endearing, if odd.

It was nice, at least, to be making his own friends in town.

There was a festival coming up that they had already been invited to; Snuffy received a personal invitation, and was informed that he was now being considered as a member of the community, and was there anything he wanted to bring or would need accounted for? Last year’s Yule celebration had been such an interesting event, and now he was being included in even more.

His tail twitched, and he smiled. The forest around them was getting colder, but in defiance, the humans became warmer.

Out of storage came the warm quilts and thick clothes, ready to defy the sharp winds of winter. Heavy curtains hung to keep the chill from seeping through cracks around the windows. Tall boots replaced thin shoes in anticipation of snow.

Yes, it was barely dawn, now, but the day was already full of promise and excitement. He and Hilda could exchange stories of family and celebration. They could go into town and she could shop while he played with the village kids in the rain. And if he came back with a sniffle, he could just use his ‘puppy eyes’ to ask for warm apple cider.

Time moved past lazily until, much closer to midday, Snuffy found himself watching from the side as Hilda and several other villagers worked; pulling ripe vegetables from the soil, dusting each off with gentle hands, and placing them in different baskets. The community gardens were close to the heart of the village, and everyone was buzzing with excitement for harvest festivals and feasts. Something close to the Yule festival in size, with a massive table for everyone and enough food for everyone to bring guests from other places. Pickling and stewing would begin in preparation for winter, and warm, thick stews would be made to feed the less fortunate among them.

Snuffy’s tail thumped idly against the grass. He had offered a hand, but even in his more human-shaped form, his claws needed somewhere to go. He’d cut a handful of the more delicate vegetables (and of course, they were all delicate compared to his strength), and though the others had laughed with mirth and not malice, and though Hilda had patted his cheek with a warm smile and leather-soft hand, he had decided he would be more effective help keeping larger animals away.

The funny girl was there, too, in the garden. Her boots were caked in mud, and she huffed with the effort of carrying heavy pumpkins and armfuls of tomatoes, but she was smiling brightly. She was singing to herself, the notes soft and lilting. It was quiet; too quiet, perhaps, for the other villagers to listen, but Snuffy twitched a sensitive ear in her direction to catch the song. It was clear this was a song she knew by heart, perhaps had sung many times before. He wondered how she would react if he hummed along.

Hilda was taking a break, now; sitting closer to Snuffy and helping to clean dirt off freshly pulled crops. He thumped his tail again, happily, and let out a low grumbling noise as she leaned against his side.

He liked it here, he decided. Not just living with Hilda, or being in the village. He liked being with the village, sitting comfortably with his favorite people close by. He liked being a part of their community, accepted for all of his quirks and celebrated in spite of misunderstandings. His village was warm, his friends were sweet.

They were his blanket to keep the world’s chills away.

#warcats writes #muppen friend #friend oc #oc fic #yes I added myself as a character to my friend's oc verse #I won't do much I promise #I just wanna make friends with the dragon ok?#gift fic #original work #ask to tag

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princesspuresarahk · 9 months

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Fairly Odd Parents Stories

Deep in The Heart of Texas

by Maki and Bug a Fanfic story au inspired by her FOP au

Chapter: 4 Turner Thunder Ranch

Grandpappy and Nonna lead them in as Vernon and Michelle look around with awe. The place was amazing with cozy and warm furniture everywhere with old Western style, it must have been around for a long time and in the living room set a big old stone fireplace that must have been handmade and had a big old longhorn skull on the top center cozy pillows and quilts on the furniture everywhere a big kitchen and an upstairs level where you can see a view from the living room there was just so much to see Michelle ‘Woah….’ As Nonna called out “You two must be tired from your long journey please make yourselves at home caras.” Michelle was warmed by their hospitality “Thank you, ma’am~” Vernon thanked as well as he gazed around. Since as a kid, he have only heard from his peers Timmy came from the middle class… but seeing the ranch belonged to her grandparents…This was beyond middle class from he could tell It was even close to or the same level of high class…Maybe even higher when he noticed a framed picture on the wall that said the great land property of TTR and wow that was a lot of land it was completely the size of Dimmsdale perhaps even bigger Vernon(thinking through his mind) Wow….Notice a couple of very old pictures that look to be Timmy's ancestors including Ebenezer Turner who they believe from the stories with the town crier but in this photo, he looks like a completely different person He seemed more of a fitting as one of the founders of Dimmsdale other than Orville Buxaplenty. And what else he could tell it looked like he had some scars on his face as well It said he had been into a lot of fights for many years most specifically, wars, for example. Then he notices the picture next to it looks to be a leather book a little worn out but still in good contact that said The True Secret Life History Of Ebenezer Turner, surprising Vernon was there more to Timmy's ancestor than people let on finally Grandpappy came up to him with a glass of iced peach tea " here you go son wife thought of making everybody some beverages from y'all's long journey.”

He noticed Vernon was looking at the book and smiled “If you're curious about good old Ebenezer it's a hell of a wild story to tell.” He said with a joyful laugh full of pride as he returned to kiss his wife on the cheek and thanking for making the tea Vernon felt bashful “Oh! Umm… if it’s okay…..”As he looked around some more he noticed some other things too that belonged to the family in cases a couple of cowboy hats and badges as he looks closer he read on the badges that said Texas Rangers which surprised him as he took a sip of tea his eyes widened of how good this tea was as it was homemade he heard Grandpappy laugh happily when Michelle commenting "oh this tea is lovely," Nonna smiling at the compliment “Taste nice, huh…~ specialty brewed by my wife~”

Timmy added, “Sometimes, I can’t follow almost everything Nonna makes…” Nonna cooed “Oh mio poco bella rosa (my little beautiful rose) you'll get to learn all my recipes with time during your stay the spring break." kissing Timmy kiss on the cheek "Now caras how about we take you to your rooms and have your things settled in yes.?" Michelle yawning a little from sleepiness "Oh! Thank you, ma’am,!"(Holding her bags) With that, she guided the kids to their room. Each room was spacious enough for them. With comfy-looking furniture and space enough to unpack their belongings.

“This will be your room Miss Michelle I hope you'll be very comfortable during your stay." She opened the door to reveal her room Michelle squeaked with a bright smile “I love it~!” Nonna laughed "I'm glad you do..~" then they guided Vernon to his room "And here you are Vernon I hope this room will make you nice and comfortable during your stay." Vernon liked it “Wow…thank you…!” After traveling all day everyone was tired and ready for a good night's sleep Timmy missed the old bedroom she stayed in every time she visited her grandparents. Seeing it again relaxed her. (Timmy lay on her bed with a sigh of satisfaction.) As memories of her growing up on the ranch flowed through her. Timmy smiled it was much more peaceful and happier than the lifestyle she had in Dimmsdale.

And always had thoughts of moving back once she turned 18 after graduating high school and going to college here. Speaking of back… she wondered how the old friends she made here…The old friends she used to run around at the ranch before she moved away to Dimmsdale…Maybe they’re still around? If so it would be awesome to catch up with and introduce them to Michelle and Vernon during our stay it'd be really fun as she put on her nightgown Eddie was already curled up on one of the pillows already fast asleep Timmy smiles at the cute scene. Giving Eddie a kiss she slowly drifted off to sleep happily excited for the adventures for tomorrow.

The Next morning Timmy could hear the rooster crying out, signaling it was morning. Giving a yawn Timmy stretched as she woke up opening her blue doe eyes to see the beautiful sunrise through her window getting up she went to open her window to bring in the fresh morning air against her face Timmy inhaled and exhaled with a smile, (hears a squeak, turned to see Eddie) “Morning, Eddie~” He gave her a waving grin as a little another yawn scratching behind his ear until his ears picked up and he started sniffing the air and his tail started wagging in excitement "Ooooohhh" and his mouth started to drool as he smelt something good Timmy sniffed the air “Must be Nonna cooking breakfast…~ I wonder if Michelle and Vernon are already up…”

Quickly getting washed and dressed Timmy headed into the hall just as Michelle opened her door already dressed for the morning as well " Good morning Timmy morning Eddie!" Eddie squeaked as he waved while Timmy greeted as well. “Morning, Michelle~!” They heard a door open and turned to see Vernon rubbing the sleep out of his eyes still in his pajamas as he let out a yawn "Is it morning already ?" Already seeing Timmy and Michelle dressed and up Timmy greeted him “Yep! Our rooster is a natural clock alarm~” He looked to see the clock on the way saying it was 6:00 in the morning suddenly they all heard a loud growl coming from Eddie's stomach Vernon asked “Is it just me or is Eddie hungry…?”

Timmy giggled “Hehe…he is me and Michelle are heading down for breakfast we'll wait for you to join us” Vernon eyes widen guess he better get ready too “O-oh…!” after he closed his door to dress Michelle and Timmy went downstairs where Nonna set the table with breakfast. “Good morning my caras you're just time for prima colazione (breakfast)." With the table set with breakfast Timmy set Eddie on the table who was very hungry "Eeee~!” Nonna makes good breakfast as she and Michelle sat at the table there was whole-made butter pecan pancakes with hot syrup and butter , scrambled eggs, crispy bacon and sausage with cold milk and fresh tangerine juice to drink “Ooooohhh everything looks so good!” Vernon was out just in time with his casual outfit and walked downstairs, greeted by Timmy’s Nonna. “Good morning Vernon I hope you sleep well cara come and join us." Vernon looked at the table “Oh! Good morning, ma’am…!” Timmy waved at him before gesturing him to sit between herself and Michelle. Then Grandpappy and Timmy's parents came inside from the front porch having coffee and helping Pappy around the farm “Morning, princess~ (pats Timmy's head)

Timmy laughed “Good morning, Grandpappy~!” Pappy greeted the others “Morning, kids, and morning my sweetest lady." Kissing his wife on the cheek "Oh Daran you’re such a tease giggle." Acacia smiled Eddie rolled his eyes as he stuffed a big piece of pancake into his mouth Michelle and Timmy inwardly giggled. As they finished eating breakfast, Timmy walked out of the house; Eddie was inside her pocket, relaxing as he ate a lot of food. Timmy “ok guys what would you like to do there's so much to do here? Michelle was unsure “Well, what do you usually do when you visit here?” Timmy playfully tapped her finger on her chin “I can show you around the ranch and the animals there are trails for riding, biking, and hiking, we have a swimming hole a few miles from here with a raft we go on, and there is also a secret tree fort in the woods, there's the town and other places to explore.” That caught Michelle’s interest “Oh~! That sounds wonderful ~!”

Meanwhile, back at Dimmsdale

Gary was in the tree house watching a TV show having decided to stay home relax and have the place all to himself as he was enjoying his time to himself until he heard a noise outside. Gary looked to see who it was and frowned a little of who it was “Well, well, well! If it isn't a "Tell-me-I'm-Sexy" guy… Hello, TANG.” Tristan was outside talking on his phone wondering where Timmy was he was hoping to ask her out on a date and have her all to himself. Tristan looked slightly annoyed was that..Gary? “What are you doing here? Tristan” frowned at Gary “I’m here to see Timmy as it's none of your business as it's a private visit between me and her.” Gary scoffed “Well, too bad. She left.” Tristan looked shocked “She left…?!”

Gary rolled their eyes at his reaction such a drama king “She went off to her grandparents at Tex…” But before Gary could finish Tristan was off to find out where Timmy was in “…Texas Oh well… (he shrugged)but then He groaned as he heard the familiar sound of a limo, turned to see it belonged to Buxaplenty’s as inside were popular kids.

Gary sighed annoyed ”What do you want…Remy?” as Remy walked out to speak to him from the tree house “Gary is Timmy present in the house?” He wanted to invite her to join him for an outing and secretly have her all to himself Gary rolled his eyes a second time “Nope. Family outing.” Remy showed the same expression Tristan did “Excuse me?” Gary was ready to toss a water balloon at him “She left with her parents and friends to visit her grandparents.” Remy was not ok with that news “What!? Gary continued “As I said, she left to visit her grandparents. So, too late!” he grinned slyly “Where then tell me I can find her !?” Remy demanded, which annoyed Gary more “No. even if I tell you, she wouldn’t want her vacation to be ruined” Remy looked annoyed with Gary, who scoffed again at the spoiled guy's attitude “I mean…. She needs a break from the whole thing here…. Do you think she’ll be happy to see her vacation ruined?” Remy flinched and so Tad and Chad.

As much as popular boys enjoy irritating her, but…. ANGERING her? That is off the limit. “besides what are you guys doing back spring break just begun?" Chad spoke, “The Yacht party was canceled.” With Tad finishing “So we came back,” Gary didn’t care “Oh….well that's too bad for you guys anyway I'm outta here the sight of you guys being here waiting for Tim-Tim is not cool." With that, he climbed down the tree house and left to do his own thing while leaving Remy Tad and Chad stunned as Gary left them without a thought.

Meanwhile Back at the Ranch,

Timmy was showing her friends around.”Oh! I'll let you guys meet my old friends~” Vernon and Michelle nodded yes as Timmy led them to the side where some vintage bikes were sitting there ready to ride on a light rose pink with a basket with painted pink and white roses on it, a baby powder blue with a white basket with a painted blue bird and a mint green with the basket placed behind the seat with a horseshoe print on it Michelle "Ohh~!"impressed as did Timmy "looks like Grandpappy got them ready just in time." Getting some helmets in a wooden box handing the other two to Michelle and Vernon “We can ride into town faster biking plus I know a great trail to ride into along the way."Michelle: Can’t wait~! Getting on the bikes and giving them a test run they headed across the ranch passing by the barn where her Dad was helping Pappy shoe the horses and in the middle of cleaning out the back hoof of a buckskin when the kids rode "Hey Dad! hey Pappy! Me, Michelle and Vernon are gonna go into town to show them around we'll be back later!"

Mr.Turner smiled calling back " Alright pumpkin have a good time just be back for supper and remember to call if you're gonna be late ye hear you kids have fun!." “We will Daddy see ya Pappy!" Waving goodbye as they rode out They rode out of the ranch and rode down the road. As they road along the road Michelle and Vernon were amazed by the beautiful scenery of wildflowers pecan trees foliage berry bushes the sun shining through the leaves the sound of streams nearby and spotting wildlife they went from cottontail rabbits squirrels birds tweeting one of them being some roadrunners running along with their bikes and spotted a few deer and coyotes peeking out as they heard the horse's name the chickens clucking and the cows moving from the distance Michelle was awed by it all "So beautiful…~" suddenly Timmy noticed familiar faces of old friends from the distance. She decided to wave to them. As they were closer to the end of the trail it was revealed to be Timmy's friends from Texas Lou and Wilson "Hey Lou~! Wilson~! "Lou was laid back tall androgynous 14-year-old who had long black hair and bangs that almost covered his exotic green eyes that were surrounded by black eyeliner, pale skin with deep maroon lipstick and black fingernails even in the warm spring weather he wore dark colors of gray leggings deep purple shorts with a black tank top that had red letters saying A Southern Gothic along with a pair of dark red boots he seems to never smiles much but on rare occasions such as this when he sees his long time Timmy that he shows a small grin of seeing her again

“Hey, long time no see.” He called to Timmy (waving cheerfully) Wilson: it's so great to see you again Tim-Tim!" Wilson greeted giving Timmy a big hug and lifting her off the ground as he did Wilson was also a very tall 14-15-year-old who had beautifully tan skin on his already muscle-developed body wearing a blue-white strip tank shirt with light tan shorts with a pair of hiking boots and a handsome face that had the sweetest puppy dog smiles and big turquoise eyes that were half hidden full white vitiligo hair with one side half shaved with beautiful patterns and revealing a piercing with a wolf tooth despite being very big and tall for his age Wilson had a big heart and kind nature about him.

Timmy returned the hug “Eee~! Nice seeing you guys again~Michelle and Vernon blinked. Then Timmy introduced them to her old friends. Timmy: This is Michelle and Vernon, my friends from Dimmsdale~ Michelle, Vernon~ these are my old friends Lou and Wilson~" Lou nodded to them "Nice,” Wilson waved "It's great to meet you guys." Michelle did the same "Hi, y’all~" Vernon shyly(waved) "I was about to show them around town wanna join? “Sure sounds cool." Lou agreed “Definitely we'd love to help show them around town there's lots to see here." Getting their bikes leaning against the trees they lead the way into town revealing the beautiful scenery before them Vernon went "Woah…" while Michelle (looks around with sparkling eyes)

Timmy always loved the town's beauty as well "Beautiful as always~" Wilson spoke up "I’m sure they’ll love to meet you again~" They walked to the town, and almost everyone who knew the Turner family recognized Timmy immediately. Everything they could see was amazing from a small cafe called The Little Bluebird to an old-fashioned ice cream shop a clothing store called Boots and Jeans a garden shop known as Miss Lillia's, a Malt shop stand, a bookshop called The Burrowing Owl and so many other places yet to see. The baker of the small cafe, the ice cream shop owner, store owners greeted her with a friendly smile. The kids waved back in greeting with Vernon and Michelle surprised at how kind and friendly people are here in Texas as more people started coming into town said they didn't even know happily waved good morning and howdy to them Timmy thought (Good ol’ town…~)

Chapter:5 Having some Wild Fun

what fun things will Timmy and the others do? and how long can Gary keep Timmy's location away from the Popular Teens and what goodies will Eddie be chowing down in Nonna's kitchen XD

credit to the lovely and amazing https://jknerd.tumblr.com/ of her amazing FOP au

#fop au #fop fanfic

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persephoneandherhades · 9 months

Text

My sister loves me.

I know that the love of family members is sometimes an abstract thing that you know is there but don't really think about but I have physical proof of it.

I half raised my two younger sisters from the time I was 12 and they were 8 and 9. My parents provided for us physically but I was the one cooking dinners and helping with homework. I was there for the break ups and bullying and the good days. I was far from perfect at this maternal role but I never asked for it but was thrust into it anyway. I still did my best to give them the things I wish I had. A shoulder to cry on. A hug when they're sad. An encouraging word. A shield between them and the constant fighting between my older brother and parents. I love them not just as my sisters but also sort of my kids.

I was not perfect. My sisters and I are neurodivergent in very different ways. Only some of this was diagnosed when we were kids. I did not have the tools or know how to help with everything. This is part of the reason my middle sister and I barely talk. She resents that I took on that maternal role and wasn't able to help her. I accept that I wasn't able to help her with many things and she has a right to be angry at me and my parents. But my baby sister loves me.

We always had an easier time getting along because we are neurodivergent in similar ways. We are very close to this day and share an apartment together.

I am in the process of healing from an emotionally abusive relationship and reconnecting with most of my family. I have lived on the other side of the country for the last 6 years and just got back. While unpacking our things into our new apartment my sister is showing me things and we are laughing at old memories. Then she starts pulling out things that I had almost forgotten about. She pulls out a scarf I knit her back in highschool. It was my first attempt at knitting and wasn't anything special but I gave it to her and she kept it. She pulls out a small pearl colored Buddha statue I got her from a natural history museum as a part of an inside joke back when I was 14. She pulls out my first attempt at quilting with all the uneven seams that I gave her once I finished it. She pulls out all these small insignificant things I've given her over the years. She kept all of them. I was crying. My autistic sister that struggles with words who I love like my own daughter showed me in 5 minutes more love than I ever got from anyone in my life. More love than my ex wife ever gave me or my emotionally unavailable parents ever showed. I was so blown away. She loves me and even thinking about it now has me crying. I can't describe how much it means to me that she kept all those things l. It's like proof that I did my best and one of my sisters loves me back the way I love her and that maybe I did a decent job making up for our mom. To her it is obvious that of course she kept those things but to me it's proof that my efforts were appreciated and noticed.

I have so many feelings going through me right now but ultimately it boils down to my sister loves me.

#personal #persephone speaks #parentified child #i have so many emotions and i dont know how to express them

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mintytealfox · 10 months

Note

I'm wondering if the letters mentioned in the Fool's Gold deducts happen to be some of Norton's birthday letters... Like, the one mentioned in Shrewd might be the fourth birthday letter... And the one mentioned in Gloomy was the first birthday letter... Just a thought.

Oh damn you're probably right 👀 (my thirst for new letters blinded me LOL) Especially how the one is titled 'UNSENT LETTER' and the other is 'OLD LETTER' (with the letter, in shrewd, being compared as yellow and brittle, that is one old af letter like one that would have been given to his dad, and was signed simply as Benny oh my gooosshh) BAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA 🤣🤣🤣

If that is Benny's unsent letter then that might mean that was stuff found with Benny's things and 'abandoned' which makes me think that Benny is hella dead already (OR just threw it all away cause Norton peaced the hell outta there). Which also makes me wonder if he never-- -chokes- wait a minute, is that all stuff he had for Norton but never gave to him?? Including the quilt and he never gave it to Norton when he was a kid?? What the? Makes me think the dad had died and BENNY NEVER WENT TO CHECK ON NORTON OR CHECK UP PERSONALLY, THE FUH?????

I can try and throw the benefit of the doubt and say something like 'maybe he was in a mine far away (but is sounds like they worked at the same mine), couldn't get away from work and 'his family'? He does mention 'our children' so maybe?' but it I DON"T KNOW! I feel like if he wanted to check in personally he WOULD HAVE 😤

Now I just see Norton reading that letter over and over again once he learns to read being like 'who is this benny who promises hope but never shows? I want to eat cake and wear nice clothes....' From as soon as he could read having the promise of hope but wondering where the hell is the guy who promises it. Then finally getting a letter from that Benny guy again AGES LATER??? WHAT THEEEEEEE

#some serious lore will need to drop for me to get rid of this growing disdain for benny now like hooooooly I am getting biased by this point #HOW DID I MISS THIS #LOL #IM LAUGHIN #THANK YOU FOR PUTTING MY HEAD BACK ON LOL #norton campbell #idv prospector #identity v #idv #idv norton #identity v norton #idv norton campbell #identity v prospector #idv fools gold #idv fool's gold #ask #asks #minty speaks #minty answers

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lunarifie · 2 years

Text

Rewatching Ninjago

(With no context other than the episode)

Hands of Time 5-6

Zane: Pixal, give me a danger analysis. Pixal..? Can you hear me?

Im gonna be devastated if Pixals gone or trapped somewhere

Cole (kicking snake samurais off the roller coasters tracks): You dont have a ticket- aaand YOU dont have a ticket! And YOU dont have a ticket!!!

Nooooo

Kai saw his fathers blacksmith symbol… :(

Kai I promise your parents arent helping the time brothers😭

LLOYDS ACTUALLY SO GOOD WITH KIDS?!?!?!

Like that one time with the purple ninja kid at the hospital and that one kid who was fascinated by his dragon

And right NOW, asking this kid his name to ground the kid in a stressful situation, then popping the kids bubble gum with two straws to make nun chucks and then giving the makeshift nunchucks to the kid 🥺

Lloyd: Ninja! Sound off! Is everyone okay?

Cole: if you mean okay as in ‘there sure are a lot of them’, then yeah! Im okay.

Hfbdjfbfjdbf

Lloyd: Hang on… has anyone seen Jay?

Kai: No… now that you mention it, he wasn’t with us when we arrived.

Cole: You know, for once, itd be great to go into battle with a full team.

Kai: Well dont tell us!?!? 😒 Tell jay! Its his fault he didnt tell us he was going WHEREVER

NFNSNFNDNR

How do the ninja forget their own members so easily.

Day of the departed with Cole, now this 💀

Nya: Im sure Jay had a good reason for running off…

Aww thats actually so sweet.

Ed (bulldozing samurai snakes): I HAVE THE RIGHT TO REFUSE SERVICE TO YOU!!!

Edna (sweeping the snakes with her broom): I don’t think they saw your sign out front dear! ☺️

Im not joking in the slightest when I say I would die for Jays parents.

Im being absolutely serious they are everything to me

Jay: Mom! Dad! Are you okay?!?!?

Edna: Oh, well. Now I’m very late for my quilting circle!

I literally adore them

Krux: I suspect you CAN make the apparatus, you just don’t WANT to.

Cyrus Borg: … Alright fine! But you cant make me!

My man, why didn’t you keep up with the lie 😭

They would have believed you if you just kept saying you couldn’t build it because you didn’t have the right materials

I forgot Acronix gets a crush on Machia

A TIME BLADE?!?!?

OMFG I FORGOT THATS LIKE A THING THIS SEASON. RETRIEVING THE TIME BLADES EVERY TIME ONE DROPS.

I forgot there were 4 time blades too.

This is just like season 1 and the fang-blades all over again

Snake samurai commander: Vermillion warriors, were leaving, take the builder now.

Jay: HA. Vermillion warriors? Really? THATS what theyre called????

Jay, theyre gonna kidnap your dad, and you’re LAUGHING.

NO. KIDNAPPING ED IS ONE THING BUT YOU KEEP YOUR FILTHY FUCKING HANDS OFF OF EDNA

EDNA NOOOOOO

I think Ednas scream was the most heartbreaking noise ive ever heard in this show.

THEY FORCED HER TO LEAVE WITHOUT HER PURSE. 😤

How dare they.

The fact he still calls his parents mom and dad after everything 🥺

Jay: Gotta form my dragon- Come on Jay, you can do this… You can do this.

He sounds so scared :(

He must feel so guilty since he promised he’d protect them.

Edna: THERES MEATLOAF IN THE FREEZER HONEY!!!!!

I love edna sm 😭

Nyas so smart

Putting a temporal scanner on Zane when he was rebooting :)

Jay: Ughhh I JUST promised you guys I would protect you. And now theyve taken mom!

Jays dad is so supportive 🥹

Ed: Just remember what we say in the scrap metal business, “keep your emotions under control and focus on the problem at hand.”

Jay:…

Jay: Do they actually say that.🤨

Ed: Its a surprisingly harsh business son.

THEY WERE GONNA GIVE JAY A MOTORCYCLE BIKE FOR HIS BIRTHDAY 😭😭😭

I LITERALLY LOVE THIS FAMILY

Now theyre gonna have some father-son bonding time by rebuilding it :)

…

Does lego ninjago forget Ed and Edna.

Istg if they dont have Jays parents in newer seasons im sueing.

Vermillion Warriors: Its too fucking hot! I hate it.

Edna: SEE! This is why I wanted my purse!!! I keep a bottle of water in there!!!! HYDRATION IS IMPORTAAANT!!!!!

Cole: I dont see the time blade.. but they have JAYS MOM?!?!?

HFJDJDNFJ the way he said ‘mom’ got me 💀

Edna (getting kidnapped): Oh hi Nya! Its so nice to see you!

Gotta be on good terms with ur sons girlfriend

Ed: Now, Jay- theres a speed limit…

Jay: MOMS IN TROUBLE.

Ed: Aaand there are times where its okay to ignore it!

Cole yelling out Jays name in slow mo is so funny

OH OH OH I REMEMBER THIS

Jays my favorite character ofc I remember anytime he does something cool

Everyone: (in slow motion)

Jay: Its like you said, never give up.

Ed: Well- that was until I saw everyone slow down to a snail’s pace

Jay: And thats why we modified the bike.

Jay: (FUCKING ALTERS THE BIKE SO HIS POWERS TRANSMIT INTO IT AND HE CAN RIDE THROUGH THE SLOW MO FORCEFIELD AT A NORMAL SPEED)

Kai and Cole: Way to go Jay!!! Talk about a come back!

Jay (unable to stop): SORRYILEFTYOU BEFORECANTSTOPPLEASEHELPMYDAD GETTHEBLADESEEBACKYOUATTHE TEMPLE

hfnsnfnsjrndjsjnd

Vermillion warrior: waddles to the time blade :D

Lloyd: (fucking air kicks him)

HELL YEAH THEYRE OUT OF THERE WITH THE TIME BLADE

Zane: (stabilizing the port wing on the jet)

Cole: YOU CALL THIS STABILIZING?!?!?

Zane: IM TRYING!!!

Cole: TRY HARDER.

Cole leave him alone 😭

Lloyd: We got the time blade! We finally caught a break!!!

HFNSJFNSJF

THATS SO TRUE

i remember them failing to retrieve every single fang blade

Oh how theyve grown 🥲

Nya (trying to show off her bf): Ha! did you guys see Jay take off on that bike? He was like- greased lightning!

Everyone: …

Nya: What? He had grease on his face… and hes the lightning ninja??? Aw come on, you would have laughed if Jay said it!!!!

Kai: No. no we wouldn’t.

Ed: I uh, I thought it was funny Nya. 🙂

Nya: … thank you Mr Walker.

Jay really is rubbing off on Nya :) hes making her more relaxed and carefree

Love that

Zane: Be careful Jay, the time blade is a powerful weapon.

Jay: I AM being careful 🙄 (does the exact opposite)

JAY HAS A STUFFED ANIMAL?!?!?!?!?

Mr. Cuddlywomp 😭

Thats the cutest fucking name ever

I bet Edna sewed and stitched it for him 🥺

This is actually great timing bc i was JUST writing a fanfic about Jay when he was rlly little and Mr. Cuddlywomp is a perfect addition

Jay: A stuffed toy I USED to love, hes totally lame now though-

Cole: We know you still sleep with him. :)

Jay: AND I DONT CARE WHO KNOWS. Mr. Cuddlywomp… (hugs the donkey/horse stuffie)

MISTER CUDDLYWOMP HAS A WIKI

Jays an animal jam gamer confirmed

Huh. Good character consistency I guess.

The water and fire siblings being too consumed in work while Jay, Cole, and Zane goof off is a dynamic I need more of.

Jay: Ugh, I dont get those two, we FINALLY get a victory and they choose to celebrate by nerding out instead of doing something cool?

Jay: OH! Lets run at each other and see if the time blade will slow us down!!!!!!

Look at Lloyd 😭😭😭 hes so proud of his victory

I love those small moments when Lloyd acts like a kid. Look at him! Hes getting all excited and waving his hands around to explain everything!!!

Lloyd, honey, I love you but maybe apologize to your mom about knocking her tea to the floor accidentally 😭💀

Krux: You were not given permission to use the time blade. Because if you KNEW how to use the time blade. YOU WOULD NOT HAVE LOST THE TIME BLADE-

Vermillion warriors: ….

Vermillion warriors: On second thought, maybe we DIDNT lose the time blade….

Acronix: You use the time blade, LOSE the time blade AND LIE ABOUT USING AND LOSING THE TIME BLADE.

Hfndntehdjsjthe

Love when the villains are absolutely hilarious

Jay and Cole are best friends, they do the stupidest shit together and if that isn’t true friendship then idk what is 💀

Cole: Sounds to me like someones earned their black belt in being a wet blanket.

Lloyd: Whats that supposed to mean!

Zane: I believe Coles intent is to describe you as a blanket that has become wet, but not for the purposes of putting out a fire, but rather to extinguish our enjoyment.

Thank you Zane ☺️

HNFJDBFBEJR its so funny that Wu said the EXACT SAME THING lloyd said.

Word for word.

And the ninja still called Lloyd a wet blanket and listened to Wu intently.

The snake samurai are here.

Zane: Ive run a fourth-level analysis, it appears the snake warriors have returned.

Jay: Oh really?!? i could have told you that with a third-level analysis. OR A NO-LEVEL ANALYSIS.

I love how the ninja refuse to call the snake samurai, vermillion warriors.

Jay: oh wow, they went from unarmed snakes to weaponized vermillion warriors really really fast!!!

Kai: Doesnt matter! We can take- Wait. (Holding back a laugh) THATS what they’re called???? Vermillion warriors????

Love Zane explaining WHY the writers chose ‘Vermillion warriors’ as the snakes samurais name.

Makes me think that some writers thought ‘vermillion warriors’ was a perfect name while others thought it was stupid 💀

Kai: Remember Mrs. Grumbiller? The babysitter we used to have?

Nya: The old mean one?

Kai: Yeah, remember what we did when she tried to put us to bed?

Nya: absolutely.

HELL YEAH SIBLING TEAMING LETS GOOO

Nya and Kai: (trip the snake warrior off the floating island)

Jay: Oh man, whatever they paid Mrs. Grumbiller, wasnt nearly enough.

UGHHHH WHY CANT THE BOUNTY GO ONE SEASON WITHOUT BEING DESTROYED!?!?!?!?

Misakos such a girlboss

I love when they use their elemental dragons

NO LLOYD GOT SCARED

HES FALLING

YES KAI SAVE HIM

Shit.

FUCK YEAH NYA COMING IN CLUTCH

Wait that isn't nya????

Who's in the samurai x suit then?????

Lloyd: Well, samurai, whoever you are, thank you.

Nya: THANK YOU!??!? SAMURAI-WHOEVER-YOU-ARE STOLE MY SUIT!!!!!!!

Jay really IS rubbing off on Nya 😭😭😭 I've never seen her this loudly and hilariously angry

Kai (holding a hurt and weak sensei): TELL ME WHAT THE SYMBOL MEANS.

Like dude give Wu a break 💀

Acronix: look at the little boy pretending to be a big hero...

Why do they have to keep reminding me how young Lloyd is. 🥲 it's sad

I actually get excited during Misakos fights she's so cool

...

You cannot be telling me that the time brothers are beating ALL the ninja even when they're NOT using the time blades powers...

Like are you kidding me?????

FINALLY they beat the time brothers

GOD FUCKING DAMMIT

I actually hate Machia now.

This is just the fang blades all over again

AAAAND they take Wu.

This is when Kai gets in his real ‘im gonna kill my dad’ arc isn't it.

#ninjago #lego ninjago #Rewatching Ninjago

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