#fic: the archer

[daughter-of-melpomene]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PAISLEY HARLOW!!

DC Comics OC — born May 11th, 2000

General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom, @auxiliarydetective, @foxesandmagic,

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[abeejasarts]

He ached to be revered again.

He wanted to be awed again.

(Bill “Goldilocks” Cipher by the amazing @ckret2, go check them out if you haven’t already!)

[the-thing-withfeathers]

the archer’s arrow part 2 (w.a.)

are you hiding something?

part one | next part

a/n: teehee i am so sorry for the wait but i hope y’all enjoy this one <3

pairing: wednesday addams x female reader

warnings: mentions of blood & death

➶ ➶ ➶

thwip!

it was your arrow, definitely your arrow.

“go! wednesday! go!”

and your voice, definitely your voice.

wednesday gasped awake, sitting up instantaneously. she gripped her chest, bunching the fabric of her shirt up into a fist. her head turned to look at her alarm clock.

she was awake ahead of schedule but she was grateful she woke up when she did. she immediately got dressed, the stomping of her boots lining the walls of ophelia hall.

she reached your room, knocking thrice before stepping back.

you were already dressed, today was an early practice day.

“wednesday, you’re early.” you tilted your head, stepping aside to let her in anyways.

“i value punctuality.” she lied. she was getting better at coming up with them in her efforts to try and hide her true intentions from you.

a bit of her looked disheveled, like she had rushed to get there. you noticed her braid a little out of place and her socks mismatched— both black but definitely not from the same pair.

“right. well, let me finish this and i’ll be ready to go.” you took to your chair at your desk, settling back down.

wednesday noticed that there were a couple of envelopes littered across your desk. you were in the process of writing letters.

“you’re writing.” she pointed out.

“yes, wednesday. thats something i can do too.” you joked back, she remained stoic.

“what are the letters for?” she inquired.

“mainly family but also for some of my friends at the academy.”

“i understand your family lives remote but surely your friends have phones?” she furrowed her brows.

“they do, but we think letters hold more sentiment.” you clarified, scribbling more words onto the piece of parchment paper you had aquired. “and it’s always nice to receive things in the mail.” you shrugged.

“i suppose you might be right.” she agreed. you were surprised to hear her validation.

her eyes followed the ink that your pen left behind. it caught her attention particularly when you drew a heart next to someone’s name on the envelope.

you sealed the letter and then proceeded to stand, grabbing your gear from your closet. you opened the door for wednesday, allowing her to exit first.

you two walked side-by-side down to the practice range.

“did you have many friends at the academy?” she asked as you exited ophelia hall.

“many? not many. but a good handful. they were all very kind. i would love to know them forever.” you smiled, reminiscing at the memories you shared with them.

“any more than friends?” she asked, not looking at you. you looked at her with your lip curled. at the back of your mind, you questioned her curiosity about your romantic life.

“who’s asking?” you retaliated, a smirk plastered on your face. you glanced at her only to be met with a glare. you knew you would certainly meet your end if you left the question unanswered.

“yes, wednesday. i had a girlfriend.” you sighed, rubbing your eyes. it was a bit of a sore spot, this topic.

but wednesday cared not for sore spots.

“what happened?” she pryed further. why was she pushing those buttons so much?

the memories of her rejection flooded through your brain. she had no right to ask these things. you remember how the look on your face was probably the single most heartbreaking thing most of your fellow students have ever seen.

“why are you asking about this, wednesday?” you practically hissed at her.

“i’m not going to take advantage of your practice times and not get to know you.” she spat back.

“you… hm.” you paused. “i never thought i’d be answering questions from wednesday addams. you’ve changed too.”

“so answer them if my question intrigue you so much.” she continued walking at your pace.

“fine. we split up because i wanted to come back and we couldn’t do the long distance.” you answered openly. “but we’re still friends. she and i were very close, she helped me through a lot.”

you continued to stride towards the forest as wednesday simply watched you. you had someone, but were fine giving it all up to come back. the feeling opened a pit in her stomach, if only you had known what she was hiding.

—

she had taken a liking to your routines in the wilderness.

“i purposefully try to miss.”

you had told her that was the closest thing you could get to immersing yourself into your environment. murder of fauna in the nevermore woods was frowned upon, so you had to learn control.

“isn’t that counter productive?”

she asked back, but you proved her wrong. your control was incredible. nicking a squirrel by the hair of its tail, she watched the focus on your face as you tried to ensure it’s life.

“it’s harder to hunt down animals and make sure they live rather than die.”

today, she sat with a notebook. she said she just wanted to focus on writing up ideas for her novel while you practiced.

it was like she was your body double, just a shadow that lingered around while you did your thing. somehow, it worked. you felt more productive and so did she…

if she was working on her novel.

her pen glazed across the yellowed paper on her notebook. the ink morphed into the image of your bow. on paper, your body was facing the trees, arm reaching for an arrow from your quiver. wednesday captured your physique, how your body flexed with every move you made.

thwip!

wednesday did not flinch.

but she nearly did.

an arrow lodged into the tree trunk, directly above her head.

“i can literally feel your stare, wednesday. you’re making me nervous.” you teased. her eyes grew dark at you.

“try that again and you won’t have fingers to shoot an arrow with.”

you couldn’t help but smile at her empty threat. you knew wednesday more than either of you thought. you knew that she wouldn’t take your fingers, they would stay with you.

you drew your bow again, pointing an arrow straight at her jokingly.

“try me, addams!”

the statement made wednesday’s head shoot backwards, her eyes clouding over.

“try me addams!” you yelled at her. you were younger. your cheeks were fuller, you hadn’t quite grown into your face yet.

but there you were, back then, the object of wednesday addams’ affection. but she could never admit that then.

you were on your back, pinned against the ground with wednesday on top of you. she remembers this fondly, she was trying to steal back her hairties that you had stolen as a joke.

you were laughing. it was the most joyous she’d ever seen you. she didn’t know how she was getting that reaction from you.

she was reaching as you held the ties above your head, swinging your arm around to make sure she didn’t get it. she was growing frustrated.

she groaned and drove two of her fists down into your chest, robbing your body of air. you coughed as a response and caved in, handing her the hairties.

“okay addams!” you choked out, sitting up to be closer to the girl. you laughed softly, coming face to face with her. “i just wanted to play a prank on you.”

“pranks are a waste of your time. you have better things to do.” she said, standing up. “you’re going to be late for practice.” she looked down at you. you remained seated.

“they’re not a waste of my time if it means i get to spend time with you.” you said, honestly. sure, you were mildly flirting but you were geniune. wednesday didn’t know how to process the admitted desire for companionship. she returned the sentiment, but it wouldn’t come out of her.

“i’ll come to your practice then.” wednesday said, putting the hairties in her bag. “i’ll sit there and wait for you.” she held her hand out for you to take so she could help you up.

you grinned up at her from where you were.

that grin, she would have killed for it.

“deal!” you jumped up excitedly, a proud smile on your face. you took her hand to stabilise yourself.

and it was then she got her first vision of you.

you were older now. definitely older.

you were still in the forest, holding wednesday’s hand just like how you were in the real world.

your bow was in your left hand, like you had just come from battle. blood was dripping down from your ears.

you had blood staining your shirt. and it looked bad. something most people wouldn’t be able to recover from.

and it flickered between the image of your eyes crickling from how huge your smile was and the sight of you donning crimson in front of wednesday.

“wednesday!” you cried out to her, catching her in your arms.

and then she was back to reality.

“wednesday!”

a vision of a future in a vision of the past? that was new for her. her powers might have been trying to tell her something— something more urgent.

she remembers leaving you alone at practice that day, taking back her deal to you. she had to sit alone and process.

three days later, she broke your heart.

“you still get those often?” you asked, sitting her down against the tree trunk.

“of course i do.” she snapped, her conscience pounding from the double vision she just had.

“sorry, stupid question.” you said, regretfully. you sat in front of her, still holding her back to steady her. “do you want to talk about it?”

she hated how you cared.

“no.” she shook her head. “it was just… nothing. nothing important.”

“you and i both know your visions have saved countless lives, wednesday.” the way you said her name had her head reeling. “is there something we should be worrying about?”

“no… no.” she waved you off, pushing you away. you sat there nonetheless.

“okay well… are you feeling okay?” you worriedly questioned her.

“i would feel better if you stopped asking questions.”

you recoiled, knowing it was best not to provoke her like this. her heart twisted at your concern, they made her feel almost guilty for pushing you so far away.

she had broken you down slowly, she knew that now. you poured your heart into your affectionate manner, it was something that scared her.

you sat in silence, taking in your surroundings and letting her recover from the vision. you were around when she first started getting them, you knew how badly they affected her.

she almost wanted to apologise, tell you that she was sorry for snapping. but she couldn’t let you get close again.

“we should go soon, lunch is in 30 minutes.” you spoke up first, breaking the peace. she simply nodded at you, helping herself up. you followed suit, yanking the arrow you had previously stabbed into the tree out and putting it back into your quiver.

➶ ➶ ➶

you sat across from wednesday. she recalled a time you would fight for the seat beside her, but instead, you filled the space next to yoko.

“you’re already thinking about the rave’n?” you asked enid, munching away at your food in between sentences.

“of course i am!” enid jumped up. “it’s our last year here! we need to think about these things!” she turned to you and grabbed your hands.

“and it’ll be your first & last rave’n back! we have to make it good!” she squeezed your hands. you rolled your eyes but couldn’t hold back a smile.

“okay well, you’ll help me shop then.” you held your pinky up, which the blonde gladly took in her own.

“good! and you, wednesday?” enid turned to the shorter girl, tilting her head.

“my rave’n experiences haven’t exactly been pleasant, enid.” wednesday brushed her off. “maybe this is the year i skip out.”

“you shouldn’t. i would like you there if it’s my first one back and last one i’ll ever have.” you said, forgetting that such desires were usually turned down by wednesday.

but that was somehow enough to convince her.

“fine.” she grumbled, a contrast to the smile that was now stuck to your face.

“never thought that would be so easy. you must be the sentimental type, addams.” yoko commented. the mental image in wednesday’s head was her brutally bashing the vampire for saying that.

“do you know the theme?” you asked enid. the werewolf was finally asked to head the planning of the rave’n, she was perfect for the job.

“yup! since it’s halloween— we’re doing guts & gore!”

you swear you saw wednesday nearly crack a smile, this was right up her alley.

“and glitter!” enid added in, you were unsure if she was joking.

the joy on wednesday’s face faded slowly, you softly laughed at the change of expression.

“don’t worry, addams. i’m sure you’ll look fine bedazzled.” you joked, snickering. yoko laughed beside you.

she glowered at you, your smile persisted. did she no longer have an affect on you in these situations?

you really had grown.

“i would rather choke and die before covering myself in sparkles.” she took an angry bite of her food.

“don’t worry, wends, i’ll forgive you this once.” enid giggled. “gore is still your element, i’m sure it will be reminiscent of your first rave’n.“

“i heard about that.” you chimed in. “pig’s blood, right? maybe you can work with real blood this time, nobody seems to know the difference. and you’d probably enjoy that better.” you had said that almost too casually, it bothered her.

she was like an old book you hadn’t picked up yet still knew the insides and outs of.

“yes. maybe i will.” she answered briefly. you returned to your meal, finishing up and picking your bookbag up.

“gotta go, i have some botany homework to catch up on.” you said, turning to wednesday quickly. “did you want to join me for archery club later?” you asked.

she paused for a second, debating her answer.

“no, i can’t. i have homework i need to do in my room.” christ! why did she say that? she meant to say yes!

perhaps it was her defense mechanism, she wanted to keep you at arm’s length after what happened in the forest today. she needed some time to process.

“no worries. i’ll see you guys later!” you jogged off and waved as you left.

“is it weird hanging around her again?” yoko asked, she realised she hadn’t talked to wednesday about your return much.

“i suppose.” wednesday nodded. she had grown closer to yoko overtime, finding herself being honest towards her. “she’s changed a lot.”

“i mean, yeah. her entire environment changed in a whim. that makes you grow up.” yoko agreed. “you two seem to be getting along just fine.”

“indeed. but we can never go back to how we used to be.” wednesday tried to put up a front. “i’m sure she wouldn’t want that either.”

“given how you tore her heart in half last time you saw her? i wouldn’t put it past her.” yoko sighed, “but you can’t hold it against her forever.”

“i can and i will.” wednesday scoffed. yoko squinted at her.

“are you hiding something?” the vampire asked. yoko had an excellent talent for reading people, it infuriated the addams girl.

“no.” wednesday responded firmly, standing up abruptly and gathering her things. “i have to go. i’ll talk to you both later.”

enid and yoko shot each other worried looks.

wednesday stomped off to her room, a scowl evident on her face.

she hated this. all of it.

she hated that her visions were getting stronger, they were so loud that they were making her entire body hurt.

she hated that she would once again become responsible for saving someone, she was always thrust into the world of the weird. was it such a crime that she wanted some normalcy?

she hated you. she hated that she was forced to reject you in order to prevent your impending doom.

she hated you. she hated you for returning and making her feel things again.

she hated you. she hated that she was terrified of your death.

she hated you. she hated you. she hated you.

but she had to save you.

➶ ➶ ➶

author’s journal

okay i’m soooo sorry this took ages! and that this is relatively short! but i was in the middle of quitting my job and planning my christmas trip to see my family!

i’ll let y’all in on the reader’s powers more in the upcoming chapters but she is definitely a psychic!

i also am sooo excited for halloween!!! i’m going as wednesday this year and i also bought from the doc martens x wednesday collaboration so i’m so so keen on getting it in.

i hope you guys enjoyed this chapter & hopefully chapter 3 will be out before you all know it!

kisses xx

[maaxverstappen]

help me hold onto you | T | 8/13

f1driver!max and streamer!charles

The man—Charles, Max assumes—sounds French. He loves that. He should be used to a French accent, he was forced to converse with Pierre often enough, but it sounds different coming from Charles. More melodic. Almost similar to someone he used to know once. “And that made me think,” Charles says, voice bellowing from Max’s speakers. “That it was stupid that we didn't have carrots before. Like, come on, it's a farming game.” Max has no fucking idea what the hell he is on about.

or: Max is lonely and finds Charles streaming on Twitch.

based on this prompt sent to @f1prompts

[goodlucktai]

raised on little light (1/3)

rise of the tmnt word count: 2k pairing: leo & oc i've had this idea rattling around since the rise farewell comic earlier this year made it canon that the turtles had another brother and a sister floating around somewhere. we know who their sister is, so this is my take on that 5th brother. i hope you enjoy meeting him <3 big thank you to @soldrawss and @mykimouser for enabling my insane behavior (and thank you again to sol for drawing the art i included in this chapter!!!) title borrowed from northern attitude by noah kahan read on ao3

x

2020

Leo regretted his last words as soon as they left his mouth.

“Hero moves are totally your style”? As if Raph doesn’t have enough issues already.

But what he meant—what he would have tried to explain if there was time—was that Raph is his hero. He’s always been Leo’s hero. And if Leo could be anything like him, even for a second, even if it was the last thing he ever did, then he could be satisfied with that. 

It’s a silly thing to be stuck thinking about, laying on a torn up chunk of earth with a monster ominously lumbering somewhere below, looking for where it threw its toy. Laying there, feeling every bruise and broken bone, and hoping that he didn’t hurt his big brother’s feelings.

They’ll be okay, Leo thinks, trying to make it be the thing that gives him courage instead of just more homesickness. They’ll miss me, maybe for a long time, but they’ll be okay.

Leo’s supposed to be fighting for his life, but it’s all he can do to keep a grip on the photo in his hand, the only thing in this entire dimension worth holding onto. It’s all he can do to keep his eyes open when every blink is longer than the last. 

It feels like enough of a rebellion. The Krang looked annoyed that he was still breathing the last time it batted him through the void like a fly, which gives Leo the idea that he should probably be dead by now. He feels a detached sort of pride at how grown-up he’s being about all this. Better late than never

Leo waits for the Krang to come for him, dripping his blood and sneering his daddy’s nickname for him hatefully as it does, and hopes he made his family proud. 

Leo hopes he’ll go wherever Gram-gram is. It would be nice to know someone when he gets there. 

Movement in his periphery snags Leo’s attention. His brain starts throwing up warning flags, signaling danger—anything moving around in here is another parasite, or a Krang hound, nothing he’ll want to be sprawled out on a silver platter for—but he can’t summon any urgency. 

He turns his head and finds himself looking up at another turtle. 

It’s the very last thing he expected to see. They both just stare at each other for a moment. 

The newcomer appears to be a few years older than Leo, based on the broadness of their shoulders, and half a head taller. Their skin is more gray than green and their plastron is so pale it’s closer to white than yellow. Their carapace, what Leo can see of it, is a deep blue-black and they’re covered, skin and shell both, in white spots. Two of the spots on their face give the impression of eyebrows lowered in a glare, but they don’t seem angry at him.

The turtle is completely unfamiliar to Leo, which is saying something. He thought he and his family had the monopoly on… this whole situation. 

Disquieted, Leo remembers that he’s supposed to be the only turtle here. That was a very significant part of the decision he’d made. 

It must be a hallucination, he decides, instantly comforted by his own reasoning. That makes sense. He just wished that if his mind was going to conjure him some dying company it could at least be someone he knows. An imaginary Mikey or Donnie or Raphie for one last hug. One last affectionate forehead bonk. An “I still love you,” if that wasn’t asking too much. 

Don’t you cry now, he scolds himself sternly when his eyes start to blur and burn. It’s not about you. 

With a resounding crash of metal against stone, the Krang finds them at last. He’s snarling something that Leo is too slow to piece together before he cuts himself off—surprising the hell out of Leonardo by acknowledging the hallucination. That’s not how that works. 

“Another pest ,” the Krang hisses. His serrated teeth glint when he draws his gummy lips back in an ugly smile. His tone is oily and unpleasant when he adds, “You’re less colorful than those other ones. I would have remembered seeing you. Where were you when your accomplices were fumbling about in my Technodrome like the stupid creatures they are?”

“We won,” Leo reminds the alien, even though it makes him cough. His lips are warm and wet now but he won’t think about why. “Blew up your ugly ship. Who looks stupid now?” 

“Shut your mouth!” the Krang roars, going from slimy to homicidal in about three seconds. Leo cringes, every ounce of animal instinct in his body urging him to hide in his shell and ride the rest of this nightmare out. 

The spotted turtle snaps, “Don’t talk to him.” 

It would have made sense if he was looking at Leo when he said it. Don’t engage, don’t bait the big monster that could kill you with as much effort as it takes you to blink, et cetera ad nauseum. If only he’d had a nickel for every time he heard that. 

But instead the turtle is looking at the Krang, and he’s radiating the kind of cold-blooded murder that you mostly only see in movies. He has one arm flung out in front of Leo like he actually means to use it to stop the Krang from getting any closer. 

“Don’t even look at him,” he goes on, sounding seconds away from baring his teeth. 

This guy is significantly unaware of the danger he’s facing, and Leo ought to warn him about what enormous clusterfuck he’d just wandered into. Leo ought to say he appreciates the reptile solidarity, but you should definitely run, new guy. 

But this probably isn’t actually happening outside of his own head. And besides, Leo has to focus really hard on his numb fingers so he doesn’t drop his photo. 

“I’ll look where I please,” the Krang says, as unbothered by the hallucination as he was by Leo’s entire family. “Starting with that fool head of yours. I’m interested in whatever backdoor led you here. If it’s my way out, well —”

Adrenaline surges through Leo, and he’s hardly aware of moving before he’s lurching up and shouting out, “No!” 

He can’t get out, he can’t. Leonardo won’t be able to trick him again. He won’t be there to help this time. 

“I do have one thing for you,” the spotted turtle interrupts to say, reaching over his shoulder for what turns out to be a compound crossbow strapped to his back. 

Leo doesn’t know a lot about archery so it’s weird his fictional turtle does, crank-cocking the weapon like it’s an extension of his arm. He watches cluelessly as the turtle slides something very purple out of his jacket pocket and notches it into the groove where the bolts are supposed to go. It’s definitely not a bolt, but it’s a piercing-type projectile of some kind, and it fits in the crossbow like it was designed with crossbows in mind. 

The turtle aims the bow at the Krang, who clicks the claws of his metal suit on the ground the way Splinter would drum his fingers on the kitchen counter when he was waiting on the microwave. The Krang looks condescending and mildly curious, like he’s watching dumb little animals do something they’re not trained to do. 

“He told me to tell you he’s sorry he couldn’t be here to see this part,” the spotted turtle says, and then shoots without a second of hesitation or unnecessary dramatics. 

The Krang bats the projectile away, or tries to, but it explodes on contact with his armor, and suddenly all Leo can smell is burning metal. Then burning meat. 

The Krang begins to scream, clawing at something defiantly purple with a mind of its own that eats straight through him the effortless, immediate way corrosive acid chews through soft tissue. It moves like nanotech, covering as much of the Krang as possible in a manner of seconds and clearly designed to consume whatever it touches like a school of cartoon piranhas. 

Donnie would love it, color scheme and all. 

The Krang stumbles drunkenly, howling like a creature possessed, and Leo and his turtle companion both watch silently until he tips over the edge of the hunk of torn earth they’re on. Gravity is nonexistent in this dimension, so he doesn’t so much fall as sort of drift in another direction while he’s distracted with the purple stuff that’s doing its best to eat him alive. 

The last handful of minutes have been so bizarre that it’s actually going pretty far in convincing Leo that none of it happened for real. The Krang hasn’t actually found him yet. This is clearly a dream. Or a pre-death electrical storm as the neurons in his brain fire up to fizzle out.  

He tips his head to the side again to stare up at the archer, who is putting his bow away with perfect confidence that whatever that purple thing was, it will do the job. 

“Who are you?” Leo asks stupidly. 

“Gio,” the probably imaginary turtle replies.

Leo’s mouth runs off before he can stop it. “Just Gio? Like Cher?”

God, he thinks. That was stupid, Leo. Not the time or place, Leo. You’re in the prison dimension. You’re dying here and you can’t even cut the jokes now? Raph was so right about you.

But the imaginary turtle surprises him by smiling slightly, the corners of his mouth pulling just barely upwards in a way that somehow completely transforms him. Not the time or place for jokes or smiling at them but here they are. Like company.

“Giorgio Hamato,” ‘Gio’ says. That lands in Leo’s ears as something remarkably worth making a lot of noise over, but he can’t begin to unpack it. And after a second, he forgets what the remarkable part was. His mind is a deck of cards that got shuffled too enthusiastically and ended up scattered all over the floor. Gio doesn’t seem to mind when Leo just blinks at him, adding, “I’m here to take you home.”  

“Pretty sure Uber doesn’t come out this far,” Leo mumbles, the words a paint smear, all thick and wet and muddy. One of his teeth feels broken and it’s keeping him awake, a blistering ache that cracks through the back of his mouth like lightning. “And I’ve got, like, zero bars.”

This is how I cope, he thinks, watching the bigger turtle absorb the second bad joke in as many minutes. Leo’s blinking fast so he doesn’t cry. He’s trying to focus on anything but the pain radiating through his whole body, and the swallowing darkness all around him, and the ruins of ancient metal ships looming where they float unrestricted by gravity, and the ballistic howls of a pissed-off pink alien still dealing with whatever the heck this Gio guy did to him.

He can’t focus on any of that because all of that is scary and he’s already terrified. He needs to not be terrified because he doesn’t want to be that kind of ghost when he haunts his family. He wants to be the friendly, funny kind, the kind that gets to stay at the end of the movie, the kind that will make silly faces at Mikey so he doesn’t get scared, and leave sticky notes for Donnie to remember to charge his phone and drink enough water, and cover Raphie with an extra blanket while he’s asleep because it gets cold at night but he always leaves his bedroom door open for them.

If Leo’s friendly and funny, if he helps, he’ll get to stay. He didn’t get to stay the first time, so this time he has to make it stick.

Larger hands wrap around his. It doesn’t register for a second, and then it does in a big way.

Leo jerks his head up. Moving just that much hurts like his ribs are broken all the way down and the bones in his leg have all melted into liquid agony, but it clears some of the fog away.

Someone is holding his hands in the prison dimension.

An alien like the Krang wouldn’t know the first thing about the human gesture, the togetherness of it, so it’s not some mean trick that’s being played. And it can’t be an imaginary turtle that Leo dreamed up, after all, because kindness would be the last thing he’d give himself.

Possibly very real Gio says, “Fuck Uber. Whatever that is. And don’t repeat that word.”

The punchy breath Leo chokes in is going to punch out again as a laugh or a sob. Leo squeezes the bigger turtle’s hands, photo crinkling between them, suddenly tethered to something in this void and hysterically certain that he’ll die for real if Gio lets go.

“I’m sixteen.” Leo’s voice wobbles. He doesn’t know what to react to first. He doesn’t understand how this is happening. He holds on. “I can say the fuck word if I want to, I’m practically an adult.”

Gio’s face does something it hurts to look at. His eyes are dark and sincere, the shape of them entirely familiar. There’s a warmth inside him that permeates the gloom. A star belonging to a much larger galaxy, but more significantly, belonging to the same crooked constellation Leo belongs to.

I know you, he thinks, surprised by the truth of it. I do. Where have you been?

“We’re going home,” Gio says, the certainty in his voice like one of those huge stones a river parts around, unmoved by the currents and crashing water. “I know the way out. Don’t worry about it. Close your eyes.”   

The worst thing that could happen has already happened, Leo thinks. There’s no reason not to trust him. There’s nothing left to lose. He closes his eyes.

He feels himself drawn in, tucked against the built-in armor of a turtle chest, head resting on a broad shoulder. He’s been carried like this a million times before. He didn’t think it would happen again. Somewhere along the line, he’d been picked up for the last time and put down for the last time, and now he’s here, where no one who loves him can reach him, to scoop him up when he falls asleep on the sofa and take him to bed.

But Gio lifts him up like he’s still a kid. The Krang is bellowing hateful promises in between the grating shrieks of pain, promises of what he’ll do when he gets his hands on Leo, but all of that is far away. 

Leo isn’t afraid anymore. He isn’t going to be a ghost.

He’s pretty sure he’s going home.   

[chevyslate158]

Coriolanus Snow x Reader 18+ - I'll Be Watching You

A/N: Hey everyone! This little piece is a filler while I work on Chapter 2 of Threads of Freedom (15th Hunger Games AU, Archer Brown x Fem!Reader) – which will be uploaded by the end of the week, I promise! Sorry for the wait and thank you for your patience. This is my first proper dark fic, so as far as I’m aware, this should be 18+ due to mature themes. I hope you all enjoy this little detour, and I’m excited to share more with you soon! Keep an eye out for Chapter 2 – it’s coming soon!

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Abuse (emotional, psychological, and possessive), Dark themes, Toxic relationships (I do not condone this), Non-consensual elements, Violence/Threat of violence, Manipulation, Mentions of sex, Coercion, Stalking and Jealousy let me know if I missed any!

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The night was loud, bustling with voices echoing through the makeshift walls of the Hob, the heart of black-market life in District 12. You'd been busy, making your rounds with the goods your family had sent you to sell, weaving in and out of the rickety stands that filled the dim space. The air was thick with smoke and the scent of stale bread and roasted game. It was the same every night, though tonight, something felt... different.

You felt it before you saw him—a prickling awareness at the back of your neck like someone’s eyes were boring right into you. Glancing up, you saw him standing across the room, the faint glow of a single bare bulb casting shadows over his face. A young peacekeeper, uniform pristine, with piercing blue eyes that didn’t waver when they met yours. Coriolanus Snow.

You’d heard whispers about him—the Capitol boy with ice in his veins who’d recently arrived to serve in District 12. He was unlike the other peacekeepers who draped themselves lazily over chairs or leaned casually against walls. No, Snow stood stiffly, as if he’d never let himself blend into his surroundings, as if he were above it all.

But tonight, he was focused on you.

After that night, Snow began appearing everywhere you went. At first, it was subtle—a figure lingering just far enough away to be nearly invisible but always there, always watching. In the crowded marketplace, in the quiet moments when you paused on your way home. Every time you dared to glance back, his eyes were waiting. He’d give a slight nod, a slow acknowledgment, a silent claim that grew stronger with each day.

Soon, it became impossible to ignore. Snow wasn’t simply watching; he was weaving himself into every part of your life, binding himself to you with an unspoken possessiveness. He knew which paths you took and where you liked to sit by the river, and he’d often appear there, casually positioned as if by chance, though you knew better. When you questioned him, he’d smile, a strange blend of amusement and arrogance in his eyes, as if he enjoyed toying with your sense of control, as if he wanted you to know that your life was no longer entirely your own.

One evening, when you were out trading goods, Snow approached you without warning, slipping into step beside you.

“I don’t like you coming here alone,” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with an edge. “Too many people who don’t have your best interests in mind.”

You tried to brush him off, saying you could handle yourself, but he scoffed, an unsettling smile spreading across his face.

“You don’t understand. You don’t have to be strong or careful. Not with me here.” His words were meant to reassure you, but they settled over you like a shadow, a cold reminder that his protection was not optional, that he would always be there whether you wanted him to be or not.

But he didn’t own you, nor did he control you. Taking a deep breath, you mustered your courage and offered him a polite smile, careful to keep your tone light.

“I appreciate the concern, Coriolanus,” you said, choosing your words delicately. “But I don’t need you looking out for me. I’m fine on my own.”

You could see the faint twitch of his jaw, and a slight narrowing of his eyes, but you ignored it, determined to stand your ground. Before he could reply, you turned on your heel, heading down the narrow path toward home without looking back.

The silence behind you was tense and heavy, but you walked briskly, half-expecting him to let it go. Yet something about the quiet felt wrong, and that prickle of unease crept up your spine once more. Suddenly, you heard him call your name—softly, but with an unmistakable edge.

“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying,” he said, his voice dangerously low. You could feel his footsteps behind you, and before you could quicken your pace, he was by your side again, his eyes dark and unreadable.

“Do you think this is a choice?” His voice was no longer smooth but sharp, each word edged with frustration.

“You don’t just get to walk away.” He reached out, his fingers grazing your arm, his grip tightening when you tried to pull away. “I’m here because you need me. I see the way people look at you, what they think they can take from you.” His gaze bore into yours, and you realised that his frustration ran deeper than anger—it was something primal, possessive, a hunger to control.

“Don’t make this difficult,” he murmured, the unsettling calm in his voice sending a chill through you.

Your pulse quickened as his grip tightened, firm enough to keep you there but not enough to hurt—yet. Snow’s expression shifted, the mask of calm giving way to something far darker. His eyes, usually so controlled, now blazed with a fierce possessiveness that was almost terrifying.

"You think you’re safe here?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper, yet laced with a quiet fury looking down at you as though you were stupid. "This place would swallow you whole if I let it. You have no idea what people are capable of."

His words hung in the air, and you felt a tremor of fear. “Maybe so,” you replied, voice steadier than you felt.

“But that’s my choice, not yours.” You forced yourself to meet his gaze, hoping he’d see the resolve in your eyes, but instead, he laughed softly—a hollow, unsettling sound.

“Your choice?” He echoed, his lips curling into a faint, mocking smile. “No. You don’t understand, do you?” He leaned in close, his breath warm against your cheek, and when he spoke, his voice was both a promise and a warning.

"I know everything about you. I know where you live, the way home, the people you talk to. I know your fears. I don’t just watch, I protect. And whether you like it or not, you’re mine.” He glowered down at you.

You tried to pull away, but his hand tightened, holding you in place as his gaze bore into you with an intensity that made it clear he would never let you go.

“I won’t let anyone else have you,” he continued, his voice low and unwavering, as if stating a fact rather than a threat.

“So stop pretending you can push me away, or ignore me. You belong to me, and I won’t have it any other way.” His grip finally loosened, but the weight of his words lingered, searing into your mind as he released you, his face unreadable.

You backed away, heart racing, aware that this was only the beginning of something that would bind you to him in ways you couldn’t yet understand.

The intensity in his stare held you captive, as though he was daring you to challenge him, to defy the claim he’d just laid upon you. For a brief moment, you thought about running, about putting as much distance as you could between yourself and the figure before you. But something told you he would follow—no matter how far you went, he would always find you.

“I don’t belong to anyone,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper, defiant yet trembling.

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something dark and dangerous crossing his face. He took a step closer, closing the distance you’d tried to create.

“You can lie to yourself all you want,” he murmured, each word deliberate, his tone unsettlingly calm. “But you’ll come to understand, in time. I don’t give up on the things I want.” His fingers brushed your cheek, lingering for just a second too long. “And I want you.”

The weight of his declaration settled over you like a shroud, suffocating, and you could feel the force of his obsession surrounding you, pressing in on all sides. His presence was inescapable, a shadow that clung to you, a constant reminder that no matter where you went, his eyes would always be watching, his influence always closing in. The cold, unsettling truth sank in: Snow wasn’t merely infatuated. He saw you as something that belonged to him, something he would protect fiercely—and control completely.

As he finally released you, his gaze softened, a twisted tenderness flickering there. “One day, you’ll see I’m right. I’m the only one who can keep you safe, who can truly understand you.”

His voice dropped to a whisper, his words chillingly soft. “One day, you’ll realise that’s exactly what you need. That I'm exactly what you need.”

Time had passed, and somehow, you found yourself bound to him in ways you never anticipated. His words, his presence, his very being had become woven into your life like an invasive vine, tightening its hold each day. He didn’t give you a choice; his insistence became an inevitability. He declared that he was what you needed, and his grip on your life became as unyielding as the iron-fisted peacekeepers he commanded. Somewhere along the way, resisting felt as exhausting as it did hopeless.

When he was gentle, his touch was light, his words tender as he whispered promises in the quiet moments between you. “No one will ever understand you like I do,” he’d murmur, his fingers tracing soft patterns on your arm.

“They don’t know you the way I do,” He'd say to you breathing down your neck lips grazing your skin when he had you pinned against a cold desolate concrete wall across from the Hob in the dark when he saw you chatting with another man from inside the hob his jealousy overriding his train of thought leading you to where you were at that moment.

Those words made you feel both cherished and trapped, his affection tinged with a possessiveness that stifled you, smothered you. But he saw this as devotion, a twisted loyalty that would bind you to him, even as he twisted your will to fit his.

Yet his moods shifted like shadows, sudden and dark. One wrong word, one misstep, and his gentle touch could turn cold, his smile fading into an unyielding glare.

“Where were you?” he would ask, his voice deceptively calm but his eyes burning with a simmering anger.

“You think you can just slip away whenever you want?” He’d take your wrist, just tight enough to remind you who held control, his grip softening only when he saw the hesitation in your gaze.

He’d pull you close, his voice a possessive whisper. “I won’t let you leave. Don’t even think about it. No one will ever protect you like I will.”

And still, there were moments when he was vulnerable—when his mask slipped, and you could see the frightened boy behind the stern peacekeeper, an illusion to the young boy he once was in the Capitol.

“I’ve lost too much already,” he confessed one night, his voice breaking the quiet of the room, low and strained after the passion that had consumed you both.

A sheen of sweat glistened across your bodies, the air thick with the aftermath of your shared breathless silence. The dim lantern flickered in the corner of your small home, casting a warm glow that only served to make his sharp features more prominent, his icy blue eyes brighter than you’d ever seen them as if the light revealed something deeper—something more fragile. His hand rested protectively over yours intertwining your hand with his, his other arm draped across your frame, tugging you closer as if he could fuse you into him, as though he needed your presence to solidify his reality.

"Don't make me lose you too," he repeated, his voice muffled as he pressed his forehead against yours. You could feel the tremor in his breath, the weight of his words sinking into your skin. The raw vulnerability that had bled through him during those moments of intimacy now lingered in the air, like an unspoken plea that both terrified and touched you. His lips, still warm from the kiss that had left you breathless, moved softly against your forehead as he whispered, "I've already lost so much. I can't bear to lose you too."

You lay there, caught between the storm of desire and the weight of his obsession, feeling the intensity of his emotions wrapped around you like a vice. He wasn’t just holding you physically; he was anchoring himself to you, weaving a web of control and love that was both suffocating and intoxicating.

Every touch felt like a claim, every whispered word a promise you weren't sure you could escape. But in the stillness of that moment, when his heart seemed to beat in time with yours, you wondered if there was a part of him that truly did love you, or if it was simply the fear of losing control over something—someone—he had come to see as his.

His eyes met yours in the low light, searching you, reading you, as though trying to gauge whether you felt the same hunger for him, the same need. You could see it then—the darkness in him that was more than just obsession. It was desperation. Desperation for your love, for your loyalty, for a future where you would never leave him. He was willing to give you everything, but it was clear that everything meant something far different to him than it did to you.

In his mind, you weren’t just a part of his world—you were the only thing worth holding onto, the one thing he could never lose. And in that moment, as the weight of his words settled over you, you realized that you were no longer just a passive observer in this dangerous dance between love and control. You were as bound to him as he was to you, and though you longed for freedom, you couldn't help but wonder if his love for you—his need for you—was something you could ever truly escape.

[hitrone]

hey hey hey i have something for you ;)

[isp-annafer]

Hey guys Hephaestus has glasses in the livestream animatic. I know its just for funsies (and also probably based on Jorge's dad, who was the singer), but you guys know what this means????

A possible canon explanation for Polites having glasses CAN be a 'gift of the gods' now, except not from Athena as some people have jokingly suggested. It can be from Hephaestus instead, lol.

(ALSO, recall how Hephaestus's brief argument was 'trust isn't given, it has to be forged', which can be an echo of Polites's philosophy, which was something like 'show trust, and be trusted in return'.

There's SOMETHING there that can be played with between two characters that didn't show up much in the musical. One more than the other.)

[reddamselette]

valgrace except jason is an international superstar and prodigy in football and leo is known worldwide for his podcast who brings special guests on his shows like piper mclean who’s made a name for herself in historical dramas always in the lead of a warrior, architect annabeth chase who’s been granted the honor of rebuilding the temples and ruins in greece and rome with her olympic swimmer boyfriend percy jackson.

and by popular demand, the public requested jason grace to be on hephaestus’ forge. leo, always the good host, obliges and reaches out to jason.

what the audience doesn’t know is that leo and jason have known eachother for years, running in the same crowd during middle school and high school despite being interested in different things. like all close best friends, they parted ways due to university and internships across the country. but they parted with a kiss goodbye, a promise to one another that held up since they were young.

so when jason finally arrives onto the scene, leo feels everything rush back and now that the season is over, jason plans to stay in new york.

[moonlightspencie]

Help Me Hold on to You

Description: Ted and the reader struggle with balancing mental health and everyday life. (Based on The Archer by Taylor Swift)

Pairing: Ted Lasso x fem!Reader

Warnings: depictions of anxiety and panic

Word Count: 8.9k

A/N: one of my all time favs that i’ve written (and, not to sound conceited, one of my favs in general bc it was super self-indulgent hehe). originally posted on tumblr. then dropped onto ao3. now it’s back on tumblr.

“Hey, Y/N. Whatcha up to?” Ted burst into your shared office, a wide-eyed look on his face.

You shook your head with a smirk, “Just going over the last game, trying to figure out what we can do better next time.”

You paused the video on your laptop, shutting it and looking up to him expectantly. He pulled a chair up next to you, suddenly looking a little nervous.

“I know that look, Ted. What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, plastering on a smile. “Nothing.”

“You wouldn’t have come interrupting me unless you had something you wanted to talk about.”

His face dropped, nodding slowly. “I’m getting kind of sick of you reading me like a book, sweetheart.”

“No, you’re not.”

He chuckled, looking back at you. “Okay, guilty. Uh, I’m not sure how to address this, so I guess I better just come out and say it, huh?”

You nodded back at him, silent, but with a reassuring smile.

He clapped once. “So, uh, nobody really knows about this, but I’ve been dealing with some anxiety lately. I, uh— I don’t really want anyone knowing about it, so if you could…”

“I’ll be quiet as a mouse in a trap.”

He raised a brow. “Morbid.”

“My colloquialisms can’t be as silly and polished as yours, friend.”

He smiled. “Guess not. Don’t really have room in my head for ‘em right now, though.”

You shrugged. “That’s okay. I like you whether or not you’re acting like a landscaper’s favorite machine.”

He paused for a moment, trying to put the pieces together. Then, his face lit up.

“Chipper?”

You simply pointed at him with a wink.

“Nice,” he said with a smile. He looked back down to his hands, smile melting. “So, um, I guess I just wanted you to know. That was the reason I had to leave the game, actually. It wasn’t food poisoning, but it just seems easier to let people believe that, you know? But, anyway. You seem to be good with these kinds of things, and I just… I don’t know.”

“Sometimes it’s nice just to tell someone, yeah?”

He nodded with a small grin. “Rebecca’s seen it happen once, but I think that’s about it. I made an appointment to speak with the doc, but I just couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged, head shaking. “It’s bull.”

“Ted, you remember what you told me when I talked to you about my issues with trust?”

He raised a brow. “I told you nobody good would hurt you like…”

“You told me that all people are different people. You’ve said it a few times around me, I know you’ve told other people the same. And you know what?”

“What?” His brows sat raised.

“You need to start taking your own advice.”

“I don’t like when you do that.”

“Do what?” You laughed.

He chuckled with you. “When you’re right. I’m not supposed to be a quitter, either.”

“Not for the good things, anyway, huh?”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

He started standing, but you stood with him before he could go anywhere.

“Hey, there’s something I want you to know, too.”

“Shoot,” he said, gesturing for you to continue.

“I deal with anxiety, too. A lot, actually.”

He furrowed his brow. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t want you to worry.”

“Well, now I am.”

“Don’t. I can cope, I just— I want you to know you’re not alone in this, okay? I get panic attacks, anxiety attacks, I deal with more minor symptoms pretty much every day. And you know what? It doesn’t make me any less of a person. Doesn’t make you, either.”

You saw the tears that began to prick his eyes, but decided to leave that situation alone. Instead, you pulled him in for a hug. He hugged back hard, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You heard him take a few shaky breaths before he pulled back, wiping at his eyes.

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t ever apologize for vulnerability. Least not to me, cause I know exactly how you’re feeling and it’s okay. I promise,” you reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze.

He smiled at you, trying to hold back from letting any more tears fall.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing, Ted. I do want you to try going back to doctor Sharon, though. She’s a good woman.”

He nodded, glancing at where your hand still held his own. He squeezed it again, then left you to get back to your work. You sat for a while, unable to focus on anything but what he’d told you. You hoped like hell he had really listened to you.

It wasn’t until the next day that you’d found he’d both listened to and simultaneously completely ignored you. You were walking down the hall from the office when you saw him.

“Hey,” you called out to him, both hands on his chest to stop him from moving when you got close enough. “Your appointment is supposed to be right now. What happened to—”

“I can’t do it.”

He grabbed one of your wrists, trying to move you. You refused to budge.

“No. Uh-uh. Why did you leave?”

“I’m not talking to someone who’s only there cause she’s paid.”

You raised a brow. “Excuse me, Lasso. Are you not getting paid to do your job?”

He huffed out a sigh.

“Don’t you get attitude with me,” you dropped your hands, but didn’t move from where you stood. “I gotta go, but you’re trying again tomorrow, you hear me?”

“Y/N—”

“You’re going. Non-negotiable.”

He dropped his shoulders. “Fine. I’ll try.”

You nodded once, a smile of victory on your face. “And by the way, I think Keeley’s smoking in the boot room. Might wanna see what that’s about, yeah?”

He tilted his head, a chuckle leaving him. You patted him on the shoulder as you passed to leave the building.

Your day from then on was a long one. You were running around with Beard for part of it, trying to work on strategy for the upcoming game against Man City. The whole Richmond team was on edge, and you were beginning to worry that the nervousness alone might end up being the end-all to the game. You were a firm believer that winning had as much to do with the power of the mind as the power of the body. If they were going in thinking they were going to lose— lose they would.

“That’s a little dramatic,” Beard said over his beer.

You rolled your eyes, sipping at your drink.

“It’s not. Same line of thinking as Ted’s ‘Believe’ sign. I’m just being a little more explicit about what I mean when I say it.”

He chuckled. “You two are more alike than I think you even realize, you know?”

“I think I realize.”

“Do you?”

You shrugged, nodding slightly.

“Both crazy about this team, and even more crazy about you,” you teased, flicking at the brim of his hat.

He hid a smile behind his glass. “Your never-ending optimism and knack for flattery is also pretty similar.”

You hummed in agreement. “Can’t argue with ya, there.”

“So, what do you think we should do, then?”

You shrugged. “Find some way to cheer up the team. Get them excited for the game rather than scared of losing.”

He nodded, brows raised. “Any way of implementing that?”

“I’ll figure it out, I’m sure.” You leaned back. “Remember that game against Kansas State? Our boys were so freaked about it all, then Ted did his thing and got them so excited to play…”

“Beat their asses.”

“Yeah, we did.”

You both went in for a quick high five before continuing.

“Remember how he did it?”

“Told ‘em they needed to loosen up. We had a dance party and ordered pizza.”

You smiled. “Yep. What do you say we make something like that happen again? Day before we travel, let’s do it.”

He smirked, a brow raised. “Sounds perfect. You gonna tell Ted?”

You shrugged. “I think he could use the surprise just as much as the players.”

He narrowed his eyes at you.

You put your hands up. “What’s that look about?”

He just shook his head silently.

“I’m not treating him any different.”

He raised a brow, sipping at his drink again.

“Ted’s been going through it lately, I just think he needs a little cheer up. Nothing else.”

He set down his drink, then sat up straight, eyes still trained on you.

“Quit lecturing me, Beard,” you chuckled. “I know you always think I have some thing for him, but why can’t it just be that I care about people, huh?”

“I see through it.”

You paused for a moment. “I hate that.”

He smirked, and you both finished eating.

You went home yourself, denying a walk-back from Beard. You appreciated the gesture, but the air was beginning to feel thick and suffocating. The last thing you wanted was for him to see you like that.

As much as you tried pretending like the state of the team wasn’t affecting you, you knew that trying to be the fixer for this situation was weighing on you. More than you thought it would.

You tried swallowing, feeling your throat pretending to swell just to spite you. You rushed even faster towards your flat, feeling that the oncoming attack wasn’t going to be so routine.

As soon as you were in your door, your knees hit the floor, head between your arms on the carpet. You tried to control your breathing, but it was no use. Tears fell, though you’d hardly noticed as you’d refused to open your eyes. The bleariness you were bound to find if you opened them would only make the situation worse. You began to worry about passing out if you couldn’t control your breathing, and decided to roll yourself onto your side, whole body pushing through tremors you hadn’t felt in a few months, at least.

The ringing of your phone didn’t aid your situation. You desperately hoped it wasn’t an emergency, because there was no way you’d be able to make it over to where you’d dropped your purse. But, it kept ringing. Four separate calls over the span of probably half an hour.

It was another good half an hour after the calls had stopped before you were composed enough to open your eyes, and pull yourself into a sitting position on the ground. Though, you wouldn’t have known. Time never seemed to make any sense in those situations.

You worked on breathing in and out slowly, wiping away at any remaining tears. The shaking hadn’t yet ceased, but at least that was manageable. Right as you started trying to stand, you heard the loud buzzing of someone asking to be let in. You made it over, asking who was there.

“It’s me. Are you okay?” Ted’s voice came through.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Hang on,” you said, letting him in.

It wasn’t long before a knock was at the door, and you wished he wasn’t so quick. No amount of post-panic-primping in a fifteen-second slot could make you look presentable enough to get past him. You opened the door, putting on a smile and hoping he would be too preoccupied with something else to look directly at you for too long.

His face dropped the second he saw you, of course.

“What’s wrong?”

You shook your head. “I’m okay.”

He walked in, leaving you to close the door and follow him.

“No way, McConaughey. You can’t hide tears from me, I got eagle eyes for that sort of thing.”

You crossed your arms. “I’ve just had a long night.”

He watched you for a moment, picking up on the fact that you wouldn’t be sharing any time soon. He nodded slowly.

“Okay, that’s fine. If you don’t want to talk right now, that’s okay,” he smiled softly, then wrapped you in a tight hug.

You welcomed it, arms wrapping around his middle, head buried in his chest.

“You were honest with me,” you started after a moment, “so, I guess I should be with you. I just came down from a pretty bad panic attack. I couldn’t breathe, hardly made it home… I just—”

“It’s okay,” he said, rubbing your back as he spoke. “We don’t have to talk about details. Thank you for telling me.”

You nodded. “Thank you for coming.”

“You always answer when I call. I knew something had to be up.”

“What if I was just in the shower?”

“You still always call me back right away. I had over an hour of radio silence from you.”

You chuckled. “I didn’t know you had it down to such a science.”

He laughed back, pulling away from you just enough to see your face.

“There she is,” he said, a smile on his face.

“And she is a mess.”

“We all get a little messy sometimes, though, don’t we?”

You nodded. “Gotta agree with that.”

He looked at you for a moment or two with a soft smile on his face, and as much as you didn’t want to admit it, especially since Beard was also on your ass about it, that was the moment you knew. You felt your heart rate pick up, and didn’t know what to do but escape. You stepped back, leaving him looking a little confused.

“I think I need some sleep, Ted.”

His eyes were wide, looking at you. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll be fine. I just need time alone, now. I need rest.”

“Okay, yeah,” he nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Uh, alright, well I will see you tomorrow bright and early, right?”

You nodded, giving him a quick smile.

“Anything else I can do for you?”

You shook your head. “No. I’m okay.”

He nodded again, watching you with those big, worried eyes. You wished he would stop with that. He waved a quick goodbye, leaving you alone.

You settled into bed, though you were unable to sleep. You couldn’t stop thinking about the team. Or Ted. Or the fact that you couldn’t help but self-sabotage any chance you got. You wiped away a few stray tears, and closed your eyes, hoping sleep would take over soon.

You woke up from a couple hours of sleep to a text. Of course, from Ted.

- Excited to see you today for coaches meeting :) I’m proud of you

You sighed, setting your phone down next to you. The guy didn’t seem to have a single mean bone in his body, and here you were wallowing in the fact that you couldn’t help but feel like you brought down everyone around you. As much as you tried to remain positive in every situation, you knew your mood affected the people around you whenever you were a little down in the dumps. You got up, hoping you could at least try to disguise it as well as possible for the day. At least for the morning.

You stopped to get coffee on the way in, delivering each drink with a smile. You sat next to Ted to watch the tapes, giving him the most convincing smile you could.

“You seem better today,” he said quietly, a smile on his face.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

The next few days you were preoccupied with setting up the party for the team, and luckily it kept you busy enough to not fall back into the hole you’d had to crawl out of. If there was one thing you were proud of, it was your ability to pull yourself out of the hardest places. Maybe it wasn’t always through the best methods, but you figured that doing what you needed to was working just fine. If it ain’t broke, after all.

“Howdy, howdy!” Ted chimed, walking in.

You shut your laptop quickly, still taking pride in the fact that you were successfully keeping the event from him.

He quirked a brow, nodding towards your laptop. “What’s that about?”

“Nothing you need to worry about right now. What’s up?”

He rubbed his hands together, leaning against your desk with a cheesy grin.

“Guess.”

“You got another jar of barbecue sauce?”

He laughed. “Yes, actually, but that’s not what this is all about, buttercup. It’s about you.”

You furrowed your brow. “What?”

“Well, kinda,” he said with a light chuckle. “I’ve been seeing the doc a lot more frequently, now.”

You lit up. “Oh, I’m so proud of you!”

“You’ll be even more proud in a second. Get this, she actually said that she’s glad me and you are friends.”

You crinkled your nose, laughing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I told her about all of your help over the past few sessions, and she told me to tell you, little lady, that I am lucky to have you.”

He nudged your shoulder as he ended the sentence, and you hoped he wouldn’t notice how you tried hiding a smile.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks as he finished out by saying, “I gotta say, I agree with her.”

“In that case, you’re welcome.”

He smiled again, hopping up to sit on your desk. “So, what are you up to?”

“You’ll find out later. Later today, actually.”

He raised his brows. “Oh yeah?”

You nodded, “Mhm. I really think you’re gonna love it, too.”

He gasped, “Did you get me those funky shoes from Gucci I showed you the other day?”

“What?” You scrunched up your face. “No, of course not. Those things were horrible.”

He paused, as if to say something, before raising his brows and nodding in agreement.

“Okay, so what is it?”

“Wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you, would it?”

He dropped his shoulders. “Aw, come on. Telling me you have a surprise and not saying what it is… That’s worse than telling your dog you’re going on a walk then leaving him home.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“You’re right, that’s just evil. But you know I like to know things.”

You reached over, patting his knee. “I know, but I think you can survive til after practice.”

“Training,” he corrected.

“Ted, we’re both American. You don’t need to adjust your language with me.”

“See, that’s why I love talking to you,” he laughed, poking at your shoulder.

You shook your head, “Okay, now get out of here so I can finish up.”

“I’ll see you at practice, huh?” He raised an eyebrow, looking a little too pleased with himself for switching up his terminology.

You laughed. “See you there, coach.”

Beard walked in a while later, looking at you expectantly.

“Yes, I’m almost ready. Pizza will be here about ten minutes before we’re done, so I’ll excuse myself a little early, and I’ve got Keeley and Higgins doing some decorating in the locker room while we’re out.”

“You know my favorite thing about you?” He asked as he sat down in his seat.

“Fact that you don’t have to actually say anything to talk to me?”

He smirked, nodding. “Exactly.”

You both laughed, then sat back and waited for the boys to make it to the locker room. Ted came in, a big smile on his face as he did.

“Hey, there are two of my favorite people on this whole planet!”

“Still not telling you,” you said, giving a glance at Beard.

He only shook his head, going back to his book.

“Hey!” Ted exclaimed, pointing to Beard. “You know, too?”

“Know what?” Nate asked as he walked in.

You kept talking, “Keeley and Higgins, too. Oh, and Rebecca, actually, but she can’t be a part of it today.”

Ted glared at you as he went to his desk chair, Roy coming in behind him as he did.

“You talking about what Keeley told me she can’t tell me about?”

“Yep,” you responded, leaning back in your seat.

He grunted in response, arms crossing over his chest. You all worked on the game plan for ‘training’, then headed out with the team to get started on the last home practice before the big game. You knew nerves were high the whole time, and were all the more focused on making sure your little pizza party was a relief for everyone. You excused yourself to bring in the pizzas with your two accomplices, and then waited outside the door until the team came barging in. You heard shouts of approval from them all as they saw the decor and food, smiling as the work you’d done was starting to prove to be a good idea. Beard and Ted wandered in a moment after the last boy was in the locker room, a smile on Ted’s face as he heard them all.

“This the surprise?” He asked as he approached you.

You smiled, nodding. Beard moved past you to enter.

“Remember Kansas State?”

He raised his brows, smile only growing. “You didn’t.”

You nodded once more. “I did.”

He scooped you up in a hug, spinning you around.

“You are the best,” he said, setting you back down with a kiss to your cheek. Luckily, the smile on your face could easily be chalked up to the surprise paying off rather than the show of intimacy from your friend. “Well, come on, let’s shake a leg so I can shake some booty.”

You laughed at that, following behind him into the chaos.

“Hey!” He called out to everyone. “Y’all say thank you to Y/N for all this.”

A chorus of ‘thank you’s erupted, and you laughed as Ted pulled you into his side.

“Couldn’t have done it without Keeley and Higgins, y’all. They did all the decorating, I just recycled an old idea of coach, here.”

The team chuckled, then went back to celebrating as the music started.

He looked to you, eyes narrowed. “You’re being way too modest. This happened cause you put your heart and soul into this team.”

“I learned from the best, Lasso.”

He looked at you quietly, a small smile on his face, then shook his head. He pulled you into the small crowd, and you all spent the next couple hours letting loose before you had to check in with reality again.

The party seemed to have helped. Morale was up as you prepared for the game, and at minimum you knew that even if you still lost, they likely wouldn’t take it quite as hard. That helped your conscience, if anything.

One more thing that took a weight off of your shoulders was what happened before the game even started. Ted told the other coaches about his struggles with anxiety before the game. He came clean about it all, and you knew he felt good about finally letting it go to them. As the others started walking out, you held him back, making sure he knew just how proud of him you were.

“I wish I had your confidence.”

He patted your back. “But, you also love your privacy. That’s okay, you know? You also do a much better job holding it down than I do when it comes to this type of thing.”

You swallowed. “I’m not so sure about that. I know how to cope the best way I can, but I think it’s much more brave that you decided to open up to them about this.”

“Hey, don’t be hard on yourself about this,” he said, a hand on your shoulder. “Besides, I’m only doing okay right now cause I’m seeing the doc so often.”

“You saying I need to see someone about this?”

He shook his head. “No. You helped me realize that, for me, going to see her was what I needed. I hope in some way I can help you realize that you should do whatever is best for you. We’re all different people with different experiences, right?”

“Right. Thanks, Ted.”

You sighed. Leaning into his side for a moment, then broke away, clapping once.

“Okay, now let’s go win this.”

The game was lost, but everyone moved past it. You knew most of that was because of Ted and his affection for the goldfish attitude, though he tried like anything to convince you they wouldn’t be feeling so okay if it wasn’t for the little morale boost you’d given everyone before it all started.

He’d also inadvertently managed to convince you to see Dr. Fieldstone.

You knocked on her door, and she looked up from her seat to see you staring at her with a smile from the doorway.

“Come on in, coach,” she said, gesturing at the chair in front of her.

You nodded, looking around the room as you sat. You noted the little bird next to you, tapping it just enough to get it going.

“I like your decorations,” you said with a smile, then looked back at her. “Also, please call me Y/N. I hardly let the boys get away with calling me coach outside of games.”

She smiled. “I see.”

“So, uh, it’s good to finally talk with you. I know we’ve seen one another in passing a few times, but I’ve been exceptionally busy lately or else I would have come and given a proper hello. I really appreciate all of the work you’ve been doing with the team. You seem like a very kind, compassionate woman. I’m happy to have you here, honestly.”

She just watched as you talked, a light grin on her face as you did, though most of the humor rested in her eyes.

You paused for just a moment, though when she didn’t speak up, you took it as an invitation to keep going.

“Uh, so, I’m not really sure how this goes. I’ve only been to see a therapist once before and it didn’t go great. Though, I promise I won’t hold it against you. I’ve just learned how to cope on my own after that experience, but Ted kind of convinced me to try to find what would work best for me moving forward, and I thought—”

“I see why you two are so close,” she chuckled. “I feel as though I know you already.”

Your brows raised. “Really? How so?”

“Well, between how talkative you’ve become now that you’re nervous, and the fact that I’ve heard quite a lot about you in general, I’d say I have an idea of who you are.”

You let out a quick laugh. “Gosh, I’m sorry. I get kind of chatterbox-y when I talk to someone new.”

“Or when you get nervous, yeah?”

You nodded slowly, looking down for a moment. “Yeah. That, too. Guess it kinda goes hand-in-hand with some of my anxiety business, huh?”

She shrugged, though gave you a look that implied she’d agreed with your statement. You smirked, as did she.

“You said you’ve seen a therapist once before?”

You nodded. “Yes, but it didn’t seem to help. They hardly listened to me, and then told me that maybe exercising and breathing exercises would help. Gave me that advice four sessions in a row without really ever caring to know why I was dealing with panic and anxiety and everything else.”

She raised a brow. “I’m sorry you had to experience that. Now, I know you might not be able to trust me—”

“Oh, no. I totally trust you, Doc. I’ve seen how great you’ve been with the team, and I learned from a good friend a long time ago that everyone has a different story. You don’t deserve to be compared like that.”

Her brows really shot up with that being said. She nodded slowly, writing something down as she did.

“Well, thank you for that. That was kind of you to say.”

You smiled at her. “I appreciate you. Really.”

“This need to reassure the people around you, do you think that might have anything to do with what you’re struggling with?”

Your eyes widened, almost shocked at the statement. You understood now how she’d made so much progress with Ted. You continued talking about what you needed to, but the session was coming to a close quickly.

“Uh, one more thing, doc?”

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Thanks for what you said about me to Ted.”

She quirked a brow. “And what was that?”

“You told him I was good for him.”

“You are,” she said, nodding. “I think the both of you need to be reminded that you don’t always have to turn on the personality for someone to love you. I think you do that well. Both of you.”

You chuckled. “You… Are one wise woman, Dr. Sharon.”

She laughed. “I am pretty great at my job.”

“Well, thank you again,” you said, starting to walk towards the door.

“Y/N,” she called out, and you turned. “Try to remember that the whole world isn’t on your shoulders, yeah? You believe everyone deserves to know love and comfort, but you are one of those people, too.”

You nodded, taking in a deep breath, then said your goodbyes. You pulled out your phone as you left her office. Being the last appointment for the day, you knew most people had already gone home, but you felt like getting some food. You dialed Ted’s number and waited expectantly, heading towards the door.

He answered, but didn’t speak.

You furrowed your brow, exiting the building.

“Ted?” You asked, waiting for a reply.

His voice came through, shaky and nervous-sounding. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Whoa, hold on, what’s up with you?”

“I— I’m kind of…” he trailed off, taking in a hard breath.

“Are you at home?”

You started walking more quickly, heading towards his flat.

“Yeah.”

“I’m coming to you, okay?”

You heard a sniffle on the other end, and a weak ‘okay’ in response. You hung up, and practically ran the rest of the way there. He buzzed you in, and you were up the stairs, bursting into his apartment in no time. He was sitting on his couch in his undershirt and khakis, clearly having been in the middle of undressing when he got hit with whatever ailed him.

You rushed over to the couch, standing next to him. He looked up at you, still crying.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked softly, reaching over to touch his arm.

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Can I hug you?”

He nodded quickly, standing up and clinging to you like a child. You held him, hands rubbing up and down his back as he cried, head shaking every so often, disagreeing with the thoughts in his own head.

“I can’t even…” he trailed, mumbling against your shoulder.

“What is it, hun?” You asked, still trying to calm him as much as possible.

“Am I a shitty dad? I don’t—”

“No, no. Of course you aren’t.”

“I can’t even pick up my son from a sleepover. He had a nightmare and wanted to go home and I couldn’t be there for him,” he turned his head, cheek against your shoulder now.

You reached up to run your nails through his hair. “You’re like the best dad I could think of. Even thousands of miles apart, you spend more time talking to your kid than I ever got with my dad in the same house. He knows you love him.”

“I quit on his mom. I’m not supposed to be a quitter.”

“You didn’t quit. You didn’t forfeit. Game time was up, the match was over. Nothing you could do at that point, Ted.”

He sniffled, then nodded. “You really think so?”

“You were both fighting so long for something that only hurt the both of you. It was coming to an end naturally. You just finally had the strength to let it end, even though it was hard.”

He nodded again, and fell silent for a few minutes, still holding on to you for dear life.

“Ted?” You asked.

He hummed in question.

“Can I get you some water? I don’t want you to get dehydrated.”

“Yeah,” he said, then let you go, sitting back on the couch.

You filled up a glass from the tap, handing it to him and kneeling in front of him. He drank some, then handed the glass back to you to set down on the coffee table.

“Good, thank you for drinking some,” you smiled.

He laughed humorlessly. “I’m a child.”

“You just need to be cared for a little bit right now. I know stuff like this is all new to you still, I don’t think being comforted and coddled a little is gonna hurt all that much.”

He smirked. “I guess not. Thank you. For coming here.”

You stood, going to sit next to him.

“It’s nothing. You’d do the same for me. Heck, you kind of have already, you just didn’t have to witness the crying part.”

He chuckled. “That’s… Embarrassing. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not embarrassing at all,” you said, then leaned back into the cushions. “You feel like food?”

“I don’t know if going out right now—”

“I was going to order in. Thought we could watch tv or a movie or something and hang out for a while.”

He looked to you with a soft smile, nodding.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

The next day, you woke up feeling better than you had in a while. You felt well rested, and even went to pick up coffee for everyone despite it not being a film-watching day. You made your way to the office, though you found it much more somber than you were expecting.

“Whoa,” you started as everyone watched you walk in with the tray of drinks. “Who died?”

Apparently that was a poorly timed question.

You showed up at the funeral, heading right to Rebecca for a hug.

“Hi, love,” you said, squeezing her a little tighter than normal. “You okay?”

She nodded. “I’m alright.”

You pulled back, giving her a smile. “For what it’s worth, you look hot.”

She laughed, “Charming as always, my friend.”

“It’s what I do best.”

You heard the squeal of Keeley before you saw her.

“You look gorgeous!” She said as she hugged you.

“Babe, it’s a funeral.”

“Still look hot,” she said with a grin before moving on to Rebecca.

You gave a quick hello to Roy.

“She’s… Weird about funerals.”

You nodded. “Right. Well, I’ll be back. Ted was supposed to be here before me and isn’t picking up his phone now.”

Roy furrowed his brow. “Really? I’m shocked you didn’t come together.”

You tilted your head. “Why would we?”

“You realize how fuckin’ obvious you are?”

Your face dropped. “Nothing’s happening, Roy.”

He grunted with a shake of his head, and you headed off away from people to try giving Ted another call.

Still no answer.

When it hit his answering machine, you decided to leave it and send a text instead.

- hey, are you okay? i’m at the funeral now. if you show up, i’ll be in the back row waiting for you. if not, i’m coming to you as soon as we’re out of here

You shoved your phone back into your purse, making sure to leave it on vibrate in case he called back. Getting through the day was already hard, and you knew your anxiety was likely going to be more of a when-than-if kind of situation. It only built with the fact that Ted wasn’t getting back to you. You felt like everything was dragging on forever, and it wasn’t until Rebecca was struggling to find the right words in her eulogy that he came in. He sat next to you, squeezing your knee lightly to reassure you as he did, and you gave him a soft smile. Something was off, but even then he had the ability to comfort Rebecca all the way from the back row, continuing to sing the song she’d begun. And, of course, everyone else couldn’t help but join in.

You walked with him to the repast, and took that as an opportunity to ask him about what was going on.

“Ted?”

“Yeah?”

You fell quiet for a moment, unsure of where to start. He started for you.

“If you’re wondering, it was anxiety again. I’m sorry I didn’t respond…”

“Did you at least reach out to Dr. Sharon?”

“Yes.”

You smiled at him. “Okay, I’m glad. Proud of you.”

He smirked, then looked around the neighborhood for a moment.

“Uh, we talked about my dad.”

Your eyes widened. He’d hardly ever talked to you about what happened because he could never get through without crying.

“Wow. Are you okay? I know that’s always really hard for you…”

“She helped me see the good in him again, you know? I was always so angry with him for leaving us, but he did more than leave us. He was…” He trailed off with a shaky breath. You reached over, taking his hand, and he held onto yours firmly. “He was a great dad. She helped me remember that.”

“I’m happy you could talk to her about it, Ted. Seriously.”

He nodded, one hand going up to wipe at his eyes. “I guess it just hit me thinking about today…”

“I know. I’ve been pretty on edge today, too.”

“Are you okay?” He rushed out, looking at you.

You nodded with a smile, “Much better now that I know you are.”

He squeezed your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. You tried to stave off the sick feeling in your stomach telling you to run the other way. You wished you could just enjoy a nice moment with him, but you couldn’t help but feel guilty somehow. He was too good for most people, and you considered yourself one of the ones he was too good for. You let it happen for a few seconds longer before you pulled away, pretending like you needed to check your phone in your purse.

“Get a message?” He asked after a moment.

“Uh, I thought I felt it vibrate. Guess not,” you chuckled a little.

He nodded quietly, shoving hands back in his coat pockets. You walked silently side by side until you reached the house, walking inside and beginning to mingle with some of the other guests there. You felt anxiety building, but tried putting it off. You couldn’t tell why it was getting worse and worse, but it was. Your pulse kept speeding no matter how easy you tried taking it.

But, you knew it was about to get way worse when you were suddenly being pulled away from Ted by Beard as a woman approached him. He watched after you with eyes wide for a moment before he turned to her, and you furrowed your brow at Beard when he deposited you in a different room.

“The hell was that about?” You snapped.

Immediately, you knew you needed to get away. It was hard enough feeling anxious, but the last thing you wanted was for your feelings to manifest as anger. But, manifest they did.

“You said you didn’t feel anything for him like that,” he said, testing you.

You scoffed. “Now is not the time, Beard. Who was that, anyways?”

“Remember the name, ‘Sassy’?”

Your stomach dropped, and you could swear the air had just gotten thinner.

“Seriously?”

He shrugged, a little smug. You let out a hard breath, beginning to walk away.

“You said—”

You whipped around. “Cut the shit, Beard. It’s none of your business.”

Eyes fell on you, and the barely contained attack was coming into swing. You started walking towards the back door and into the fresh air, hoping you could contain it all until you could get out of there and go home.

The door opened only a moment later, and you turned to find Beard staring at you.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped like that, I just—”

“You have feelings for him. I know you do.” He shrugged, coming to stand next to you. “What I don’t know is what’s wrong besides that.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking.”

You looked down to see your hands shaking hard as you grasped your arms.

“I—,” you felt tears prick your eyes, and looked away. “I can’t fucking tell him. I’ve known him for years, do you have any clue how shitty it’d be to drop something like that on him? Besides, clearly he’s having fun with…”

You stopped, unable to even say another person’s name.

“The doc told me I self-sabotage, but I don’t think this is that. Is it wrong to want him to be happy? I don’t think I’m the bad guy for that.”

“Nobody said you were.”

“Nobody needs to. I’m a fucking mess. I have no right being upset that he’s happy. I’m a piece of shit,” you whispered at the end, closing your eyes. “I— I need to get out of here. I gotta go, I’m sorry.”

You felt your chest heave, trying to get in air through the invisible smoke that surrounded your head. There was no escaping it, now.

Beard reached out for you, but you already started leaving. He called your name, but you couldn’t handle facing him.

“If anyone asks, please just say I got sick,” you said, back still turned to him.

He sighed, watching as you walked away, holding onto yourself as if you might crumble otherwise. He was worried you actually would, but knew you’d only get more pissed if he tried following you now.

You stumbled along the street, not really sure where you planned on ending up. The closest location was on Nelson Road, so that’s where you found yourself after it all, sinking onto the floor of the office and letting all hell break loose. It was bad enough with how you’d been feeling today, but coupling it all with how ridiculous you felt over being angry that someone else had his attention… That was the thing that nearly pushed you over the edge. Crying and shaking led to dry heaving, dry heaving led to darn near passing out, and that all led to sitting on the ground for who knows how long. You’d always been able to pull yourself out eventually, but you weren’t sure you’d be able to this time.

If people really believed that hope kills, you wished they never had to know what being completely hopeless felt like.

Pretending like you weren’t ever affected by the things that hurt you could only get you so far, and now you were feeling the hard edge of realization that being hit by the things that pained you all at once was so much worse than dealing with it little by little.

Now, a room full of people had seen you crack, too. They all saw through it. The jig was up in a small way that felt huge. Your cover-up act was all you had sometimes, and you couldn’t afford to lose it all because you couldn’t handle seeing Ted with another person, or deal with your emotions before they blew up in your face.

You sobbed, unsure of how you were still awake with how much air escaped you and how little you were taking in. You almost wished you would just pass out for a few hours. Just to escape for a moment.

You heard footsteps fall heavy and quickly down the ball, and it only worsened your panic. The last thing you wanted was for anyone to see you like this, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. You were cemented to the ground, a crying, shaky mess.

“Oh, thank goodness,” you heard a voice that sounded far away, then felt a pair of arms scoop you up and hold you tightly against them. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

You couldn’t stop yourself this time, and just let yourself cry. Ted tried moving your hands away from your face, but you refused to budge.

“Sweetpea, I need to know you’re okay. Can you breathe with me?”

His voice was more clear now, and you heard a tone in it you almost never did.

“Please,” he whispered, and now you knew why he sounded different.

Tears fell against your bare legs, and they weren’t your own.

“Breathe with me, come on,” he coaxed, and you tried your hardest to obey his request.

Once your breathing calmed, you were able to move your hands, though you refused to look up. He pulled you into his lap from where he sat next to you, hands holding you tighter than they ever had before.

“You really scared me,” he said, quiet.

You took in another breath, face against his neck.

“I’m sorry, you shouldn’t be here.”

“What?” He asked, hands gripping you a little tighter. “What do you mean?”

You shook your head. “I’m a mess. You’re supposed to be out having fun.”

He was quiet for a moment before he spoke.

“Why did you…” He huffed out a breath. “I ran to your apartment. Then all your favorite restaurants. I went down all the streets I thought you might have taken, and finally I ended up here. I didn’t know where else to look.”

“Why were you looking?”

“I asked Beard where you were and he said you got sick. You were already not doing so hot, and I knew that was a lie”

“You have better things to be doing right now, Ted.”

“Nothing is more important than being here right now. Nothing. Do you understand me?”

He was taking a harsher tone with you than you were used to. You took a chance and looked up at him to find him in disarray. His tie and jacket were discarded, and his hair was kind of a mess.

“Don’t ever do that again. Please. At least tell someone where you’re going.”

You nodded, taking in the deep worry lines in his face.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“Don’t apologize for that, I just— I was scared.”

You swallowed. “I’m— I’ll be fine. Why don’t you go see your lady friend now.”

He furrowed his brow. “What?”

“I know Beard pulled us away from you two for a reason, Ted. You deserve to be happy. Please don’t let me get in the way of that.”

He raised his brows. “You’re not in the way of anything.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No. You’re not,” he shook his head. “Do you want to know something?”

You sniffed. “What?”

He stroked your cheek with his thumb, then smiled. “She’s kinda pissed at me anyway.”

“Why?”

He took a moment to lean back against the wall, readjusting you in his lap and wrapping his arms around you so that you wouldn’t be able to scoot away. He chewed at his lip for a moment, then looked at you. You stared back, eyes wide, and mascara running all down your face. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight.

Hard as you tried not to, you laughed with him.

“What?”

“Your makeup ran harder than anyone on the team.”

You tried wiping away at it, but he grabbed your hand.

“Quit that.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “It’s kinda cute.”

“Me having a panic attack is cute?”

His eyes nearly bugged out of his head, but stopped when you laughed.

“I’m kidding. Sorry, I couldn’t help it.”

He let out a breath. “Man, I haven’t been that scared since my mom looked in the shoebox under my bed when I was seventeen.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “You didn’t answer me.”

“What?”

“I asked why she was mad at you.”

He nodded slowly, chewing at his bottom lip.

“Uh, well, when I asked Beard where you were and he said you were sick, she was in the middle of trying to get me to go to her hotel room.”

You felt your stomach sink again, looking away in hopes he wouldn’t catch the shift in your demeanor.

He continued, “I told her I had something more important to do. She didn’t like that a whole lot.”

“You did?”

“Yep.”

You swallowed hard. “So, it is my fault.”

He huffed out a sigh. “Can you quit that? I turned down sex to come sit on the ground with you, and you know what? In any case I would always rather be here with you. Panic attack or not. You could literally just ask me to sit on the ground with you and I would always say yes.”

“Well, that’s just dumb.”

He pulled your head towards his chest, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“You always see right through me like I’m a dang department store window. Now, of all times, is when you decide to just… Not get it.”

You played with the buttons of his dress shirt and quirked a brow.

“What the heck are you talking about?”

“You know, I thought you might get it all the times I asked you to come get dinner or coffee with me. Or maybe every time I come bother you and stick around way longer than I normally would with anyone else— and that’s saying something. I was really hoping you’d get it when we were holding hands on our walk today, but of course not.”

He laughed, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head before he pulled back to look at you. You watched him with wide eyes, questioning his intentions and hoping you weren’t somehow still misreading this.

“You gonna make me say it?” He asked with a smile.

“I’d prefer if you did.”

He laughed, shaking his head. He then looked up at the ceiling, trying to search for the right words to say. They must have come to him, because he looked back to you, and simply stared for a minute before he finally started talking.

“You’re one of the kindest people I know. Like, Mr. Rogers reincarnated. You always know how to cheer me up. You always know how to help me, and everyone else in your life, somehow. I think you’re incredible. I think you are so funny and so talented and crazy smart. I even think you’re stupidly gorgeous when you’ve got makeup running all over your cheeks,” he said with a laugh, then continued when he got reassurance from your smiling face. “I’ve been scared to get close to anyone since… Since the divorce. You made it so easy, though. I’ve known you forever, but now— I guess I just realized a few months ago that nobody’s ever been there for me like you. You never tell me I’m too much. You never expect me to be… I don’t know. You don’t ever expect me to be on all the time. I can just be me, good or bad, and you still treat me the same.”

You watched him with a rapidly beating heart. Though, this time, it wasn’t telling you to run. It wanted nothing more than for you to stay right where you were.

“That’s something the Doc told me. That we’re good for each other because of that,” you said quietly.

He nodded. “I know, and she’s right. She helped me realize I had feelings for you. Real feelings.”

You bit your lip, then grinned. “Are you gonna crack a joke any time soon? Because all of this serious from you is becoming a little scary.”

His face lit up, and he laughed. You smiled with him, leaning into him for a hug. He held you close, taking in several deep breaths and enjoying the moment, then kissed your cheek as he pulled back again.

“Uh, so… Is this just gonna be me confessing and you get to sit there and tell me to do a crap ton of Hail Mary’s?”

You smiled. “There’s my Ted.”

His brows raised. “Your Ted, huh?”

You laughed, wiggling out of his grip. He let you, and you stood up, reaching for him. He stood with you, not letting go of your hands.

“You’re not going to let go of my hand to check a nonexistent message again, right?”

You smiled, looking down. “You caught that?”

“I can read you almost as well as you can read me. I knew something was up.”

You shook your head, walking into him and wrapping him in a hug again.

“I see things are a little better now,” Beard said, leaning against the doorframe of the office.

You let go of Ted, turning towards Beard.

“Hey. I’m sorry about—”

He held up a hand. “Don’t be. I was kind of being an ass anyways.”

You gave him a tight lipped smile, nodding a little.

“You two figure out… All that business?” He asked, pointing between the two of you.

Ted smiled, “Yeah, we did.”

“Good.”

He waved and left with that, the two of you alone once more.

Ted grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers with yours.

“Let’s go home and maybe… Clean up. We kind of look crazy,” he smiled.

“Can we head to mine first? I want to get out of this dress.”

“Why don’t we just go to mine?”

He raised his brows in question, and you couldn’t help but smile. Now at least you didn’t have to pretend you didn’t think he was adorable.

“I need clothes.”

He quirked a brow. “I think you’d look awfully cute in my clothes.”

You laughed, “Okay, fair enough.”

“Ready to go home, then, sweetpea?”

“Of course.”

[caramara3]

Just Friends...? Meet the Cast

Imani Cove: WWE Superstar, "The BluePrint", 4-time Women's Champion, longest reigning former NXT Women's Champion & 2-time WWE Women's Tag Team Champion

Damian Priest: WWE Superstar, The Archer of Infamy; 2-time RAW/Smackdown Tag Team Champion, 1-time United States Champion, former NXT North American Champion, & Member of the Judgment Day

Rhea Ripley: Imani Cove's best friend; current WWE Women's World Champion & member of the Judgment Day

Evangeline Whitley aka Mama Eva: Imani & Nylah's grandmother; former vocalist for Stevie Wonder, Diana Ross, & various others

Charles Whitley Sr. aka Pops: Imani & Nylah's grandfather; former trombone player for Stevie Wonder

Charles Whitley Jr: Imani's father; Grammy winning former guitarist for the likes of Michael Jackson, Lenny Kravitz, Janet Jackson, & Justin Timberlake

Renee Harlow-Whitley: Imani's stepmother; History professor at University of Houston

Nylah Raine Whitley: Imani's younger sister; a law student finishing her degree at Howard University

Adryan Whitley: Imani's half-brother; a sergeant in the United States Marine Corps

Jude Whitley: Imani's half-brother; a senior in college studying computer engineering

Marcus Frost: Imani's ex-fiancé; former Miami Dolphins running back, former Winnipeg Blue Bombers running back, currently plays for XFL Orlando Guardians

More characters to come...

TagList:

@beibigirl124 @bonni-98 @bossbitch-22 @queencherryberry @blueblazezz @just-another-personal-side-blog @southerngirl41 @abadbitchblogs @new-zealand-chic @miss-kuki-nz @shamaness11 @damiansgoodgirll @bigstrongblackheart @crossfitjesusinblackskinnyjeans @thedeboniardevistation @lavitabella87 @kultklassickiller @chaneajoyyy @mzv11 @yana3sworld @sisinever @gold--gucciempress @sassymox @msbigredmachine @terrortwinunicorn @cookiebelle @flawlessglamazon @wrestlingbabe @fivefootxo @adriennegabriella @joy-of-life88 @daniiwrites @pittieprincess22 @hotmessexpressssss @joannasteez @misslackey @babiidee28 @wrasslin-x @skyesthebomb @jstarr86 @papi-priest @royallyprincesslilly

[daughter-of-melpomene]

𝐑𝐄-𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆… 𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐂 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐒 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐖

❝ Paisley had wanted to be a hero since they were twelve years old. Like most kids in Gotham City, she had grown up hearing stories about the Batman roaming Gotham's dark streets every night, delivering justice and putting criminals away where they belonged. They had noted every new Robin, every new Batgirl, and been thrilled when Batwoman first arrived on the scene. But when the Green Arrow made his debut in Starling City, Paisley realized exactly what Gotham, even with all its badass black-clad angels of justice, was lacking.

Gotham needed an archer. And Paisley, twelve years old but already able to outshoot her professional archery instructor, was the just the person to give it one.

And so they had trained. She had spent every second of her spare time improving her shooting skills until she very well could have gone to the Olympics if they'd chosen, and working with the MMA instructor she'd begged their parents for when she'd turned fifteen until they were sure she was nearly on Batman's level. And on their twenty-third birthday, right after starting her second year of university, Paisley made their debut on Gotham's streets, taking down several muggers and thieves on her first night and capturing the attention of Gotham's media.

While the rest of Gotham was mainly amused by this new purple-clad vigilante calling themself Sagittarius (an archer! In Gotham! Can you believe it?) Jason Todd was intrigued. He'd seen the videos; this chick had major skills, and he wanted to know who she was. And as it turned out, she wasn't that hard to find. A first meeting occurred while sharing the takedown of a drug shipment, a conversation happened, and an agreement was reached: neither young vigilante particularly wanted to be a sidekick or a partner, but there was no shame in lending or taking a hand whenever they crossed paths, right?

Two years later, Paisley's nighttime career, as well as their deal with Red Hood, is still going strong. She works as an secretary at Wayne Industries during the day, slings arrows by night, and pretty much always hopes to run into the scarlet-hooded anti-hero, who isn't nearly as cold and intimidating as the public seems to think. But with every assist, every trading of back-and-forth banter, they can't help but wonder even more: who is this dry-witted gunslinger, and how can she be this attracted to him when they've never even seen his face?

Well, Paisley supposes, nothing is ever normal or unconfusing in Gotham. And when you're a vigilante, even less so. ❞

General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom, @foxesandmagic, @artemisocs, @reyofluke-ocs, @endless-oc-creations, @stanshollaand, @ginnystilinski-reblogs, @luucypevensie, @ginger-grimm, @arrthurpendragon, @fakedatings, @impales, @claryxjackson, @dancingsunflowers-ocs, @eddysocs, @lucys-chen, @ocappreciationtag. (Also tagging @xoteajays.)

[sloaaaa]

i enjoy toxic yuri mafuena as much as the next person but sometimes i wish people would focus more on how ena takes care of mafuyu. like when ena held her hand in one of the guiding a list child card stories. or when she was telling mafuyu to move when the light turned green in that one area conversation. they complement each other in so many different ways that's so fucking good and idk how to put it into words and i want to explode

[tozettastone]

When people are like "is this the author's real life kink?" they are usually miles away from the truth.

Buuuut I think a lot of the time "is this the author's real life minor frustration that is adding a regrettable flavour of reality to this depiction of (sex/driving/arts/sea travel/medical appointments/etc)?" is secretly a much, much better question.

Me, lately:

"Hey!" His fingers closed on nothing. "Give those back!" "In a moment. Don't be so impatient." Szayelaporro drifted closer. He was holding one of the lenses up to his own golden eye and squinting through it — backwards, to accommodate his own glasses, which Uryū very belatedly realised were fake. Of course he'd known intellectually it was a hollow mask, but in the back of his mind, it had simply registered as what it looked like: spectacles. "Oh, I see. Your eyes don't focus the light properly. You wear these to accommodate your deficiency, then, and not as simply a stylish accessory... But this is a significant degree of distortion," he added, disapproving. "How defective is your pathetic human body?" Frowning, he turned and waved his hand in front of Uryū's face. "I can see that!" Uryū leaned back.

--

Uryū took the opportunity to retreat, scrambling to collect his glasses from the floor beside the bed in record time. He crammed them onto his face just the fourth espada's hostile spiritual pressure crashed down upon him. It felt like the sky was falling.

--

"...I thought those were part of your face," Mila Rose said slowly. None of the others took the time to scathingly contradict her, which seemed to indicate that she was not the only arrancar of this opinion. "Like Szayelaporro."

This fic contains a lot of sex and our hero is constantly taking his glasses off and regretting it three seconds later. Art imitates life. In this way.

[shadowdaddies]

hi love!! can i request a professor!au with feyre where she gives reader a lesson on nude drawing?? she would enlighten her on the female anatomy… 👀

omg art professor Feyre has me in a chokehold. I'm obsessed with this, truly😅💜

The Study of Movement

professor!Feyre x f!Reader smut (modern AU)

Warnings: smut, oral f!receiving, minors dni

Rubbing your sweaty palms against the fabric of your dress, you peered through the doorway to the art classroom. You’d been failing in your class, Drawing the Human Figure, and Professor Archeron specifically requested that you come in during office hours for one-on-one discussion.

The blush that dusted your cheeks was immediate as you took in the stunning woman sitting at her desk, golden brown hair pinned back revealing her low-cut shirt as she scoured over paperwork. Shuffling forward into the room, you adjusted the strap of your art satchel, heart pounding nervously.

“Professor?” you managed to ask meekly, breath hitching in your throat as grey-blue eyes glanced up, their focus on you. It was no wonder why you were failing in this course - every time Professor Archeron looked at you, your mind emptied, unable to focus on your work.

She hit you with a disarming smile as she stood gracefully from her desk, long legs striding towards the center of the room. The space was set up as usual for class, with students’ easels in a semi-circle around the velvet couch where the reference models posed. 

“You can call me Feyre while it’s just us, sweetheart,” she spoke, prowling around the back of the sofa, her hands grazing the velvet fabric along the furniture. She sat on the arm of the couch, legs crossed as she silently assessed you. 

“You may take a seat,” she nodded towards the easel in the center of the room. “I asked you to meet me here for office hours to discuss your movement. Your drawings are stiff, they lack the fluidity of human motion. Do you understand?”

Biting your lip, you sat on the stool, sliding your satchel off your shoulder as you pulled your drawing pad out to set on the easel in front of you. “I think so. You’re saying my drawings look lifeless, more like mannequins? I try to capture movement, but I just feel like I struggle to actually see the flow of it - how muscles move, hair... I don’t know.”

Feyre gave you an approving nod, a small smile gracing her face as she studied you. “I think you need more practice with observing movement. Maybe you feel too rushed during class. Do you have time now to practice?”

You nodded, settling into your seat as you anticipated whatever she had planned for you. Or so you thought. 

A gleam shone in her blue eyes, Feyre smirking at you as she whispered a “good girl,” undoing her hair and standing up to unbutton her blouse. 

“Profess- Feyre,” you stuttered, cheeks turning red. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away, her full breasts strained against the silvery lace of her bra. Your breaths grew shallow as she continued to strip in front of you, tongue flicking out absentmindedly over your lower lip as you took in her form, bared to you save her bra and underwear.

With a smirk, Feyre laid against the sofa, back arched dramatically as her long hair splayed out beneath her. “You are here to watch and learn, pet,” she murmured, stretching out along the sofa, a soft sigh leaving her lips as her head tipped back against the cushions. 

“Watch my muscles, the way that my body moves. Tell me how my hair flows, my legs, my breasts,” she whispered, hands sliding up and down her form as she twisted around in the cushions to face you.

With a shaky exhale, you dared yourself to focus on each part of her body - the way her hair draped like silk over her shoulder, the folds of her stomach as her hips shifted, the toned muscles of her legs. Her breasts were pressed together, covered by her bra. Your gaze lingered there for a moment, mind working to understand how her flesh would move and appear if it were free from the confines of her undergarments.

A silky soft laugh left your professor’s lips, pure amusement glittering in her eyes. “You are enjoying this, aren’t you?” she teased.

Panicking, you tried to alleviate the awkwardness you felt from the situation - being so inappropriately attracted to your professor. “N-no, ma’am. I mean, yes, but not like that. I just...”

“You just...?” Feyre teased, biting her lip as she flipped onto her stomach, her perfect ass on display as she laid her head against the pillows.

“I... see the movement, of your legs, your hair. But, um- I’m stuck on your breasts. Oh my god, I mean I don’t know how to draw them! Like, how they’d fall in that position. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

You broke off mid-sentence as Feyre leaned up slightly, her eyes never leaving yours as she unclasped her bra, letting it fall to the ground. “Is that better, pet?” she purred.

Your pussy clenched around nothing as you found it impossible to hide your arousal by this point. “Yes, ma’am,” you breathed, hand shaking too much to hold your pencil properly. 

“You are still so stiff,” Feyre taunted you, her gaze roving over your tense form. “I think it would help if you loosened up as well. Come here, pet,” she cooed, crooking a finger at you. 

You couldn’t think straight, so overcome by the image of her splayed out on the couch, bare before you. Your feet led you to stand near her, hands woven in front of you as you awaited her next direction. 

“Loosen up,” she reminded you, her hands taking yours, sliding her fingers up your arms as she opened your body to her, and hers to you. “Good girl,” she praised, releasing her hold on you to lean back against the sofa, lounging like a queen before you. 

“Would you like to join me?” she whispered, eyes darkening as she gestured to the couch. “You can take off your clothes. Feel the freedom, the movement of your body. Unrestricted.”

You swallowed thickly, not allowing yourself to overthink as you pulled your dress over your head. A smug grin settled on her full lips, her tongue flicking out as she noticed your lack of bra.

“Beautiful,” she whispered. “Come, sit.”

You sat down on the couch, self conscious as you glanced to where she lay slumped, so comfortable in her own skin. “You are stiff again. What feels natural for you now? Follow your instincts,” she guided, eyes earnest as she gently nudged you.

“I- I want to touch you,” you whispered, eyes raking over her body. You craved her soft skin, her warmth, her wet mouth on you. “Please,” you practically begged, the wetness pooling in your underwear uncomfortable at this point.

Like a spider who caught you in her web, Feyre nodded, leaning flat against the velvet in invitation. “Touch me however you please, pet,” she purred.

Quickly pulling her panties down, you kneeled over her for a moment, simply allowing yourself the indulgence of seeing her laid bare underneath you. Sliding your hands up her smooth thighs, you hooked her legs over each edge of the couch, tracing lightly along her skin. You smirked at the hitch in her breath as your fingertips as you skated around her core, sliding your body along hers as you lowered yourself to her.

“You are so beautiful, I can’t focus in class because of you,” you admitted, hand brushing through her long hair, trailing down her jawline. 

Feyre gasped underneath you, rolling her hips against your own. “Then we will have to see each other outside of class more,” she breathed.

You nodded, biting your lip. “I think that might work,” you murmured, lowering your lips to where your fingers had just brushed her jaw, trailing wet kisses down her throat, in between her perfect breasts. Sitting up slightly, you cupped each of her breasts in your hands, running your thumbs over her nipples as you ground your hips against hers.

“God, I need to taste you,” you murmured, lowered your mouth to her left breast as you flicked your tongue over the peaked bud. She moaned, writhing underneath you as her hand wrapped around the back of your head.

“Take what you need, pet,” she whimpered, hand subtly pushing your head down. You chuckled against her, taking the hint as you moved to the other breast, making quick work of licking and tugging the nipple, blowing cold air over the skin as you enjoying her squirming at the sensation.

Kissing your way down the soft skin of her stomach, you paused above her pussy, pried open and dripping for you. Drawing one finger up her core, you felt your own arousal grow against your underwear as you sucked on the digit, moaning at the taste of her. 

“Please, love I-“ Feyre began to beg, but you didn’t allow her to finish before licking a broad stripe up her center, hand pinning her hips to the sofa as you thrusted your tongue inside of her. Gathering her slick, you moved to her clit, spitting on the bud before wrapping your lips around it. You sucked in a pulsating rhythm, flicking your tongue out as she moaned lewdly under you. Pushing in one finger, you swirled against her walls, stretching her out before adding the second. Curling your fingers, you found the spot that had her head tipped back, perky breasts arched, chest heaving as she came undone under your touch.

Pulling your fingers to your mouth, you grinned around them as you envisioned the drawing you could create of this moment. Catching her breath, Feyre looked up at you from where she lay, a knowing smile playing on her lips. Her hand reached out, tugging the waistband of your underwear as she pulled you up towards her.

“Hurry up and sit on my face already,” she murmured, impatiently tugging as she helped you shimmy the fabric off quickly. Hands found your hips, pulling you down where you could feel her warmth breath against your core.

A small mewl escaped you, clenching as you dripped onto her face. “Oh my god, you are perfect,” she muttered, tongue flicking out as she lapped at your pussy. Moaning loudly, you gripped the sofa as she pulled you further down, her nose pressed against your clit as her tongue thrust inside of you, back and forth.

Head thrown back in ecstasy, you felt the muscles in your body tighten as her tongue found your clit, fingers plunging into your core as she urged you to ride her face. With a shuddering breath, you moaned her name, reaching your high before collapsing next to her with shaky legs. Blue eyes locked on yours, shy laughs leaving both of you as you remembered where you were. 

“So, do you have a better understanding of movement, or would you like to come back for office hours in the future?” Feyre questioned softly, almost nervously.

You dared to reach a hand out, brushing her golden hair behind her ear. “I think that I understand movement, and that I would like to come back in the future. Maybe outside of office hours.”

Her answering smile sent butterflies through you, and you pulled her close for a lingering kiss, committing this moment to memory, for you would draw, paint, sculpt it for years to come.

[goodlucktai]

raised on little light (2/3)

rise of the tmnt word count: 4k pairing: mikey & oc big thank you to  @soldrawss for the art included in this chapter and to  @mykimouser for making me insane about neutral!michelangelo at all hours of the day title borrowed from northern attitude by noah kahan read on ao3

x

2031

Mikey is looking for his little brother. It seems like he spends half his life doing that these days. 

The TV is on in Splinter’s room, door ajar but equally as unapproachable as the door to Donnie’s lab, which is shut tight, as usual. Raph’s door is standing open, but his room is empty, because he leaves early for work on the weekdays. 

Mikey maneuvers past the closed doors and empty rooms like a professional. He doesn’t even have to think too hard about it anymore. 

Rounding the corner to the dining room, Mikey’s stride slows and relief punches an exhale out of him. He doesn’t realize how tense he is until he deflates like a balloon. 

Gio is asleep at the table, face half-buried in his folded arms, crossbow and maintenance supplies spread out in front of him. It’s disappointing, but not surprising. He rarely stays in his own room, as if he’s afraid of taking up space that isn’t really his. As if they’re going to change their mind and tell him they do still need it for storage, actually, and he wants to be ready when they do. Mikey’s pretty sure he never fully unpacked his bag. 

Sometimes he leaves the lair entirely, and since he’s the most unreliable texter Mikey knows, and has never met a phone call he would answer without a gun held to his head, he might as well fall completely off the grid each time he’s gone. Mikey stays up on those nights, keeping busy in the kitchen, worrying worrying worrying. 

He feels too much like Raph when he doesn’t know where the kid is. He understands intimately how overbearing big brothers could be, remembers how a tiny rift had formed between him and Raph when they were young because of it—childish and inconsequential in the grand scheme of things to come, but devastating at the time. 

So he tries to channel Leo instead, who had always trusted Mikey to know when to ask for help if he needed it. Tries to make sure Gio never feels like he can’t come home again, with a smile ready for him as soon as he slips silently back through the door. 

But last night Gio must have stayed in. There’s a blanket draped over him that Mikey didn’t put there, and Splinter almost certainly hadn’t left his room to put there, which leaves two possible culprits. Raph and Donnie don’t know how to make gestures that Gio can see for what they are, hardly know how to be in the same room as the kid without seeing a ghost superimposed where he’s standing. It leaves a lot of the emotional heavy-lifting on Mikey’s shoulders, but it’s fine. A brother could never be a burden to him. 

Mikey can’t give Gio everything he deserves to have, everything that should have been his from the very beginning, but he can give him some things. 

And we’ll start, Mikey thinks with the kind of absurd resilience that wouldn’t have been out of place at the actual end of the world, with breakfast. 

Gio wasn’t trained in ninja like the rest of them were but his senses are as sharp as any other turtle genetically modified for war. Mikey woke him up with a touch once and the fear response only lasted a handful of seconds but it was enough that Mikey made the executive decision that no one would ever do that again, or else. 

Mikey pulls a chair out beside the smaller turtle and sinks into it soundlessly. He traces the newly-familiar white spots on that smoky gray-green face with his eyes, counting and recounting them, even though he knows how many there are. Everything about Gio is at once brand-new and well-loved to him. 

After a moment, the only other sound the ancient Snoopy clock counting seconds in the kitchen, Mikey starts to hum. Three little birds sat on my window…

He can’t help remembering another morning just like this one, what feels like a lifetime ago. Mikey, all of thirteen, had insisted on being woken up to make breakfast so he could try a new crumble muffin recipe, but he’d stayed up too late the night before and sleep clung stubbornly to him despite the row of alarms he’d set. Their resident insomniac had been the only one awake, by virtue of not having gone to bed in the first place, and he’d parked himself in the beanbag under Mikey’s hammock and hummed the same song over and over until Mikey woke up. He had it stuck in his head for the rest of the day. They sang “GIRL PUT YOUR RECORDS ON” in the kitchen at the top of their lungs until Donnie sent the group chat a PDF of a noise complaint form, completely filled out. 

Mikey hadn’t realized he was taking any of it for granted back then. He would do anything— anything—to wake up that way again. Just one more time. 

Beside him, Gio stirs. Once he’s awake he’s alert fast, those big dark eyes sliding open and staying that way, head coming up off the pillow of his arms. He has that look on his face that Mikey would be tempted to call earnest on anyone else. 

“Rise and shine, Clementine,” Mikey says brightly, reaching over to rub the back of his fingers against a spotted cheek affectionately. “I was craving breakfast empanadas today and was hoping my best sous chef would be willing to help me out.” Then, deliberately light-hearted, he adds, “Little turtles who skip dinner have to eat extra breakfast, you know. That’s house rule number one.”

Gio blinks at him, his face giving nothing away to the casual observer. 

“I thought house rule number one was ‘always get it in writing’.” 

Mikey’s smile widens, surprised and pleased every time he plays along. 

“That’s number three, actually. Right behind ‘don’t do anything you wouldn’t want recorded and replayed at family functions.’ If you want, I can tell you exactly why that one’s a rule, and why it’s entirely Donnie’s fault.”

Gio does that thing where he assesses Mikey’s expression and tone as though he’s looking for the trap. Mikey weathers it, makes sure his smile doesn’t slip an inch. 

Donatello is more of an urban legend to Gio than his actual living brother. After a few hesitant attempts to approach the older turtle that had been shut down completely each time, Gio made the informed decision that that road was closed permanently. 

Sometimes Mikey will tell a story, or April, on one of her increasingly sporadic visits to the lair, will lean over and show him a video on her phone, and Gio will listen or watch like he has no idea who the guy they’re talking about could possibly be. 

They do their best, but there’s no way to really introduce the Donnie that they know to Gio, because that Donnie only still exists in their stories and videos. The Donatello who was silly, who loved music and theater, who burst into the living room with some new invention or gadget to boast about, had been replaced by one who rarely spoke, who didn’t even have Spotify on his phone anymore since it took up too much space, who kept the lair running only because it was where his family lived but not because he had any lasting attachment to the place, and he certainly didn’t make any unnecessary tech just for fun. 

I know you’re still in there, Mikey thinks sometimes. 

He’ll bring Donnie lunch and leave it on the table in the lab, and then hold out his arms. Sometimes, Donnie won’t look at him. Sometimes, Donnie will put his tools down and let his little brother crowd in for a hug. He’ll tuck Mikey under his chin and hold him tight, like they were children again and nothing was wrong that couldn’t be made right. 

Thank you for staying, Mikey will think, clinging for every second he’s allowed to. I know it’s hard. It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. 

The grief is always encroaching, like floodwaters. Rising slow and steady, swallowing up cars and street signs and single level houses, changing the landscape of his hometown until it’s an unfamiliar place. No end in sight. No sign of land. 

Someone send us a boat, Mikey wants to cry hysterically. But he knows how stupid that is.

He is the boat. 

—

When he met Giorgio for the first time, Mikey was twenty-five and Leo had been dead for ten years.

“Sorry,” Mikey said. His fingers felt numb around the phone. “Could you say that again?”

“A turtle,” Hueso had replied shortly. “I would not have called, but he has familiar eyes. He is not aware of any family in the area. Would you like me to ask him to wait for you?”

Mikey hadn’t tried his portals again since the last disastrous time—since Raph had made him promise to stop—so he knew it couldn’t be Leo. He knew it. Hueso would be able to pick his sobrino out of a million turtles and would have led the call with that. And Leo wouldn’t have stopped for pizza before running back to them, he wouldn’t have stopped for anything. Leo would have been the one to let them know Leo was home. 

Still, there was a tiny warbling hope in the bottom of his heart that wailed “maybe, maybe, maybe.” Still, it hurt to feel that hope shrivel up and die when Mikey slammed into the private dining room and found Hueso talking to an unfamiliar mutant with white spots and a black shell and—it was undeniable—Hamato Yoshi’s eyes. 

The turtle was small, dressed in dark grays and greens, a strap across his chest that made it clear he was armed by something resting out of sight on his back. He stood with his arms crossed, in a manner that was probably supposed to read as stubborn or defiant, but Mikey clocked instantly as nervous. 

This kid didn’t know what he was doing here or who the hell Mikey was and he looked about as comfortable with all the attention as Donnie would have been at that age. 

Mikey felt himself soften, some distant part of his heart sitting in disuse and disrepair lurching to life again. Ancestral magic that he had largely turned his back on suddenly stirred, ninpo reaching out fragile feelers toward the person in the room that it recognized as immediately as if it was looking at its own self in a mirror. 

“This is one of my creations,” Draxum announced, confirming what Mikey’s heart had already decided. “It must have survived after all.”

“Elaborate,” Mikey said, in a tone that didn’t match the gentle smile he had for the spotted turtle. 

“How old are you?” the alchemist had asked instead, which seemed an odd first question to have and didn’t explain literally anything. 

“Eighteen,” the spotted turtle replied. Mikey’s brow made a bid for his hairline. He would have been less surprised if the kid had said fifteen. Was he that scrawny as an eighteen year old?

“You hatched at about the same time as the red one,” Draxum said dispassionately, “so you should have been about his age, and he is twenty-seven. And how did you come to be here?”

Gio’s eyes slid away from him, over to Mikey. Mikey didn’t know what his face was doing. He hoped it was encouraging. 

“I went through a yellow door,” Gio said. “And I ended up here.” 

“By yellow door, I’m assuming you mean a rift in space-time,” Draxum said. “What possessed you to walk into it?”

“Felt safe,” Gio said, and that was the last thing he said about it, expression closing up in a way Mikey was intimately familiar with as I’m done talking and liable to bite if provoked. But Draxum was a lot of things, genius among them, and seemed to already have an idea of what had happened. 

Portals could be capricious. The night of Splinter’s mutation and escape from the Hidden City, a machine in Draxum’s original lab had gone haywire as the structure collapsed. Draxum watched as it snatched up various tools and equipment and finally one of the experiment enclosures that Splinter had not been able to reach in time to save its occupant with the four he already carried. 

With the machine destroyed, it was impossible to even begin tracking the experiment down to wherever it had ended up. And there were unfortunately small odds that the creature would have survived long on its own wherever the portal deposited it. Draxum had written it off as dead. 

But there he was. Ten years displaced, but living and healthy and whole. Apparently he’d been in another dimension all this time, and only came back again because a portal he encountered had looked inviting. 

—

And now he’s in Mikey’s kitchen, listening studiously to his brother’s chatter and following instructions with exacting precision, still wearing the ridiculously oversized red sweater Mikey bundled him into the day before. It made Raph’s face do something funny when he saw Gio in it at lunch, but he hadn’t said anything when he saw Mikey hauling it out of the dryer earlier that morning, and he didn’t say anything at the table either.  

Over the years and countless wash cycles it’s been worn to unbelievable softness. It used to be that Raph couldn’t keep it in his closet if he tried, caught as it was in a constant rotation between little siblings who loved to wear it, floppy sleeves and sagging hem and all. It’s almost strange to see it again, here under the kitchen lights in this new country they all live in. 

Stealing clothes was a baby brother right of passage. And it was just collecting dust in storage anyway. 

Gio sees Mikey looking and glances down self-consciously. Then he jolts, and drops the ball of dough in his hands, lifting and twisting his left arm to put it more in the light. Near the elbow of the sleeve is a smudge of flour. 

He thumbs at the spot, preoccupied by it. His body language is shrinking because he always makes himself a smaller target when he starts to get anxious. 

One day, Mikey is going to find whoever taught him to do that and have words. For now, he rounds the island to Gio’s side and leans against it so he can duck down and peer into that little spotted face. He makes sure to plant his own elbow in the flour dusted across the butcher block counter, sending up a little poof of it as he does. 

“Hey, sweet kid, don’t worry about this old thing. It’s already been through everything you can possibly think of,” Mikey reassures, tweaking the hood playfully. “It survived the Paintball War of 2017, it’ll hold up to a little baking accident.”

Gio’s dark eyes lift to meet his, attentive and absorbing everything he sees and so, so careful. 

“Raphael won’t get mad?” 

Mikey keeps smiling, even though he’d like to start crying. 

Of course he won’t, he wants to say. He’s your big brother and he loves you. He’d move heaven and earth for you. He doesn’t know how to say it these days—he doesn’t trust himself to hold people the way he used to, doesn’t know who he is anymore since the shield he used to be was broken—but he’s still Raph. Our Raphie. I promise, it’s still him. 

Gio had never been lifted up into strong arms and tossed in the air until he laughed, caught safely and held tight like those arms would never get tired of holding him. He had never crawled under the blankets in a room humming and blinking with electronics after a nightmare, resting his head on a broad shoulder and falling asleep to a low voice rattling off his favorite explanation of gravity—a force that held everything down, pulled everything together, that could always be counted upon to keep you. He had never snuck out for brunch, just him and someone who saw him more clearly than he could ever see himself, who knew when a stack of French toast and a string of Snapchat selfies and a little mischief was exactly what he needed. 

Gio had never had any of that. He had been alone since he was freshly mutated and abandoned by pure chance, and now he was barely nineteen and he didn’t know how else to be. He didn’t have the first clue, but he was so willing to learn. He soaked up attention like a plant starved for sunlight, petals reaching endlessly for an end to the dark.  

I wish you had been there, Mikey thinks sometimes when he looks at him, heart breaking with the truth of it. We would have held you. You wouldn’t even know how to be alone. You wouldn’t be worried about a stain on a sweater. 

“He won’t get mad,” Mikey says instead. He channels his most charming brother, the one who could sell water to a fish, who could talk his way out of anything, who convinced his family to keep hoping even when all hope seemed lost. “And hey, if he brings it up, we’ll just blame the cat.” 

The corner of Gio’s mouth twitches, and then he smiles despite himself, as buoyed along as Mikey always was when Leo was silly with him, and says, “We don’t have a cat.” 

“Maybe I’ve just been waiting for an excuse to get one!” 

At that point, a burst of white noise from the living room cuts over whatever Gio might have been about to say. It sounds like the roar of wind from an open window of a car going seventy down the highway. It cuts off, and then something clatters noisily, and Gio’s reluctantly amused expression vanishes into alarm. 

They don’t exactly get a lot of surprise visitors down here. He wouldn’t recognize the familiar sound of transportation-by-time-scepter, followed by the even more familiar sound of its clumsy wielder tripping and knocking something over immediately upon arrival. 

“Oops—helloooo?” 

“In here, Renet,” Mikey calls back, nudging his shoulder into Gio’s so he knows not to worry. 

The timestress bumbles in, scepter tucked into the crook of her arm so she has both hands free to fix her braids. She’s smiling all big and crooked and sweet, mouth open to greet Mikey the same enthusiastic way she always greets him, but she stops dead in the doorway when she catches sight of the second turtle in the room. 

Renet takes one look at Gio and says, “Oh! Well, you don’t belong here at all, do you?”

It’s been a long time since Mikey has felt like screaming at her, but the way his little brother absorbs that blow without flinching is enough to get him on his feet. 

“Hey, Nettie, can we talk in the hall?” he says with a brightness he doesn’t feel. “Georgie, I’ll be right back, okay?”

Gio dips his head in a nod, slowly rolling dough in his hands again, and Renet follows Mikey out of the room like someone who knows they’re about to face the firing squad. 

“I did not mean it like that,” is the first thing she says when it’s just the two of them. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Mikey does know that somewhere in the back of his mind. Renet is his friend and she’s never been anything but kind to him. If they had met when they were children, they probably would have gotten along like a house on fire. 

There was a time when he only saw the best in people, but the idealism had been carved out of Mikey when his portal to the prison dimension failed to open.

Some days, Mikey looks at Renet and can only see the person with time itself at her disposal, the past and future spread out like a choose-your-own-adventure book—the person with the power to help, to change things, who took Mikey’s countless, desperate pleas to be allowed to save his brother and held them tenderly like they were important to her and still told him no. 

Some days, that “no” is the most significant thing she ever said to him. 

“He’s my brother,” Mikey says. “He belongs wherever we are.” 

“Of course he does,” Renet says, brown eyes soft. “Mike, of course he does. That’s not what I meant.”

When they move back into the kitchen, introductions are made properly, and Renet makes it a point to clarify that she’s glad to finally meet him. 

Giorgio is watching them with those eyes that take in everything. Deep and trusting when he looks at Mikey, sharpening into something calculative when he shifts his gaze toward Renet. 

Looking back, Mikey will recognize it as the moment he lost him. 

“Smells pretty good in here, boys!” Renet says, swanning over to the stovetop. “Oh, is that chorizo? Mike, tell me you’re not making empanadas! I already ate on my way over!” 

“Then you won’t need to stay for breakfast,” Mikey sing-songs, feathers still ruffled. Then, because he feels bad for the way she deflates at the blatant dismissal, adds, “If you want to stick around, you can take some back with you to Null Time. Just don’t let that jerk Savanti have any, I don’t like his vibe.” “I swear,” Renet says, hand to her heart. 

“You talk about time travel like it’s something you can do,” Gio says suddenly. “Is it?”

The air in the room suddenly feels much thinner than before. Renet looks at Mikey quickly before answering.

“Sure, Gio. I’m a timestress—or, you know, I’m a student now. Basically an unpaid intern. But one of these days I’ll be the real deal.” She winks at him, and Gio gazes back at her placidly. 

“So you could send someone back in time? To stop something bad from happening?”

Oh, no, Mikey thinks. 

“I could,” Renet says. To her credit, she doesn’t sound as bone-tired of this conversation as she must be. “But I can’t. There are so many rules, and for good reason! One little slip-up could be an absolute disaster. It won’t do you any good trying to change the past if you end up destroying the present and the future while you’re at it, right? I’m barely allowed to look at this thing, much less use it,” Renet goes on, wagging the priceless time scepter around like it’s a rubber spatula. 

“But you could,” Gio says. “If we followed all the rules. If we figured out a way—”

“Georgie,” Mikey interjects. 

“I’ll tell you what I told Mike, baby,” Renet says gently. “It can’t be done. He belongs here.” 

Gio says, “But I don’t. You said that.”

“Stop,” Mikey says, not recognizing his own voice. 

But it’s too late. It was too late when he tried to open a door inside the prison dimension, because Leo was already dead inside. 

He was already dead inside, Draxum had said, clinical in a way that helped to distance himself from the hurt, but also distanced himself from the ones hurting, clinical in a way that made Mikey bare his teeth and say things he couldn’t take back. That’s why you couldn’t reach him. It wasn’t your fault. There wasn’t a point for you to anchor off of, there was no other end for your line to reach. He was already dead inside. He was already gone. 

Mikey stares at Gio, the tuck of his chin as he looks back down at the dough on the counter. He’s unwilling to argue with Mikey, but that stubbornness is an innate family trait. There’s no way he’ll give it up now that he’s got his teeth sunk into the idea. Mikey knows what it looks like when a brother is about to leave. Mikey knows what it feels like when they’re already gone.   

When he was younger, he was so angry. He was bursting with potential, with possibilities, his magic a wounded, snarling creature in his heart. It’s not fair that he failed. It’s not fair that he didn’t save his brother, that his love wasn’t enough to punch through the prison dimension and wrap Leo in warmth and light and bring him home. It’s not fair that no one was willing to help him. 

Fine, he had thought, fine! I’ll do it myself! 

Renet had explained to him over and over that his power had more to do with space than time. Casey Jr. said that he’d been sent back in time by his Uncle Michelangelo, but that wasn’t necessarily true. Casey’s arrival in the past had created another universe, parallel to the former. That was Mikey’s power—he could affect and even create other timelines, which was powerful and amazing, but not true time travel. Nothing he did could change his own reality, the one he was living in, because he had already lived it. He couldn’t get back what he had lost. 

Mikey plunged ahead anyway, desperate. He could make it work. He could make a change. Even if it didn’t change anything here, he could find another world and save its Leo and—and maybe that could be a start. Maybe he would finally get his head up above water, and stop drowning for just one second of the day, maybe he’d be able to take a full breath for the first time since his brother disappeared on the other side of a closed door.  

He didn’t wait for permission or approval. He slunk off into a tunnel a mile away from home and drew the circles himself. Lifted his hands and filled them with power, until it felt like he was holding the sun. And it hurt, of course it did. It burned all the way through. But he was hurting anyway. 

A portal opened, a pale yellow window. Mikey looked through it, and saw himself on Staten Island, ripping open a hole in the universe and saving his brother. 

What?

He looked again, over and over, at least half a dozen times—and every time, he looked into a universe where Leo didn’t die. Where Mikey saved him, or Raph scooped him up before he went diving off the Technodrome to catch Mikey and Donnie, or Donnie flew back up to Leo with a rocket and yanked him back through the door before Casey managed to close it. Over and over and over, Leo didn’t die. 

So it’s just me, Mikey realized. I’m the one who got it wrong. 

Raph followed the detonation of ninpo and hysterical screaming through the maze-like tunnels and found him suspended in midair. Rock and rebar were flying around Mikey, everything not nailed to the earth turned dangerous projectiles, his arms burning and flaking away into pieces that disintegrated when they met open air. 

His big brother’s expression had been terrified as he pulled Mikey down into his arms and held him through the shrieking storm he’d made. One hand on the back of his head to keep his face tucked safely into Raph’s scarred shoulder, the other arm cradling him like he was half his age, like he was still someone’s baby. 

“Angie, it’s okay,” Raph had said, low and aching. His voice was a rumble beneath Mikey’s ear, barely audible but just loud enough. “It’s okay. You can scream, you can bring the whole damn city down if you want. But you gotta let go, sunshine. Let go, Mikey.” 

I don’t want to I don’t want to I don’t want to I don’t want to! Mikey wailed, clutching at Raph’s jacket with hands that felt like two white-hot points of pure agony, clinging, holding on. If he let go, Leo stayed gone. If he let go, he really didn’t love Leo enough to save him. 

But Raph pressed his cheek to the top of Mikey’s head, and his next breath shuddered in his chest, and he whispered, “I know you don’t want to, I know. But this isn’t gonna save him. You’re just hurting yourself and L—Leo would hate that. He’d tell you to stop.” One hand crept over to cover both of Mikey’s, squeezing them tight. “Come on, big man. It’s okay. Let go.” 

He let go. The magic faded, dropping everything it had picked up back to the tunnel floor with dull thuds. His hands spasmed wildly, grip nonexistent, and Raph just kept holding them as he carried Mikey home. 

Mikey sobbed for the rest of the night, what felt like hours and hours. Raph reverted to turtle sounds when nothing he said seemed to get through, and Donnie crept under the blanket and plastered himself to Mikey’s carapace so that they had “A little citrus sandwich!” Leo would cheer, the silliest and sweetest turtle in the world until Mikey finally cracked a smile. 

His family made him promise not to try again. It’s not worth it, they said, a unified front—and as much as the words hurt Mikey to hear, it must have hurt his siblings and father just as much to say them. We can’t lose anyone else, they were ready to beg, because they didn’t know it was his fault Leo was gone. They didn’t understand how badly he’d failed them all. If they did, they wouldn’t have been so grimly determined to protect Mikey’s life from his own hands. 

It felt like a betrayal at the time, but he understands now. 

It’s not worth it, he thinks, staring at Gio. I can’t lose anyone else, he’s ready to beg. 

But Mikey knows what it looks like when a brother is about to leave. Mikey knows what it feels like when they’re already gone. 

What he doesn’t know is how to love someone well enough to keep them.