#fic: the archer

[rose-of-oz]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PAISLEY HARLOW!!

DC Comics OC — born May 11th, 2000

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

@artemisocs, @reyofluke-ocs, @endless-oc-creations, @stanshollaand,

@ginnystilinski-reblogs, @luucypevensie, @ginger-grimm, @arrthurpendragon,

@fakedatings, @impales, @claryxjackson, @dancingsunflowers-ocs, @eddysocs,

@lucys-chen, @ocappreciationtag.

[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

[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!)

[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. 

[maaxverstappen]

help me hold onto you | T | 9/13

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

[chevyslate158]

Pleasantries of 'Love' 18+ (Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Reader) Chapter 1 - Gilded Beginnings

A/n: Hey everyone! First off, I want to apologise for taking so long to upload this chapter. I’ve been working on a bunch of drafts, so you’ll have plenty of content to enjoy over the holidays! 🎄✨ I promise I’ll be uploading them very soon, so stay tuned!

I hope you enjoy this chapter of Pleasantries of 'Love' and I’m looking forward to sharing the next one with you all. 😌💖 Also, I’ll be uploading a finished draft of a short story featuring Coriolanus either tonight or tomorrow (you’re not gonna want to miss it!). 📖✨ As for Threads of Freedom, the next chapter will be up later this week, along with many more updates! 😍

Thanks for your patience, and I can’t wait to hear what you think! 💕

Word Count: 6.7k words Warnings: Power Imbalance, fixation, manipulation, obsession themes, social pressure, unrequited affection, control, age gap, gendered expectation, objectification, traditional expectations, coercion, underlying threat, unhealthy relationship dynamics (Coriolanus and Reader), eventual smut and eventual arranged marriage

The gilded ballroom brimmed with grandeur, its opulence almost overwhelming. Y/n stood near the edge of the crowd, marvelling at the way the crystal chandeliers sparkled like stars. Her breath hitched slightly, her nerves fluttering as the hum of conversation rose and fell around her. The string quartet’s melody soothed her, and she clasped her hands tightly to steady herself, her soft blush gown swaying gently with her every movement. She adored how the dress reminded her of spring blossoms, modest yet quietly radiant, like the life she lived.

Her eyes scanned the room, widening slightly at the decadent displays of wealth: trays of delicacies she had never seen before, diamonds glittering on throats, wrists and ears. A warm smile touched her lips when someone greeted her, and though their words often carried subtle barbs, she responded with kindness nonetheless. Politics and power games weren’t her nature; instead, she revelled in small, sincere exchanges. That is why she had such a small group of friends. Her upbringing had taught her the strength of humility and the beauty of honesty, even in a room filled with the opposite.

Y/n’s family lingered nearby, her father standing protectively at her side while her mother and young sister basked in the excitement of the evening. Her two closest friends, Clara and Rose, whispered animatedly about the attendees, their eyes sparkling as they tried to guess who wore which designer dress or who was the cutest couple at the event. Y/n giggled softly at their speculations, feeling a surge of gratitude for their company.

Rose twirled a lock of her auburn hair around her finger, her lips curving into a mischievous grin. “Clara and I have decided we’re going to rank the best-dressed couples here tonight. Starting with them.” She tilted her head toward a striking pair near the centre of the room, their coordinated gold and ivory ensembles gleaming under the chandelier light.

Clara scoffed playfully. “Oh, please. They’re trying too hard. Look at her necklace—three layers of diamonds? Overkill!” She pointed subtly with her glass of sparkling cider. “Now, they,” she gestured to another couple near the banquet table, “look perfect. That midnight blue suit with her silver gown? Subtle and classy. No one’s outshining the other.”

Y/n chuckled softly at their analysis, letting their animated chatter ease her nerves. “I’m impressed you two know so much about Capitol fashion. I wouldn’t have the faintest idea who designed what.”

“That’s why you’ve got us,” Rose quipped, nudging Y/n again. “We’ll make sure you’re the best-dressed at every event from now on.” She paused, glancing toward a group of sharply dressed young men by the bar. “Speaking of, is it just me, or are we getting a lot of looks tonight?”

Clara smirked, tossing her blonde curls over her shoulder. “You’re not imagining it. I caught at least two of them glancing our way just now. Maybe they’ve never seen real beauty before.”

Y/n rolled her eyes with a laugh. “You two are ridiculous. They’re probably just wondering why we’re hovering by the wall like shy schoolgirls.”

Rose gasped dramatically. “Excuse me? I’m surveying the room. It’s called being strategic.” She turned toward Y/N with a sly grin. “And besides, you should be flattered. Half the men in here can’t take their eyes off you. Including, might I add, a certain very important man.”

Y/n’s cheeks flushed immediately. “Stop it,” she protested, shaking her head. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” Rose teased, her voice sing-song. “He’s looking again. Right now.”

Y/n’s heart fluttered as Clara leaned in conspiratorially. “You should practice your curtsy. Who knows, you might end the night with a dance from President Snow himself.”

“I’ll do no such thing!” Y/n whispered back, mortified, though her friends’ laughter made it impossible to stay annoyed. They teased her mercilessly, but the warmth of their camaraderie eased the tension in her chest. For a moment, she allowed herself to giggle along with them, the weight of the evening forgotten—until the thought of his piercing blue eyes lingered just a little too long in her mind.

Y/n’s laughter faded as curiosity tugged at her brows furrowing ever so slightly. Was he truly looking at me? Gathering what little courage she could muster, she dared to glance in his apparent direction. Her breath caught in her throat the moment her eyes found him. President Snow stood near a marble column, a glass of deep red wine cradled effortlessly in one hand. The tailored crimson suit he wore seemed to command the attention of the room, the deep hue a stark contrast to his fair complexion and icy blue eyes. The jacket’s sharp lapels framed his broad shoulders, his polished appearance exuding an air of quiet authority that made her stomach flutter.

His features were a study in precision—strong, angular, and utterly unreadable. The slightest tilt of his head and the glint in his eye gave him an edge of mystery, as though he were privy to secrets the rest of the world would never uncover. He sipped his wine slowly, his gaze steady, and Y/N’s cheeks burned when she realised those piercing blue eyes were locked on hers once again.

For a moment, time seemed to slow. The noise of the ballroom faded into a distant hum, and all she could feel was the erratic rhythm of her heart as it skipped a beat, then another. His stare was unrelenting, both chilling and thrilling in its intensity. It was as though he could see straight through her, past her composed exterior, to the nervous energy buzzing beneath her skin.

She quickly looked away, her fingers tightening their grip on the folds of her dress. Butterflies fluttered wildly in her stomach, and her thoughts became a tangle of confusion and exhilaration. What was it about his gaze that made her feel both exposed and significant all at once? She hadn’t even spoken a word to him, yet somehow, she felt as though he had marked her as someone worth noticing.

Clara’s voice pulled Y/N from her daze, the teasing lilt unmistakable. “You’ve gone quiet. Let me guess—you’ve been captivated by someone across the room?”

Y/n blinked, trying to compose herself, but her thoughts were still tangled with the image of him—the sharp angles of his face, the commanding presence he exuded, and the way his icy blue eyes had held hers with such certainty. Her heart fluttered wildly, betraying her previously composed exterior. “I’m just… lost in thought,” she murmured, her voice softer than usual.

Rose, ever perceptive, wasn’t convinced. “Lost in thought? Or lost in someone?” she teased, her grin widening as she glanced knowingly in the direction Y/n had dared to look. “Don’t deny it—you’ve been sneaking glances at him.”

Y/n’s cheeks burned, and she clutched the fabric of her gown tightly to steady and ground herself. 

“That’s not true,” she whispered, though the heat rising to her face and the erratic rhythm of her heart told a different story. She couldn’t admit it—not to herself, not to anyone—but the way his eyes had lingered on her made her feel seen in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

Despite her original protest, curiosity got the better of her once more, and she found herself stealing another glance. Her heart nearly stopped when she caught him watching her again, his gaze steady and unrelenting. He raised his glass ever so slightly, the faintest smirk curling at the corner of his lips, as though he knew the effect he had on her.

The room felt suddenly smaller, the air heavier as though the wind was knocked out of her. Oh, dear God. Y/n’s thoughts spiralled as she quickly averted her gaze, her heart leaping to her throat. A rush of warmth spread across her cheeks, and her pulse thundered in her ears, betraying the composure she struggled to maintain.

Why does he keep looking at me? She wondered, her mind a whirlwind of nerves and wonder. She barely registered her friends’ continued chatter as her thoughts spiralled. Had she imagined the subtle acknowledgement? Or was it real?

Her hands trembled slightly as she clasped them together one over the other, her friends’ laughter blending into the background. She tried to calm the butterflies fluttering wildly in her chest, but her gaze kept drifting back to him, as though pulled by some invisible force.

The night passed in a whirlwind of introductions and pleasantries, her family eager to acquaint her with men her age. Her father, ever watchful, took it upon himself to steer her toward eligible bachelors, each introduction feeling more forced than the last. One was the son of a wealthy politician, another the heir to an influential Capitol family. Y/N smiled politely, exchanged the expected small talk, and nodded at all the right moments, but her heart wasn’t in it. The son of the wealthy politician was tall but slender, with soft brown hair that fell just above his ears, and wide, nervous emerald green eyes that never quite met hers. His clothes were well-tailored, though his fidgeting hands betrayed his shyness shifting from foot to foot, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment clearly aware that his father was trying to attempt to set him up.

“Y/n,” the young man began hesitantly, his voice soft and uneven as though it might crack at any moment. “It’s… it’s been a long time since we’ve talked. You look—uh—nice tonight.” His emerald eyes darted to hers briefly before dropping back to the floor.

“Thank you, Theodore,” Y/n replied with a kind smile, her tone gentle. She remembered him well enough—Theodore Alden, the quiet boy from her school years, always sitting at the back of the classroom with his head buried in books. “It’s good to see you again. You’ve done well for yourself, I hear.”

He flushed deeper, tugging nervously at his cuffs. “Oh, I… I don’t know about that. My father likes to, um, exaggerate.” He glanced toward where his father stood a few feet away, watching them with an encouraging but overbearing smile. “I just… I wanted to say, I always admired you. You were always so kind… and graceful.”

Y/n blinked in surprise at his honesty, a warmth rising in her chest at his sincerity. “That’s very sweet of you to say, Theodore. I’ve always thought highly of you as well.”

His gaze lifted for a moment, meeting hers fully for the first time, and a tentative smile formed on his lips revealing small dimples. “You have?”

“Of course,” she said with a small laugh, trying to put him at ease. “You’ve always been intelligent and thoughtful. That’s something to be proud of.”

Before he could respond, her friends’ laughter rang out behind her, drawing her attention. She turned back to Theodore with an apologetic smile. “I should rejoin my friends. But it was lovely to speak with you again.”

“Y-yes, of course,” Theodore stammered, stepping back awkwardly accidentally bumping into a waiter in the process causing him to hastily apologise to the waiter before turning back to face you with an awkward smile on his face with his cheeks flushed. “Thank you for… for talking with me.”

As Y/n walked away, she felt a pang of guilt for leaving so quickly, but she felt as though the conversation had run its course. Glancing back once, she saw him watching her retreat with a wistful expression, his shoulders slumped slightly as though regretting he hadn’t said more.

As Y/n approached her friends, Rose and Clara exchanged knowing looks, their smiles already brimming with mischief. The moment she rejoined them, they pounced.

“Well, well,” Rose said with an exaggerated smirk, crossing her arms. “What was that all about? You and Theodore looked pretty cozy over there.”

Clara gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. “Don’t tell me the shy boy finally worked up the nerve to talk to you! Did he confess his undying love? Write a sonnet on the spot?”

Y/n rolled her eyes, though her cheeks flushed. “Don’t be ridiculous. We were just catching up. It’s been years since I’ve spoken to him.”

“‘Just catching up,’” Rose echoed, mimicking Y/n’s soft tone. “Is that what you call it when a man can barely breathe around you? He looked like he was about to faint, Y/n.”

Clara giggled, leaning closer. “He’s had a thing for you since, what, first year of high school? Honestly, I think it’s adorable. The way he couldn’t stop fidgeting—poor thing was terrified of saying the wrong thing.”

“Terrified because Rose wouldn’t stop glaring at him from across the room,” Y/n shot back, giving her friend a playful nudge.

Rose held up her hands in mock innocence. “Hey, I was just trying to make sure he knew he had to impress you. Besides, he’s not really your type, is he?”

“And what exactly is my type?” Y/n asked, arching an eyebrow.

Rose and Clara exchanged another look before bursting into laughter. “Well definitely not shy, blushing bookworms,” Clara teased.

Y/n shook her head, laughing despite herself.

“Oh, come on,” Rose said, looping her arm through Y/n’s as they walked further into the ballroom. “Admit it, it was sweet. He couldn’t stop looking at you, and you can’t tell me you didn’t feel even a little flattered.”

Y/n sighed, a small smile playing on her lips. “Maybe a little. But that doesn’t mean anything.”

Clara grinned, nudging her gently. “Whatever you say, Y/n. Just remember, if you ever do need a shy, adorable politician’s son in your life, you’ve already got one wrapped around your finger.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, the faint blush on her cheeks betraying her exasperation. “You two are impossible,” she muttered bashfully under her breath, though their teasing drew a small, reluctant smile.

Rose suddenly gasped, her eyes lighting up with mock realization. “Oh, right! How could I forget? You weren’t exactly paying attention to poor Theodore, were you? Not when you were giving heart eyes to the president earlier.”

Clara burst into laughter, clutching her side. “She’s right! Y/n, you practically melted on the spot. I’ve never seen you blush that much in my life. Should we curtsy every time we walk by you now? Future First Lady and all?”

Y/n’s eyes widened, her face flushing as she waved them off. “I was not giving him heart eyes! Stop it, people will hear you!”

Rose smirked, tapping her chin dramatically. “Oh, you weren’t? Because I’m pretty sure he was looking at you, too.”

Clara nudged Y/n with her elbow. “Come on, admit it. Just for us. You felt something, didn’t you?”

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands as her friends giggled uncontrollably. 

Yet even as she humoured with her friends on her family’s previous attempts to match her with Capitol’s finest, her gaze kept drifting across the room. No matter where she was or whom she spoke to, her eyes sought him out, as if drawn by some invisible force. Each time she looked, he was closer than the last time.

Coriolanus Snow moved with calculated ease, weaving through clusters of politicians and dignitaries with his effortless charm. His crimson suit was impossible to miss, and neither was the way he glanced in her direction, his gaze lingering just long enough to send her heart into overdrive. His every move seemed casual, but Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that he was purposefully closing the distance between them.

Her pulse quickened as she realised he was nearing her side of the room, his slow but deliberate path bringing him closer with each passing moment. He stopped to exchange a few words with a senator, then moved on to greet a wealthy benefactor, all while subtly inching toward her. Each glance, each small shift, made her chest tighten with a mix of excitement and nerves.

“Y/n, are you even listening?” her mother’s voice broke through her thoughts gently tugging her away from her friends and close to her side so she could join in on the conversation. “Lord Albright was just telling us about his family’s estate outside the Capitol.”

“Oh,” she said quickly, forcing her attention back to the conversation. “That sounds lovely.”

But her distraction didn’t go unnoticed. Rose stifled a laugh, her eyes flicking knowingly toward where the young president stood. “You’ve been staring all night stop being so obvious,” she teased in a low voice. “He’s going to think you’re in love with him.”

“I’m not—” Y/n began, but her words caught in her throat as her gaze unintentionally flicked back toward him. This time, their eyes met again, and her breath hitched. He was only a few paces away now, his sharp features illuminated under the golden light of the chandeliers. His expression was unreadable, but there was no mistaking the deliberate way he was closing the gap.

Just as the moment felt unbearably intense, her father spoke up. “It’s getting late. We should head home before the streets grow too busy.”

Y/n’s stomach dropped. “Already?” she asked, a hint of reluctance slipping into her tone.

Her mother gave her a gentle smile, guiding her toward the exit. “It’s been a long evening, dear. You’ll have other chances to socialise.”

As they made their way toward the grand doors, Y/n couldn’t resist glancing over her shoulder one last time. Snow was standing where she’d last seen him, his piercing gaze following her departure. There was something in his expression—calculated, almost possessive—that sent a shiver down her spine.

She tore her eyes away, her heart pounding as she stepped out into the cool night air. Even as the carriage pulled away, the image of him lingered, etched into her mind like an indelible mark she couldn’t shake. Deep down she had a gut feeling this wouldn't be the last time she saw President Snow.

-Two days after the grand event- Y/n found herself seated at the dining table with her family. The cozy glow of the chandelier illuminated the room, filling it with warmth as the evening meal unfolded. Plates clinked softly, and light chatter wove through the air, her parents and siblings discussing the usual topics of the day.

It was then the soft knock came at the door. A courier, dressed sharply in Capitol livery, handed a small, elegant envelope to their housekeeper. The sealed parchment bore the unmistakable crest of the President. Y/n's heart fluttered at the sight of it as it was carefully placed in her hands.

“Who could that be from?” her mother asked, her curiosity barely contained.

“I have no idea,” Y/n murmured, her fingers trembling as she broke the seal. Her family’s conversation fell into a hushed silence, all eyes now on her as she carefully unfolded the letter.

As her gaze swept across the elegant script, her breath hitched. She could barely process the words, the formal tone, or the undeniable authority that each sentence carried. When she reached the end of the letter, her cheeks were flushed, her mind whirling with the weight of the invitation. -Start Of Letter-

The Capitol, Office of the President, Panem,

Dearest Y/n Y/l/n

I hope this letter finds you well. Allow me to formally introduce myself: I am Coriolanus Snow, President of Panem, though I suspect you may already know of me. Yet, in turn, I must admit I knew little of you until recently when fate allowed our paths to cross. At my recent formal event, amidst a sea of notable guests, it was you who caught my eye. There was a quiet grace in your demeanour, an elegance that demanded notice yet sought none. Intrigued, I found myself wanting to learn more about the person who carried such an air of distinction.

As a man who values intelligence, poise, and refinement, I feel compelled to extend an invitation for us to become better acquainted. It is rare for someone to leave such an impression, and rarer still for me to act upon it. However, I find myself intrigued by the possibilities that may arise from our acquaintance. To that end, I would be honoured if you would join me for an intimate dinner at Le Marbre Étoilé this Friday evening at 8 o’clock for I have already taken the liberty of reserving a table. The setting is one of the finest in the Capitol, offering an atmosphere befitting such an esteemed guest as yourself. 

While I understand the obligations of daily life can sometimes interfere with such invitations, I must stress the significance of this occasion. My schedule, as I am sure you can appreciate, is relentlessly occupied, leaving little room for rescheduling. I trust you will recognise the importance of seizing this opportunity and make the necessary adjustments to your own commitments. You are, of course, free to decline. However, I would hope such a decision is carefully considered, for an audience with the President is a privilege not lightly afforded.

I eagerly await your company and trust you will honour my invitation with your presence.

Until we meet, I remain yours with the utmost anticipation.

Warm regards, Coriolanus Snow President of Panem

-End of letter-

“What does it say?” her father pressed, leaning forward with a look of concern.

“It’s…” Y/n hesitated, still struggling to believe it herself. “It’s from President Snow.” Her voice was quiet, yet it seemed to echo in the stillness of the room. “He… He’s invited me to dinner. This Friday.”

A moment of stunned silence followed before her mother clasped her hands together. “President Snow? Invited you personally? How extraordinary!”

Her father frowned slightly, his protective nature stirring. “Why would the President take such an interest in you, Y/n?”

“I don’t know,” Y/n admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “He said he noticed me at the event and wanted to become better acquainted. He’s already made arrangements for dinner at Le Marbre Étoilé.”

Her mother’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Le Marbre Étoilé! It’s the finest establishment in the Capitol. What an incredible honour!”

Her father rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It is unusual, but… he is the President. It wouldn’t be wise to decline.”

Her younger sister giggled, teasing. “Looks like someone caught the eye of Panem’s most powerful man.”

“Enough,” her father said firmly, though a trace of pride crept into his tone. “Y/n, you’ll go. You’ll represent our family with dignity and respect.”

“But…” Y/n faltered. “What if I embarrass myself? What if I’m not what he expects?”

Her mother placed a gentle hand on hers. “You’re everything he could expect and more, darling. Be yourself—your grace and poise will do the rest.”

Y/n looked at each of her family members in turn, feeling a mix of trepidation and resolve. The weight of the invitation was heavy, but their encouragement wrapped around her like a comforting blanket.

Finally, she nodded, a small but determined smile breaking through her nerves. “I’ll go,” she said softly. “I’ll make sure I don’t let any of you down.”

Her family’s approval bolstered her spirits, but as she folded the letter and set it beside her plate, her thoughts drifted back to the man who had written it. President Snow—a name so synonymous with power and control. She wondered, for the briefest moment, what kind of man she would truly meet that Friday night. -Friday-

Friday evening arrived faster than Y/n anticipated, bringing with it a flurry of nerves and excitement. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of pink and orange, while the glow of Capitol lights began to twinkle in the distance.

Her bedroom was a whirlwind of fabrics and accessories as her mother and younger sister fussed over her, each determined to ensure she looked perfect for the evening ahead. A soft gown of midnight blue had been chosen—a colour that complimented her complexion and highlighted the delicate curves and frame of her body. The fabric shimmered faintly under the light, subtle yet captivating, with a neckline that was modest but elegant it dipped just low enough to catch the eye but not enough to be deemed scandalous, with the dress flowing gracefully to the floor.

“Hold still, darling,” her mother instructed, carefully fastening the clasp of an understated pearl necklace around Y/n’s neck. “You look exquisite. Truly, like a vision.”

Her younger sister grinned, hands busy smoothing the delicate folds of the gown making sure there was not a single crease. “You’re going to leave everyone speechless, especially the president.”

Y/n’s cheeks flushed at the mention of President Snow, her stomach twisting with nerves. “Do you think this is too much?” she asked, glancing at her reflection in the mirror.

“Not at all,” her mother reassured her, brushing a few stray hairs back into the intricate updo they had styled. “It’s elegant. Sophisticated. Exactly the impression you want to leave.”

Her sister couldn’t resist teasing. “You’re going to make every woman in that restaurant jealous, Y/n. But don’t forget—he’s the one who invited you. That says everything.”

Y/n managed a small smile, though her heart still raced. The weight of the invitation and the significance of the evening felt almost overwhelming. Yet, beneath the nerves was a flicker of curiosity, a quiet wonder at what awaited her.

Once her hair was set, her makeup applied with a light and delicate touch, and the finishing details of her ensemble in place, her mother stepped back to admire her work. “Perfect,” she declared with a smile of pride. “Absolutely perfect.”

Y/n turned to the mirror, studying her reflection. For the first time that evening, she allowed herself to feel a sliver of confidence. She had to admit, she did look elegant, the kind of elegance she imagined would be expected of someone dining with the President.

Her father appeared in the doorway, his expression a mix of protectiveness and awe. “You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he said, his voice soft. “Are you ready?”

Y/n took a deep breath, smoothing the fabric of her gown with trembling hands. “I think so,” she said quietly.

Her mother gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulders. “You’ll do wonderfully, darling. Remember, just be yourself.”

As she descended the staircase to the waiting car, her family’s encouraging smiles lingered in her mind. Though the thought of meeting President Snow still made her heart race, Y/n was determined to carry herself with grace and dignity, no matter what the evening held.

The soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the manor living room marked each passing moment as Y/n sat with her family, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her midnight blue gown cascading elegantly to the floor. Her father paced near the window peeking out discreetly every so often, his stern expression masking the nervous energy he exuded. Her mother, ever composed, sat gracefully beside Y/n, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles in her dress. Beside her, Y/n’s younger sister fidgeted, her excitement barely contained as she sat perched on the arm of the couch. “I’m sure he’ll be here any moment,” her mother said, glancing at the ornate clock above the mantle. Her tone was calm, but the glimmer of pride in her eyes was unmistakable.

“Do you think he’ll actually come to the door?” her sister asked, her wide eyes alight with curiosity. “Or will the driver just honk and wait outside?”

Her father shot her a look. “A man in his position would do well to show proper respect.” Her father stood near the window, peeking out and looking to see if the president had arrived yet. He turned to Y/n, his gaze softening. “Remember, this is just a dinner, sweetheart,” he said, his voice a mix of encouragement and caution. “Be polite, but don’t let anyone make you feel uncomfortable.” Y/n nodded, her heart pounding against her ribs. The weight of the evening ahead pressed down on her, but she met her father’s gaze with quiet determination.

The sound of an approaching vehicle, smooth and unmistakable, silenced the room. Y/N’s heart skipped as the sleek black Capitol limo came into view, its polished surface gleaming under the glow of the estate’s exterior lights. The car rolled to a stop in front of the manor, and after a moment, the door opened.

Coriolanus Snow emerged with the kind of poise that commanded attention. Dressed in a tailored black suit with crimson accents—a subtle yet striking statement of power—he exuded confidence. In his hand, he carried a single white rose. He paused briefly, adjusting his coat, before making his way up the stone steps to the front door.

The knock that followed echoed through the room, sharp and deliberate. Y/n’s father straightened, crossing the room to answer. When he opened the door, Coriolanus greeted him with a polite, disarming smile, his icy blue eyes betraying nothing of his true intentions.

“Good evening, Mr. Y/l/n,” he said smoothly, his voice like silk. “I am Coriolanus Snow, President of Panem. Thank you for allowing me the honour of escorting your daughter this evening.”

Y/n’s father hesitated, sizing him up for a moment before stepping aside. “President Snow,” he said, his tone cautious yet respectful. “Welcome to our home. Please, come in.”

Coriolanus stepped inside, his sharp features framed by the soft glow of the chandelier overhead. His gaze swept the room briefly before settling on Y/N, who had risen from her seat, her composure steady despite the butterflies in her stomach.

“Miss Y/l/n,” he greeted, inclining his head with a practised air of courtesy. “You look radiant this evening.”

“Thank you, President Snow,” Y/n replied softly, curtsying slightly, her voice steady even as her heart raced.

With a small, calculated smile, he extended the white rose to her. “A token for a memorable evening,” he said, his tone gentle, though his eyes gleamed with something more inscrutable.

Y/n accepted the rose with both hands, her fingers brushing the delicate petals. Before she could respond, he snapped the stem cleanly, leaving the flower intact. Leaning forward, he gently tucked it behind her ear, his touch light but deliberate.

“There,” he said, his voice low, almost intimate. “Perfect.”

Her family watched the exchange in silence, yet her mother beamed at the exchange while her sister barely stifled an excited squeal. The weight of the moment was heavy in the room. With an air of finality, Coriolanus stepped back, offering his arm to Y/n. “Shall we?”

Y/n glanced at her parents, who both gave small, reassuring nods. Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand lightly on his arm. 

Just as he guided her toward the door Snow turned back to her father, his tone unwavering as they were about to exit the front door of their manor. “I assure you, Mr. Y/l/n, your daughter will be in the utmost care this evening. I deeply value the trust you’ve extended to me.”

Though Y/n’s father maintained his reserved composure, he gave a measured nod. “See that you do.”

The sleek black limousine gleamed under the streetlights as Coriolanus Snow held the door open for Y/n. His movements were precise, every action exuding an air of control and authority. Y/n hesitated for the briefest moment, casting a glance back at her family standing in the doorway of the manor before stepping inside the luxurious vehicle.

The interior of the limo was nothing short of breathtaking, a haven of understated opulence. The soft leather seats were impeccably stitched, their deep, rich hue complementing the gleaming mahogany panelling that lined the walls. The subtle glow of warm, recessed lighting cast a golden hue over the space, illuminating the fine crystal decanters that held Capitol's most exclusive vintages in a small, built-in bar.

The faint aroma of expensive cologne mingled with the delicate scent of fresh roses arranged in an understated vase near the side panel. Every detail spoke of wealth and precision, from the velvet-lined armrests to the silent hum of the temperature-controlled environment.

Snow followed closely, settling into the seat beside her with a measured grace. His movements were deliberate, exuding an air of calm control as he adjusted his position. His tailored suit caught the light subtly, the fabric hinting at its impeccable craftsmanship, while his piercing gaze swept the cabin briefly before returning to her, his presence filling the intimate space effortlessly.

As the car began to move, the city lights of the Capitol streamed past the tinted windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colours that danced across the sleek interior. The glow of neon signs illuminated towering buildings, their facades adorned with holographic advertisements that shimmered like liquid gold. Streets were alive with motion, a symphony of luxury vehicles gliding past pedestrians dressed in extravagant finery.

Capitol elites wandered the bustling avenues, their laughter and animated conversations spilling into the night air. Women adorned in opulent gowns, encrusted with gemstones that caught the light, strolled arm-in-arm with men in tailored suits boasting rich, exotic fabrics. Groups lingered near gilded restaurant entrances, their expressions a mix of idle amusement and carefully practised airs of superiority, waiting to enter establishments where chandeliers glittered like starlight through tall windows.

The gentle hum of the engine was the only sound for a moment before Snow broke the silence.

“I trust your family approves of our outing this evening,” he said, his tone conversational but with an undertone of authority.

“They were… a bit surprised by your invitation, Mr. President,” Y/n replied, her voice soft and almost hesitant, her gaze flickering to meet his before dropping again.

“Coriolanus,” he corrected smoothly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “There’s no need for formality between us tonight.”

Y/n nodded, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The grandeur of the Capitol outside the window was both mesmerising and intimidating, but she focused on maintaining her composure.

After a short ride, the limousine pulled up in front of Le Marbre Étoilé, the Capitol's most exclusive dining establishment. The grand facade of the restaurant was illuminated with golden lights, its towering columns and intricate marble carvings radiating opulence. A valet immediately stepped forward to open the door, bowing slightly as Coriolanus exited the vehicle.

He turned to offer Y/n his hand, his gaze unwavering as she placed her fingers lightly in his. His palm was cool but firm, his grip tightening around hers with a subtle yet possessive strength. “Welcome to Le Marbre Étoilé,” he said, his voice carrying a note of pride, each word measured and deliberate. His touch lingered as if to ground her amidst the overwhelming grandeur surrounding them, his icy blue eyes locking onto hers, commanding her full attention.

The restaurant’s entrance opened to reveal a grand lobby adorned with crystal chandeliers, polished marble floors, and towering arrangements of fresh roses. The murmured conversations of the Capitol elite filled the air, mingling with the soft strains of a string quartet playing in the corner.

Snow placed a hand lightly on the small of Y/n’s back, guiding her through the crowd. Heads turned subtly as they passed, whispers rippling in their wake. Y/n couldn’t help but feel the weight of every gaze, but Snow walked with an unbothered confidence, as though the entire evening had been orchestrated solely for them.

A maître d’ appeared, bowing deeply. “Mr. President, your table is ready,” he announced, gesturing toward a private section of the restaurant.

“Excellent,” Snow replied, his tone clipped but polite. He glanced at Y/n, his icy blue eyes momentarily softening. “Shall we?”

Y/n nodded, allowing herself to be led further into the gilded halls of Le Marbre Étoilé, the quiet elegance of the setting only heightening her sense of anticipation.

The dinner began with a glass of sparkling Capitol wine, its bubbles shimmering like liquid gold in the crystal flutes. Y/n’s fingers trembled slightly as she lifted the glass, stealing a glance at Snow from beneath her lashes. His every movement was deliberate, and precise, from the way he swirled the wine in his glass to the subtle tilt of his head as he observed her.

“You’re quiet,” he remarked, breaking the silence that had settled over their secluded corner of the grand restaurant.

Y/n’s cheeks warmed, and she placed the glass back onto the table with care. “I suppose I’m not used to being in places like this,” she admitted, her voice soft.

Snow leaned forward slightly, the flickering candlelight casting sharp shadows over his features. “And yet, you carry yourself as though you belong here,” he said, his tone almost disarming. “Your poise betrays any claim of unfamiliarity.”

Y/n glanced down at her plate, feeling the weight of his words. “That’s kind of you to say, Mr. President.”

“Coriolanus,” he corrected smoothly once again. “You’ll find I prefer a more personal approach during private engagements.”

She nodded, her lips curving into a faint, polite smile, though she didn’t trust herself to speak again just yet. Her shyness was a strange comfort in this setting; it shielded her from the vulnerability of meeting his gaze too often.

The meal was a parade of Capitol extravagant appetisers of delicately arranged seafood, main courses of tender meat paired with rare vegetables, and desserts that looked more like works of art than food. Each dish was introduced with an air of reverence by the maître d’, and while Y/n appreciated the effort, she found herself more focused on the man seated across from her.

“Do you often dine with guests in such an... exclusive setting?” she asked cautiously, breaking the silence as she carefully cut into her entrée.

Snow’s lips twitched into what could only be described as a shadow of a smile. “Rarely,” he admitted, his icy blue eyes locking onto hers. “I value my time too greatly to squander it on idle company. This, however...” He paused, lifting his glass in a subtle gesture toward her. “This is a notable exception.”

Her heart fluttered, and she quickly dropped her gaze, feeling the heat creep into her cheeks. “That’s... flattering,” she murmured, fumbling for the right words.

“You’re being modest again,” he replied, his tone gentler than she expected. “I find it refreshing, truthfully. The Capitol is so often a place of excess, of posturing. It’s rare to find someone who doesn’t demand to be noticed but commands attention nonetheless.”

The compliment left her breathless, and she focused on her plate, her appetite fading as nervous energy took its place. “I’m not sure I deserve such praise,” she said finally, daring a glance at him.

Snow set his fork down and leaned back in his chair, studying her with a piercing intensity. “That humility is precisely what makes you deserving,” he said quietly, as though it were an irrefutable fact.

For a moment, the room seemed smaller, the grand space folding in on itself until it was just the two of them. The orchestra’s music faded into the background and the clink of glasses and murmured conversation from the other diners echoed a distant hum.

Y/n took a small sip of her wine, her fingers gripping the glass tightly as she tried to steady her nerves. There was something unnerving about the way he looked at her—not unkind, but calculated, as though he were peeling back her layers and uncovering secrets even she didn’t know she had.

“You’re quiet again,” he observed, his voice breaking through her thoughts.

She managed a soft laugh, shaking her head. “I suppose I’m still not used to this.”

“Then allow me to make you more comfortable,” he said smoothly, raising his glass. “To new beginnings, Y/n.”

She hesitated before lifting her glass to meet his, her smile tentative. “To new beginnings.”

As their glasses clinked softly, Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that this dinner was more than just a meal. It felt like the start of something she couldn’t quite name—something thrilling, terrifying, and inescapable.

[hitrone]

hey hey hey i have something for you ;)

[klunkcat]

kitchen counters

part of the "live to let you shine" collection

rise of the tmnt word count: 2.7k

archer au belongs to @goodlucktai but they've been more than kind and let all of us expand the larger universe with them on this journey. Check out the link for future instalments by my lovely collab partners.

Art in this chapter is by the lovely @soldrawss

it's a delight and an honor to play in this sandbox with you all <3 read on ao3

He got up. He started the coffee machine, making sure to put the exact scoops needed and enough leftovers for an eventual third cup if it was that kind of day. It always was that kind of day. Today he was thinking he’d make avocado toast for breakfast. April had brought a bag of avocados yesterday, sometimes the variety was more effective than even a third coffee. 

Sometimes his brothers almost smiled. 

There were motions to this sort of thing. You made things with your hands to keep them from shaking, you washed blankets and folded them on empty couches. You kept the TV on playing old movies just to pretend it wasn’t silent. 

He’s been moving in the same path for long enough to be an expert. No one notices. He doesn’t need them to notice. 

The coffee pot is full, the kitchen is warm. If he’s alone then he’s alone and finding tasks to be busy with. To keep his hands moving. 

“Hi,” A voice greets him. Mikey blinks up, he’d been making toast, probably; half unconsciously. A familiar dotted face stares back, impassive and steady. 

Giorgio, the last little light. It pulls a smile on his cheeks from some tired place within himself that’s still curved comfortable and safe. “Hi sweet kid, want some breakfast?” 

Gio settles himself against the counter, arms crossed and wide eyed. He nods slowly. 

It’s one of those mornings again— he’s aware of the way the silence clings to the bones of this place, shaves it cold and hollow with memories no one wants to think on. There’s no movement down the hall to Donnie’s lab, but the door is shut fast and firm. The wide open spaces where the skate ramp had once stood are stark. It’s a morning that feels haunted, except they’d all want for the haunting if they could. 

“April brought groceries?” Gio asks quietly. It’s more a prompt than a genuine question.

Gio had fallen into their lives at a point where the safety net had more holes than threads to hold. He was young, had the signs of a life hard won and fought through, but he tried. Absorbed absolutely anything his family would give him, even when it was nothing at all. Dark eyes, taking in any and all of the light he could just to find himself. 

It was a tragedy in three parts just to watch him thrive off wavering candlelights and embers, wandering around the halls like a detective finding hints of some past crime. 

Mikey squares himself. Finds that thread left in him that’s farther and farther away every day. Gio deserves the light, he can make some for him. He can. 

“She did, I’m going to introduce you to the wild world of avocado on toast today. How’s that sound?” 

Gio shrugs, curiosity flickering in his dark gaze. He’d take anything any of them laid out for him like it was a gift. Mikey’s throat ached with the old wound of wishing. 

“You know, it’s funny. The first time I ever got my hands on fruit like this was because of April. Hard to buy things in stores, you know?” Gio did not know, Gio grew up somewhere far away in between pages, but he tilted his head at Mikey like he understood anyways. Mikey’s grin grew stronger. “I think it was peppers. Thought it would be neat to make these stuffed ones I’d seen on TV, use up all these special spices. Man, they were good .” He turns back to the fruit in front of him, carefully and easily slicing around the pit in the center. 

“Raph had two, ate them so fast I didn’t even see them go. So I thought I’d make him a third. Asked if he’d want this next one with more spice.” He shakes his head fondly. “And he just sort of squints at me, you know? He says, ‘are peppers not always spicy?’ So that’s how we found out he was allergic. The guy didn’t even stop trying to eat them after.” 

Gio huffs a breath, it’s as good as an outloud laugh. The bones in Mikey’s hands feel warmer as he carefully scoops the halves of the fruit into a bowl. 

He knows the version of Raph that Gio knows is… different. That he barely talks, let alone plays along. It’s another ache, another ghost. Mikey scoops out the pit from another avocado, and crushes it in with the rest. 

Mikey doesn’t want the kitchen to be silent. He’s so, so tired of silence. “You want to hear a story?” 

The quiet telltale noise of a kitchen chair sliding back answers his question for him, Gio props his chin up under his hand. The pilot light in Mikey’s chest flickers fondly. 

There are a thousand versions of a thousand moments he could pick from, they all hurt like pressing on an open wound. Some are more like bruises, though. Some he thinks are better to hurt. 

“There was this chef I knew. Had this crazy accident with mutagen, somehow instead of using it to make his cooking show more popular it made him desire eating people. Go figure.” He scoops out a portion of the spread onto a piece of toast, scraping it across as he talks. “Had a vendetta for people that told him no, funny that. He’d decided once that his whole plan would be to poison every other potential competition, which was crazy but you have to believe me when I say his pastries were actually that good.” 

“Better than yours?” Gio cuts in softly. 

He’s so, so grateful for the little bits of love Gio’s found here. How he radiates all of it back out so loudly in his own way. “Hah, I learned everything I know from watching him, but I will take that compliment.” He grabs two plates and slides them across the table, dragging his knuckle gently across Gio’s cheek as he goes. 

“We drove Raph up the wall. ” He remembers fondly. “He was dead set on trying to teach us to handle problems, and we were distracted by how delicious these things were.” 

Gio arches a brow. Mikey laughs, holding up a hand. “Survival instincts developed later.” 

He sits across from the kid, who hasn’t even made a move for his toast. Dark eyes serious and trained on him like anytime Mikey talked about who they had been before. Echoes of echoes, ghosts haunting themselves. 

“You wouldn’t believe it. All of us blearily goofing around and Raph panicking, trying to get us to take any part of it seriously. And our blue just walks up to a guy we needed information from, sweating up to his eyeballs and manages to charm his way almost entirely through the whole thing.” 

His smile turns inwards. They’d all relied on Raph so much, then, but there’d been these moments where Leo would just… clue in to what needed to happen. Pull an answer out of thin air like he’d known it all along and was just hoping someone else would give it a shot first. He’d always seen twenty steps ahead. 

Gio shifts. Reaches for his toast and takes a careful bite. Mikey pulls himself back to the present, makes sure his smile is warm and fond. 

“If we’d had you back then, I’m sure you’d have thought we were all completely off our rockers. Raph would have been delighted to have a back up.” 

He loves you, Mikey thinks. He does, I swear. He’d have loved to have loved you. 

The kid hums, considers. “Depends.”

“On?” 

Gio shrugs. “How good were these pastries?”

The kitchen is warm, the laugh that bursts from him is bright. Real, for a second, caught in this space between loss. He faults that for the way he forgets himself.

“Leo would have loved you,” he says. 

The moment freezes. Ices. 

Gio’s eyes are shining, but careful across from him. 

He doesn’t say his name; he thinks it, a thousand times a thousand ways, but he doesn’t say it. He can feel the flinch like a wounded noise in the stillness of his home. Ghosts misplaced and unsettled. 

Right. 

The smile fades. 

He misses the flash in Gio’s eyes. 

“You know,” Mikey makes himself say, a limping version of his usual cheer strangling itself in his voice. “I think I’ll save the rest for later. Maybe when Raph and Donnie are up.” 

“Right,” Gio says, softly. 

Raph and Donnie are never up. Dad’s room is a black hole. April hasn’t stayed in the lair longer than saying hi in months. Ten years stretches itself long and warped across the stone floors, a shadow that never sits right. 

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” He says to Gio’s careful dark gaze. I’m sorry , he means. I don’t have more to give you. I’ll be better next time. 

Gio shifts, scoops Mikey’s plate from in front of him. It’s okay, it means. I know. It’s plenty. This is enough. 

There were motions to this sort of thing. You tried to be someone larger than yourself. You watched your family drift farther and farther away. You were never enough on your own. 

The coffee pot is full, the kitchen is empty. He can’t pretend his hands don’t shake when he stops moving. 

Gio didn’t need a lot of love, he thrived like a weed on the barest scraps of it; a dandelion pushing through old slabs of shattered concrete. A kid growing despite himself in the middle of a ruined family. 

He should have it, though. The kind that was loud, was obvious. Didn’t need explanations or excuses, the kind that just was. 

Mikey’s family did love Gio, he knew they did. It was just… All of their love had gone somewhere else. Down a rabbit hole, following a comet in the night sky. Flashfire quick and burnt up in the atmosphere. It existed, it was there, but quieter; the feeling of heat after the sun has left.

Raph sometimes brushed his hand across Gio’s head when he made the infrequent journey from the practice area to the front door. Dad called him ‘Grey’ in the same way he’d used Orange and Red and once, Blue. April had gotten into a kick of looking for all the types of food Gio had missed out on through his ambiguous years before them, roped the kid and Mikey into trying out recipes together too. 

Don kept looking forward. Mikey couldn’t ask anything more of him. 

The love was still there, though, because it always was. It just wasn’t always the kind that Mikey thought the kid deserved. The kind he himself had been lucky enough to know when he was younger. 

You should get to be greedy, Mikey thinks, watching the kid try and fail another time to breach the threshold into Donnie’s room. You should never have to question it. 

A larger lump in his throat he clears away with a harsh blink, sorry Leo, you left me pretty big shoes to fill. 

“Morning,” He tries for a smile, forcing everything else back under the constant thrum of movement he’d been surviving off for ten years and four months. Gio blinks up at him, as unphased as ever by his brother's complete lack of interest. 

Mikey notes it anyways, the twinge of a furrowed brow, the unsure creep of his shoulders. He stores it in the place behind his heart he’s built for all the protective instincts he doesn’t know what he can do with. He puts a hand on the kid's shoulder. 

(He leans into it, of course he leans into it. Fractions of fractions of a family he should have always known.) 

“Hi Mike.”

“Hi, I have something for you.” 

Gio’s perpetually flat expression melts into a sidestep of curiosity. “For me?” 

Mikey giggles, rubs a hand across his spotted head. “See any other little brother’s around? Yes, for you, kiddo.” He leads them towards the kitchen, to the bench stools against the counter. He tries to make it bright in here, he remembers the kitchen always being warm. The kitchen should be warm for him, too.

Gio lets himself be led easily, dark eyes wide and trusting. He is a nineteen year old built in heaps and parts and scraps off self determination, of needing to survive and surviving it alone, but sometimes it all melts into something malleable; something Mikey can almost see the shape of, reaching all the way back half their lives into the past. He tries to be a good big brother the way he learned. 

He holds out a sweater, fresh from the dryer and as soft as anything with wear. Bright red and too large, the perfect shape Mikey had always thought, to feel like you were carrying home with you in your arms. 

“Loved to borrow this thing when I was younger. Figured it was time to pass the mantle officially,” He tosses it to Gio. 

The kid stares at it, at him. Holding it as though the sweater were a fine piece of china and not a decades worn old thing they’d all lovingly had a hand in weathering. Mikey huffs a laugh, feels his smile hang lopsided. “You’re supposed to wear it, Gogo.” 

His jaw works. “Isn’t it…” he hesitates, gaze snapping over to the practice room. “Isn’t this Raphael’s?” 

Raph’s, Mikey thinks with heartbreak in his hands. Raphie’s. Formalities don’t belong here, I’m sorry I can’t make you believe me. 

Mikey nods. “Mhm. Said you should have it, you know. Little brother special.” 

He hadn’t really, he didn’t say much of anything to anyone. He’d seen Mikey take it, though. It was as good as giving. 

Gio’s dark eyes snap up to his, something overwhelmed building in his expression before he scrunches his hands and pulls the whole thing over his head. Mikey is right, it’s far too big. The bottom of it brushes his shins. 

“It’s too big,” Gio says quietly. 

Mikey’s not having that today, he shakes his head, stepping forwards. “No, it’s perfect. Exactly right. You’re practically as tall as me, kid, do you think I pulled this off any better when I was your age? Right of passage.” He bends, and carefully tucks the ends of the sleeves into themselves, rolling it all to Gio’s forearm. 

“See? Perfect fit.” 

There’s a moment— Gio looking up at him, eyes wide. Sleeves poofed and large, hood a halo around his neck— he sees a flash of blue. 

“Yeah?” Gio says, flatly as he does. Mikey thinks he detects a hint of nerves in there, something akin to a kid who was once shy. He nudges Gio’s chin with his knuckle. 

“Would I lie?” He grins. 

He isn’t expecting the serious stare in return. “No,” Gio says, confidently. Without hesitating. Like it isn’t a hole puncher through the core of him, like he’s maybe been hearing the ‘they love you’s’ all along, like he can feel it in the hems. 

The kid looks down at the sewn on pocket at the front, shoves his hands in delicately like he’s unearthing a spider web from the dew. “Thank you,” He adds, after a moment. “I won’t wreck it.”

Mikey’s heart springs another leak. “You couldn’t possibly, buddy.” 

When the opportunity came, Gio jumped at the chance. Mike let him, god help him, he did. Fighting himself and the cobweb reminders of a brother he was trying to save, that it wasn’t a trade. That he wouldn’t, that losing Gio would be another piece of himself left behind. 

It didn’t help that Gio had folded the sweater so nicely. That he’d pressed it into Mikey’s hands and smiled in that tiny, sweet way of his, that he was sure Raph would want it back. 

He’d want you back, he’d wanted to say. He just doesn’t know it yet. 

Gio looked at him like forgiveness and regret all in one. 

Sometimes it goes like this: 

You’re a brother, you’re a part of a whole, and then you’re a part of a fracture. Sometimes you love, and you love, and you lose anyways, and what’s left behind is still beautiful, but it looks like somewhere you’ve never been before. You miss what it was, but the places where you were are small and curved and perfect, and what you’d had to become in the remnants is not anything like it had been at all. 

Sometimes someone has to go, and it’s not always you. He tries to be okay with that, he doesn’t think he does a very good job. 

[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

Amani Cove: WWE Superstar, "The Blueprint", 5-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: Amani Cove's best friend; current WWE Women's World Champion & member of the Judgment Day

Evangeline Whitley aka Mama Eva: Amani's grandmother; former vocalist for Aretha Franklin, Tina Turner, Diana Ross, & various others

Charles Whitley Sr. aka Pops: Amani's grandfather; former trombone player for Earth, Wind, & Fire

Charles Whitley Jr aka C.J : Amani's father; Grammy winning former guitarist for the likes of Michael Jackson, Lenny Kravitz, Janet Jackson, Justin Timberlake, and various others

Renee Harlow-Whitley: Amani's stepmother; a criminal defense attorney

Cassius Xavier Whitley: Amani's fraternal twin brother; former running back for New England Patriots, current running back for Detroit Lions

Nylah Raine Whitley: Amani's younger sister; sports broadcast journalist for ESPN & CBS Sports

Anthony James Whitley: Amani's half-brother; a senior at UCLA studying computer science

Marcus Frost: Amani'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 @bossbitch-22 @damiansgoodgirll @southerngirl41 @abadbitchblogs @madhatterbri @eringobragh420 @terrortwinunicorn @mzv11 @rootedinrevisions @kultklassickiller @trippinsorrows @neversatisfiedgirl @mauvecherie-writes @beas-mind @babiidee28 @ramp-it-up @beibigirl124 @bonni-98 @queenofthearchitect @queencherryberry @blueblazezz @jstarr86 @retro-rezz-the-est @shamaness11 @thedeboniardevistation @lavitabella87 @joannasteez @hotwheels1108 @disc0fairy @adriennegabriella @cookiebelle @sassymox @msnikkimoneypenny @skyesthebomb @krystalporter22 @pittieprincess22 @ms-wwe @ambreignsfan4life @jazzy-tzw @misskukinz95 @hotmessexpressssss @gold--gucciempress @writinglionqueen @lorena26 @the-iridescent-phoenix @skyesthebomb @misslackey @joy-of-life88 @yana3sworld

[rose-of-oz]

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.)

[elek-tavor]

“Oh, you know,” Bellara responded. “Just… finding out that three of my Gods are out there, trying to end the world. Why wouldn’t I be okay?” she asked sarcastically, but in a way that did not sound mean. “I understand,” Emyr said sympathetically. “I am still having a hard time believing that whoever escaped are Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. I mean… everything Strife and Irelin said, what you said – it makes sense. And I trust your judgement. But I first heard this from Fen’Harel and you know…” “Can’t exactly trust the literal God of Lies,” Bellara nodded. “Exactly! He called them tyrants, evil and sadistic mages – all of it sounds like a hateful little story I would hear back in the South from someone who’d call me a knife-ear and run calling for the templars, not like our reality. But I guess it’s true…”

[read 'Chapter 4: Shadows of Ancient Arlathan' of A Child of Blood and Daggers on AO3]

[START READING FROM THE BEGINNING]

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

(guy who still has studying and a writing final to do voice) finally. i can write fanfiction again

[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.   

[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