#the work-life balanced committee would like A WORD

[bonefarm]

Aatention to the ME rightnow IMMEDIATELY

[btsbabe7]

November Prompt 24: Happy Ending

Words: 1.1k | Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader

Autumn is fleeting. You can feel it in the way the deep winds whip over your soft features while leaning against the railing of the Astronomy Tower and in the way graduation lingers like a heavy burden in your mind. With the nights growing colder and finals underway, you’d made it a habit to meet Draco here at least three times a week instead of each night.

Tonight, his heavy footsteps guide you back under the cover of the deck, only to see him standing at the entrance with an arm full of blankets.

“An extension charm might have helped,” you giggle as your lazy steps bring you towards him.

“Never been one for charms really,” he huffs as you help him lie the blankets across the floor for another cold night of stargazing.

Soon enough, you find yourself curled against Draco’s warm body, tracing the curvature of his sharp features with soft doe eyes. His chest puffs up and down rhythmically against the palm of your hand. His heartbeat is steady against it too. With graduation only a couple seasons away, this is what you’re afraid of losing the most.

About a week into meeting Draco here, you two had talked about the future. You’d discussed goals after school, your thoughts on family, and even attempting to keep in touch with friends to keep the balance of things that would otherwise fall to the wayside during everyday life as an adult, a time when things like finals will be the least of your worries.

However, in this moment, the week of finals has been stressful, but the weeks before were more grueling. Between it all, you and your closest friends, Solora, Harry, Hermione and Ron had decided to apply for your most wanted job just two weeks prior to testing. Jokingly, you’d placed the parchment application in your sandy owl’s beak and hoped for nothing. A writing position at The Daily Prophet you’d dreamed of since you were a girl, though you’d lost hope in it the older you got, and now, you have Draco to consider. Draco’s dream of becoming the next Quidditch coach was everything short of what his own father’s dream was for him at The Ministry, but you’d secretly sent off the application he’d filled out and left behind in your bedroom over summer break. Sadly, you couldn’t tell him; he always got nervous about defying his father’s wishes.

In all craziness of finals week, your owl had come back this afternoon. Perched against your chair in The Great Hall during lunch, you’d received the parchment addressed from The Daily Prophet after two weeks. Solora had just so happened to be skipping by when your owl came and she wasted no time awaiting your grand appearance.

“Well, you have to open it, ya know? Draco aside, I know you’re dying to know if you’ve been accepted. You’ve only been talking about this position since we were kids, Y/n.”

Draco hadn’t come to lunch, he’d been studying hard for a Potions final he had that hour, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d received his owl too. When your own envelope showed up, a pit formed in your stomach and you’d lost your appetite. You couldn’t face Solora or your other three friends, so you’d gently grabbed the envelope from your owl’s beak and ran off to hide the rest of the day until now.

“Y/n,” Draco speaks softly towards the ceiling. “I received a letter today… from the Wizards Quidditch Committee.”

Your heart stops and your blood runs cold. You hold your tongue at the headache sparking up. He knows it was you, but he doesn’t seem upset and that makes you more nervous about the news he’d received. But even more, it makes you curious about your own letter you’d tucked into the secrecy of your inner robe pocket several hours ago.

Draco looks at you, a warmth in his icy eyes. He grins softly, sputtering a laugh before continuing, “I’m glad you did it. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The thought of betraying my father by not working at The Ministry is my own burden. I was a coward, but you didn’t allow me to fall into that and I’ll forever be in your debt.”

You sit up on your elbow, caressing his cheek with a soft smile.

“So you got the position? Quidditch coach?”

He sits up, taking your hand in his before nodding with a nervous smile. You’re not sure when you leaped off your elbow and jumped into his arms, but you couldn’t stop smiling. You’re glad all the secrecy is over and that your boyfriend can finally get something in life that he’s wanted for himself.

“And you then?”

Your brows furrow in confusion.

“Your hand was shoved in your pocket when I arrived. You were gazing over the deck as if you were pondering something,” Draco states curiously. Your cheeks grow hot as you reach into your own pocket, revealing the letter from The Daily Prophet. “Go on, open it.”

You take a deep breath, eyes faltering from his to the slightly crumbled parchment between your hands. You shakily flip the envelope over, slowly dragging your finger over the wax seal before peeling it up. Carefully removing the letter from the envelope, you look up at Draco one last time.

He looks more excited than you. After all, this could change everything and you’re sure he can feel it just the same as you. If you got this job and Draco accepted his position, you wouldn’t have to linger onto the worry of no longer being able to see him. You wouldn’t have to cry yourself to sleep at the scenario of having to breakup just to manage life a bit more easier.

Your gaze drops to the letter just as your thumb flips the ceased edge upwards and you read.

Dear Y/LN,

On behalf of The Daily Prophet, we are more than pleased to offer the position of columnist following graduation from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

We look forward to receiving your owl accepting the position following the weeks of finals to further transition you for the role after graduation.

Thank you,

The Daily Prophet

You’re sure your face says it all and Draco couldn’t be more proud.

“Maybe you’ll be a sports columnist? You can write up about how well I’m doing as the new Quidditch coach and that I’ll be training the team up for the Quidditch World Cup.”

You relish the thought, imagining how you can still be close to Draco and work your dream job all at once. The idea of it all feels like a happy ending, like the one you’ve both been secretly wishing for.

Please be sure to check out my other latest fics:

⚡︎ November Prompt Challenge (days 1-30)

⚡︎ For You Always - reader x Snape

~ Navi: masterlist (all fandoms) & (bts imagines/drabbles)

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, but please don’t copy! Written purely for fun :) Please only repost to other socials w/my permission and credit! Reblogging w/credit is fine. Thank you! ♡

[poepoe-thebunny]

Life of Scott and Logan: Song Vibe List Part 1

Part one of a song list miniseries that includes a whole bunch of nonsense for this pairing, it is entirely the fault of the wonderful ScottxLogan, who’s fics brought back memories of a movie series I haven’t seen in almost a decade. I have no idea how many parts this will have, the song list is growing day by day but I had some finished I wanted to put down! 

So have some scogan feels, some song lists, some random HC’s and a bit of dialogue for fics I am eternally to lazy to write. This started as a playlist inspired by these two and is now over 2k words, so expect more eventually. 

Human- Cody Johnson

Y’all, this is a Logan song. Look me in the eye and tell me this isn’t a Logan song.

I think what I love about this song for Logan/Scogan in general is WHERE it would put Logan at mentally. This is a middle of the road song. It’s an acknowledgment of all your faults, your mental struggles, every bridge you burned and every bad decision you made because of your fears. But it’s not a damnation of those things.  It’s not an “it gets better” song so much as it is an “I’m better than I used to be, but I know I might accidentally hurt you because I’m not perfect. But that happiness is worth putting in the effort for.” There is both a sense of bittersweet remorse and hard-won tinges of contentment.

There’s this notion with Scott and Logan, that while things like communication or feelings are never easy, it’s worth it because they make each other better. Not always happy, not always content, but rather they're constantly pushing each other in a way that feels like antagonism but often ends up with them being forced to finally acknowledge something important. There’s an interesting dynamic between them in which there is simultaneously a hesitation to know each other, to sometimes take each other at face value and judge, while also knowing each other more intimately than most assume. That they don’t always make each other happy in the traditional sense, but they make each other better, and that support is what slowly leads to their happiness.

I guess all I'm sayin' is forgive me If I don't know what I'm doing I'm still learnin' to be human

HC/Vibes/Feels/General Nonsense

This is either established scogan, or at least one where Scott and Logan are closer now and slowly working to acknowledge their feelings.

Logan is in another run-down bar in another small, forgotten town in a string of run-down bars in small forgotten towns. When he leaves, he’ll walk to the ground floor of a tiny hotel with a cracked concrete parking lot, stand outside the door for a moment to smoke as he watches the stars, and quietly wonder what he’s doing here.

It’s not an uncommon thought.

In his pocket is the phone he rarely uses. He never really was the calling type. Maybe curled around it are the worn pages of a letter with handwriting neater than his own, or a kitschy postcard from a little shop a few miles back that he writes a dumb joke on.

He calls Scott. Thinks about calling more and more often.

It’s always late at night, with bits of gossip and laughter and whispered honesty they couldn’t say face to face. Used to not be able to say it all, but distance makes the heart grow fond and all that jazz.

Sometimes Logan doesn’t say anything, just listens with a soft buzzing of longing and something close to contentment.

So apparently, Marie has roped Jubilee and Kitty into the “save the trash pandas” committee. They have t-shirts.

Last night the kids wanted to go bowling but it was raining out, right? Guess they decided the next best thing was to use Jamie as a set of bowling pin. Somehow. It went about as well as you’d expect. Side note, it looks like Peter can officially hold up four Jamie’s all on his own, whether that's because Jamie lost his balance is not clear yet.

Kurt watches terrible soap operas with ‘Ro.

Logan stares up at the cracked ceiling of that tiny hotel room and let’s himself want, just a little bit, for the first time in a long time.

Hey slim?

Yeah?

Sorry I haven’t been around much.

Don’t worry about it, you're coming home soon, right?

Yeah, yeah, I just...thanks for waiting up for me. I’m not very good at this.

You’re only human Logan.

Dyin’ Ain’t so bad (solo and reprise)- Bonnie and Clyde the musical

Didn’t expect musicals on this list? No? You should have because Hugh Jackman and I won’t apologize.

He wasn’t in this production, but I feel like the song fits the two of them well.

'Cause dyin' ain't so bad Not if you both go together Only when one's left behind does it get sad But a short and lovin' life That ain't so bad

On one hand you have Logan, who’s lived so long that he knows the heartbreak of losing your loved ones no matter how much time you had together, and the grief of having to keep on keeping on because he doesn’t even have the option of dying. On the other you have Scott, who having already lost one love of his life before they truly had a chance at a full life together, slowly coming to terms with loving again. There is this constant set of extremes, Logan who has lost so much that he’d genuinely be happy with a short life full of love as long as he didn’t have to lose someone again, and Scott who’s suffered a loss so young that he’d be happy spending, or lengthening, any amount of time he was with Logan. Even the contrast between the song and it’s ending reprise carries this sense of extremes, one holding a grim-faced but ultimately loving choice to stay together despite an impending tragedy, the other ending with the harsh reality of death but ultimately not seeing it as a tragedy so long as they are together in the end.

HC/Vibes/Feels/General Nonsense:

This song feels like a match cut movie scene, or maybe a flashback in some ways. A moment of recall to a special memory in the face of heartbreak and tragedy.

Maybe that’s what it is, a scene from early on in their relationship, compared to a scene at the end.

Maybe Scott is injured, Maybe Logan is holding him, doing his best to shield him with his body, hoping to take the brunt of the damage. Maybe some part of Logan thinks it’s too late, but he can’t admit it.

At this point Logan isn’t sure which one is worse. His one in a million chance of dying before Scott, healing factor pushed to the limits but unable to handle the thought of leaving Scott to die alone despite contemplating it for so long.

Or the much likelier option of his body healing, knitting itself back together while Scott dies with a smile on his face. Happy despite the pain, because Logan is here, Logan stayed, Logan always came back.

Do you think it hurts?

Trust me slim, compared to everything else, dyin’ ain’t so bad.

The look in Logan’s eyes when Scott reaches out to caress his face, smiling at him despite barely being able to breath, voice raspy, tears sliding down his face from the eyes Logan knows he’ll never be able to see.

He’s never hated the thought of seeing them so much.

You were right, like this, with you, it doesn’t feel that bad at all.

Blue Moon- Dean Martin

Come on y’all, we NEEDED a fluffy, dancing together alone late at night type of song. It was practically a requirement! We need more dreamy, oldie’s song fics ok, consider this motivation. Yes, I do in fact have multiple oldies themed playlists for fic writing gushy feels, thank you for asking.

I love this because it feels like the quintessential fluffy piece, that domestic, dreamy sort of content that occurs between all the chaos of life. Simply holding one another, contemplating all the decisions that lead to happiness despite all the hardships. One waking up because the other can’t sleep, slipping behind them to wrap them up in your arms, staring out at the expanse of night sky and glistening moon beams that enter through fluttering lace curtains from a large window.  There’s something to be said about the loneliness of sleepless nights. Logan has spent years haunted by his nightmares, the fear and the rage coalescing and stealing his sleep from him, only to end up in trashed hotel rooms where the only one who saw was the moon he would stare at, alone, trying to make sense of his own fractured memories. Scott hasn’t seen what the moon truly looks like in years, lost behind the constant haze of red that is his field of view, knowing it only in memories of the light it cast upon the snow as a child, or the books he read. Outside of seeking the reassurance and comfort of each other as they sleep, there is this added element of heartbreaking tenderness at the realization that being awake in the night no longer means they have to suffer alone.

HC/Vibes/Feels/General Nonsense

There’s something about this song that has a hazy, dreamlike effect on this scene. I have this stunning image in my head of Scott, arms wrapped around himself, staring quietly out a large window with moonlight dripping past the curtains, as Logan walks in, spots him, and leans quietly against the door to watch him for a few moments. Logan takes in his ruffled sleep clothes, the rare stillness of the night, the way the beams of light dance across his soft face, as he stands, relaxed and contemplative.

Couldn’t sleep?

That’s funny coming from you, old man.

But not wrong, what’s gotcha awake scooter?

Nothing just...thinking, I guess.

Can ya think less loudly, they probably heard ya on mars.

There’s the sound of quiet laughter as Logan hugs him from behind, a set of smooth dulcet notes playing from a small stereo nearby. Eventually, they end up swaying in place, letting the song roll over them as they dance.

Blue moon, you saw me standing alone Without a dream in my heart without a love of my own Blue moon, you knew just what I was there for You heard me saying a prayer for someone I really could care for

What?

Didn’t expect ya ta be the singin’ type slim, that’s all.

Your not so bad yourself.

And though Logan wouldn’t admit it, Scott can hear the timbre of his voice as he hums along to the song playing in the background.

Alright I’m ending this here because I don’t want it to get to long XD. I do have a lot more that will be finished soon, because for some reason my brain is now obsessed with this ship. I don’t know how many parts this is gonna have, but hey, we are here for the vibes. 

[imagine-this-life-143]

Kim Taehyung - Artistic Ability

“Can I have everyone’s attention?” Your professor stood at the front of the studio, everyone’s eyes towards her. “That’s it for the class today, you’ve all done really well in this session. I must say, I have seen some real improvement in some of your pieces, it’s evident you guys have been listening to my advice.” She praised, your fellow peers grinning from ear to ear with the uplifting words.

“But I must remind you, it’s the weekend. You’re all young. Go out, spend time with your peers, friends, partners. Get out of the studio, out of the work mindset for a while. Remember, real progress only happens when the balance in life exists.” She paced around a bit, smiling at the students who glanced at their friends, obviously excited for the weekend. “Art is the embodiment of your experiences, your memories, your souls.” With that, she walked out of the studio, a resounding ‘thank you’ following her.

You turned back to your workstation, picking up the painting palette you had been toying with. The painting sat, waiting for your brush.

“Hey Y/N! You heard what Professor said! Come out with us?” Sana questioned, leaning over the bench that separated your and her workspace. Turning to her, she immediately picked up the apologetic look in your eyes. “Seriously? I’m sure your work can wait just one night,” she pleaded, hopeful of your change of mind.

“Sorry Sana, I’m spending time with my cat tonight, we’re watching a movie.” You apologised, dipping your paint brush into the palette.

“What Bear? I’m sure he could go one night without you,” Sana begged. “Please?” The puppy dog look spread across her face, her hands clasped together tightly.

“He’s a needy boy, sorry.” You apologised, trying to stop the grin that spread across your face at the thought of your Bear.

���Boo,” she acquiesced, walking over to some of your other classmates. Their cheers and chatter fading as they left the studio, walking down the corridor. You grabbed your headphones, eagerly turning your music back on before turning back to your painting.

It was something you had been working on for a while, inspired by the journey to self-love that you had fought long for. You had decided on this topic for your final assignment, something that told a story, and spoke words to any young female. The art-in-community committee at your school had even heard of your idea and assembled you and a few other students to put together a showcase to present to the community for mental health week. Which made this now a very important piece of art.

Hence your eagerness to continue working on it. You knew you wouldn’t be able to perfect it, that, like self-love, it’d never be finished. But you were prepared for that outcome, having already had several in-depth conversations with your teachers, peers, and people from the community.

Everyone was excited to see how it would turn out, to if you could pull off such an important and difficult topic.

One person you knew definitely believed in you, your Bear. Taehyung had faith in you, he knew that you could pull this off. And he told you that every day without fail. “You’ve got this Y/N, you can do this.” The words played on repeat in your mind as you smeared another bit of paint on the canvas. You’ve got this.

Jin’s song Epiphany came on as you grabbed a bit of brown paint, gently brushing it along the underside of the navel, creating the illusion of a stomach roll. Something that was so innocent, and illusively beautiful, was horror for so many people. The small roll of skin looked so soft and squishy, innocent. Hopefully, your audience would see it too.

You took a step back, listening to the song whilst looking at the painting. There were many flaws, many things you wanted to fix with the small amount of time you had left. But you knew that wasn’t the point, that it was supposed to look raw and unfinished. Just like self-love.

“It looks incredible Y/N,” you turned around, startled by the voice. Your earphones fell from your ears, pulling your phone with them. The room was now filled with music, the end of Epiphany playing loudly. Taehyung stood there proudly; his eyes crinkled with his boxy smile. “You’re amazing,” he praised, eyes glistening as he looked over the painting.

“I’m nowhere near finished yet, there’s still a long way to go.” You admitted, dipping the paintbrush back into the palette of messily mixed paints.

A pair of arms snuck around your waist, making you jump at the sudden, and somewhat unexpected contact. Taehyung’s head came to rest on your shoulder, his face filled with emotion as he continued to stare longingly at the painting.

“I think it’s almost ready actually. It’s raw and emotional, but deceptively beautiful at the same time.” You looked at the painting again, trying to look at it from the audience’s perspective. Out of the corner of his eye, he could still see you critiquing your work. “Y/N stop. This is perfect, I know you don’t see it, but from where I stand, it captures your theme perfectly in a beautiful way.” Taehyung calmed you, smiling gently as your head came to rest back against his shoulder.

“Thank you, Tae,” your voice was quiet, barely audible even from his close proximity. “You always know what to say.” He smiled, hugging you even tighter whilst pressing a kiss to your cheek. In the background, the song changed to Pied Piper, an absolute favourite of yours.  Taehyung, knowing this piece of information, pulled away and turned you to face him.

“Dance with me,” he offered, holding out his hand. You giggled as you took it, yelping as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer. For the entire duration of the song, you slow danced around the studio, Tae singing along gently to the song as you relished in the moment.

“I know sometimes that you think that your work sucks, or that you’re a fraud, and I know the feeling. But you’re not a fraud, and your work is amazing and thoughtful,” Taehyung whispered as you continued dancing through the next few songs. “I am so unbelievably proud of you for coming so far with your work, the improvement you’ve made is incredible.” He continued to praise, eyes glancing at some of the pieces that you had hung up on the walls. “You’re perfect.”

[airplanned]

Trill AU Part 5

Such Drama!

***

Part 1

When the hail cut off, they both scrambled at their consoles, Zelda probably trying to get the deflector dish working, Link throwing together a couple of fail safes in case things went very--

They both turned at the sound of a transporter behind them, and Link stood, straightening his jacket and straightening his spine.  The three intruders who materialized on the bridge had absurdly large pulse cannons.  There was no way they needed those to incapacitate Link, Zelda, and a ship full of sleeping people.  They just wanted to look intimidating and ended up looking ridiculous.

"Welcome aboard," Link said.  "I'm Lt Link.  This is Lt Zelda.  My apologies that we're not proper hosts at the moment."

They punched Link in the face.

Zelda squeaked and grabbed him as he stumbled, keeping him on his feet.

He blinked to clear the stars that danced in his eyes.  The punch had loosened his sinus infection, and his first foolish thought was that Zelda was going to see his snot.

The Trill who was clearly their leader smirked at him, hefting his pulse cannon across his shoulder.  "I'm Admiral Kohga, and I'm claiming this salvage operation."

Link wasn't going to argue that their ship, which still had power and a crew of six hundred people could in no way be defined as a salvage operation.

He cut his eyes to Zelda over his shoulder, who gave a fractional shake to her head.  She hadn't heard of this guy either.

"Perhaps we can reach an agreement," Link said.

Kohga slung his pulse cannon down into Link's face.  "Perhaps I can kill you and take your warp core anyway."

Link held up his hands, swallowing down the fear that prickled the back of his throat, fighting with his tongue to keep the words coming.  "If you want the warp core, you can take it.  Just take it and leave."  They could get another.  They weren't too far out.  A rescue ship could be there in 48 hours, maybe even sooner.

Zelda's fingers bit into his arm, and he shot her another look to see her begging with her eyes, her teeth sunk deep in her lip.  She'd done extensive modifications to their warp core.  It was a prototype and maybe one of the most advanced models in the fleet.  He tried to convince her with just a widening of his eyes that they could get another, she’d only be set back a month, but her fingers bit harder into his arm to tell him that wasn't good enough.  

Did she not want to lose her life's work, or did she not want these people to have it?

It didn't matter.

In a rush, he said, "Computer lock: authorization Fi Alpha 284," and managed to get it all out before he was punched in the face again.

"What did you do!?  Unlock the computer!"

Link rubbed his jaw and glared at them.  "Get off my ship."

With a growl, a pulse cannon was aimed so close to his face that he had to lean back.  "Unlock it or I kill you," Kohga said.

"You kill me and you'll never get access."

The intruder narrowed his eyes.  Then he aimed his weapon at Zelda.  "Unlock it or I kill her.  Aren't Federation types like you supposed to do anything to protect each other?  You're a joined Trill.  You're not going to let me kill a symbiont, are you?"  He dropped the weapon from Zelda's face to her stomach.

Link swallowed.  "That's right.  I'm not going to let you hurt her.  Which is why the computer needs her authorization too."

"What?  You're lying."

Link jerked his head towards his console, inviting them to look.  Kohga glared at him and then jerked his head at the console too, ordering his lackey on the right to go check it out.

"He's right."

Kohga swore, turning away and stamping his feet.  Again and again.

Zelda's hand stroked his arm.  A sign of thanks.  An unconscious gesture of support from another lifetime.

When Kohga calmed down, he sighed dramatically and turned to give Link a suspicious look.  He pointed a finger, bobbing it as he thought.  "Authorization Fi.  Your name is Fi."

Welp.  He tried.

"I've heard of you."  Kohga took a step closer.  "Ha!"  He turned to his lackey.  "You know what this guy did?"  He wiggled his fingers.  "The taboo.  Reassociation!" He sounded almost giddy.  "This guy married another bonded Trill, and then what does his next host do?  Goes straight back and marries them again!"

"We didn't get married again," Link corrected.  Ravio didn't think it was necessary as they were still married in his heart (that sap).  Tetra liked saying they were living in sin.  Which was admittedly pretty funny, considering.

"This guy gives up everything and gets banished by the Symbiosis Commission, and then what happens?  They break up!  It's too funny."

Link shrugged.  It wasn't that funny. 

Kohga gestured around the bridge.  "Do they know?  Does she know?"

Zelda pulled her hands away, stepping back as if she was too shocked and disgusted to be near him.  As if she wasn't banished the same day he was.

Kohga gave her a sympathetic look so fake Link wondered how he thought anyone would buy it.  "Can you believe that?" he cooed.  "He sentenced his own symbiont to death.  He spit on our traditions. Everything we stand for!  Those traditions are there for a reason, you know.  Symbionts should live many different lives!  Not the same one over and over!  They shouldn't lock the host into a life they didn't choose.  That's cruel.  And then there's the memory seep. Doing the same things they’ve done in other lives over and over.  It messes up a host's brain until they don't know which host they are, what planet they're on, what day it is!  And then the symbiont takes over and the host doesn't even matter anymore. Just the symbiont. The whole power balance is disrupted!  You really want to throw your lot in with this guy?"

"I..."  

"If you unlock the computer, I'll take him off your hands for you."

She swallowed looking very small and fragile.  In a shaking voice, she said, "I can't let you have my warp core."

She was such a pro.

"Arrrrgggggh!"  Kohga clawed at his hair.  Then huffed a breath and turned back to Link in confusion.  "How do you get new hosts without going through the Symbiosis Committee?"

"Why? Do you want to join up?  You probably should.  I doubt they'll like it when they hear about your life of crime."

Kohga waved that away as if it didn't concern him in the least, which meant he either had no idea of the consequences that would rain down on him in his next life or he was putting on a show.  "You know...we're both outlaws," Kohga said, wheedling at him.  "Why don't you help me out?  Give me the warp core?  I'll split it with you.  50/50."

Link stared at him.  "No.  You see this is my ship.  And I don't feel like sharing."

Kohga's face wrinkled up in rage.  "Take them," he ordered.  "We'll just go rip the damn thing out!"

And with that, the intruders grabbed them by the arms, shoved them into the turbolift at gunpoint and dragged them down to the engine room, where they were pushed to the floor and watched by one of the lackeys while Kohga and the other Trill tried to override Link's lockout and did a lot of swearing and banging their fists against the console.

Zelda flinched with every bang.

He tapped all his fingertips against the floor.  What have you got?  Or in this case, Are you okay?

She took a deep breath, eyes on the fools messing with her engine.  She nodded, but made it look like she was rocking to soothe herself.

He fluttered his fingers in a soft wave--I’ve got nothing.

She responded by tapping the side of her hand against the floor as if neatening cards.  Two face cards. They could make something work if they played it right.  She had a plan.

What that plan was, she couldn't say in front of their guard, and instead demanded, "How the hell are you in Starfleet if you were banished?"

The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile, because that sounded a little bit like she was interested in his life.  "I'm an Orion citizen."

"What."

"There's a large Trill ex-pat community there.  I was born in part of the capital city called Terry Town that's 90% Trill.  We even had a bluefish deli and a Klonek festival."

She nodded.  "One time I visited Little Trill on Axanar."  

Anaxar. She'd made her way to Axanar.  He could see here there with all those evergreen trees stretching up to touch the sky.  He was strangely relieved that she'd found safe harbor.  

"They had the worst ralband pie I've ever tasted,” she said.

Link grinned and shook his head.  "I won't hear a word against my mother's abomination of a spice bread recipe."

Zelda snorted, something that might count as genuine humor.

"It was my favorite food growing up," he said.  "And then I was joined and learned what it tastes like if you have ingredients actually grown on Trill."

"And not freeze dried into submission."

"Or replicated.  The tang never has the right bite."

She caught his eye, and for a moment they just stared at each other.

She tapped the side of her hand again.  She had a plan.

Part 6

[theworldofotps]

Silent Stranger (Part 1)

Pairing: Dexter Lumis x Reader Word Count: 2,377 Description: New to NXT, Y/n makes some new friends who warn her to stay away from one of their coworkers. Misunderstood and silent Dexter can’t help but admire the new woman at work.

Part 2

Part 3

Dedicated to the sweet anon who said they would like to read some Dexter fics in the future. And I had been planning to but never had an idea, my sweet friend Rachael gave me this idea which I love. Anon I really hope you like this, and thank you so much @new-zealand-chic for all your help. Xx

Warning: Povs switch between first and third person throughout the fic. They are separated by ~~~ so hopefully you don’t get confused. ____________ Tag list:

@hungmanhorsecarriage @writtingrose @sjwrites22 @sassymox @the-beastslayers-queen @thewrestlingwarehouse @new-zealand-chic @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @xladyxfatex @biforrollynch @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @demonqueen29 @itsicantbelievethis666  @lilred91 @xbreezymeadowsx @rebellious-desires @youcantreignonmyparade @melblacc @undiscovereddisneyroyalty

If you wanna be added to the list lemme know. _____________

“Glad you could finally join us Y/n we’ve heard some amazing things from the PC about you, I truly hope you enjoy working here with us at NXT.”

“Thank you so much Hunter I really appreciate it, I’m sure I’ll love it.”

I smile shaking his hand, standing I pull my bag over my shoulder following behind him as he leads the way from his office.

“I’ve already gone ahead and asked Shotzi to show you around just until you learn the ropes and know where everything this. She was thrilled to be the welcome committee, any questions you have just go ahead and ask her.”

“Thank you that takes away some of the nervousness I had.”

Following Hunter, down a few halls, we come to the back area where a few superstars were sat at tables doing their own thing or eating.

“Hey Shotzi come here for a moment please.”

I watch as an energetic woman comes over quickly her green hair standing out brightly, at least I wouldn’t lose or mistake her for someone else.

“What’s up boss?”

“This is Y/n, she’s the new superstar I was talking to you about the other day.”

“Of course the one I’m showing the ropes to, it’s so nice to meet you I hope that you enjoy working with us here.”

“Thank you, it’s nice to met you too I really appreciate you helping me.”

“You’re welcome, it’s no trouble at all I know how hard it can be when you first get here and who better to befriend on your first day than me?”

Shotzi laughs and lets out a little howl then hooks her arm with mine quickly leading me away from Hunter who chuckles waving. Walking around Shotzi points out a bunch of different areas and even introduces me to a few of the other wrestlers sitting or walking around. 

“What do you think so far?”

“It��s great better than I ever dreamed it could be I’m honestly so excited that this is going to be my life.”

Smiling as we sit at a table with some bottles of water and a bag of chips to share I look around watching everyone.

“Is this everyone?”

“No way, there are some in other parts of the building working out and some didn’t come in today. But you’ll see most of them on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays.”

“Okay got it.”

I say eating a few of my chips as nervous as I was to be finally here I was more excited and hoped to befriend some of my coworkers.

“Once you’ve finished eating we can head over to one of the practice gyms and do some work to practice for whatever match you end up having first for your debut.”

“Sounds good to me I’m more than ready to get started.”

Shotzi smiles at me patting my back as we make small talk finishing our snack then heading off to find a ring to work out in. ~~~~~~~ Dexter walks quietly down the hallway he had just finished a match and gotten a shower. Since he wasn't needed for anything else tonight he was going home. Adjusting his duffel bag on his shoulder, he gets halfway through the center before feeling a smaller body crash into his from behind. Thinking it was someone doing an unexpected promo he quickly turns around stopping when he sees the new woman that joined NXT a few weeks ago. 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to run into you. I'm trying to hide from my friend and wasn’t watching where I was going.”

She says and gives him an apologetic smile, Dexter offers his hand helping the woman up off the floor looking her over to be sure she wasn’t hurt then gives an incline of his head. She was trying to keep her balance as she adjusted her shoe. Hearing someone call her name he turns and leaves continuing on his way to the parking lot. Not noticing the woman left standing behind, staring after him. Getting into his car he starts it pulling out of the lot and driving back home.

That was the first time he had seen her face to face, the last few weeks she was at Full Sail he had taken a genuine interest in her. He had learned a little about her having overheard conversations with their coworkers while he was eating lunch. He honestly was kind of hoping to run into her sooner or later and found himself wanting to befriend the woman. He just wasn't sure how to go about it, maybe it was just best for him to be silent and wait. It was what he did best and he really didn't want to let people know he was curious about her.  

The drive from Full Sail to his house was filled with a little music playing on the radio. Other than that his mind was just wondering, he couldn't help but smile when he moved and the faint scent of your perfume hit his nose. You hadn't even touched him for that long. Parking in the garage once home he goes inside. Dexter was more than ready to sleep; he just needed to brush his teeth and change into pajamas. Stepping into his bedroom Dexter begins stripping crawling into bed once he is changed and settled. He was excited to go back to work to see you. 

~~~~~~~~~ Looking up from my book I smile seeing Finn walk into my room carrying a small vase full of flowers. 

"Y/n delivery." 

"Hey Finn, wow those are beautiful where did they come from?"

"I don't know I was coming to see if you wanted to grab lunch with Shotzi and I. They were sitting on the floor outside your door and there is a card that says. 'Hope you enjoy these flowers, they pale in comparison to you.'"

“Awe that’s so sweet.”

Standing I took the flowers, smelling them then reading the card, it was typed out so I wasn’t able to find out from handwriting who sent them. 

“I wonder why they didn’t sign their name.”

“Well if you ask me I think you have an admirer.”

“Oh come on Finn I haven’t even been here that long how could someone admire me?”

Setting the flowers on my small table I read over the card once more as he sighs dramatically and sits down next to me.”

“Because you’re an awesome person who just seems to draw people in even when you don’t mean to. I know you don’t feel like you’re good at making friends but people just can’t help but want to be around you.”

“If you hadn’t trained me at the PC would you have felt that way when I came here?”

“Probably then again I don’t know, being the champ makes me busy so it’s a probability but I’m sure we would have become friends quickly anyway.”

“Awe that’s sweet of you.”

Pinching his cheek lightly I laugh as he swats my hand away standing back up and stretching. 

“You wanna go get some lunch?”

“Yes I’m hungry.”

Standing I grab my phone pocketing it and following Finn from the room shutting the door behind me, placing my arm through his grinning.

”Lead the way Prinxey.”

~~~~~~~~

Dexter watches from the shadows as Finn picked the flowers up that he had left for y/n, he really hoped that you liked them. Waiting until you left he walked over with a small gift box full of a few things for a self care day. Opening the door a crack he slides the gift in, he didn’t want to invade your privacy by going all the way in. And he was thankful you hadn’t remembered to lock the door before you left. Closing your door gently Dexter quickly leaves just to keep anyone from spotting him. Going back to his room he sits down to start on a drawing he was doing for you.

For the next month Dexter left you small gifts, drawings and notes just something to make you smile. Nobody could tell you who it was doing this all and he couldn’t believe his luck that you hadn’t found out it was him yet. You two still had no communication apart from the night you ran into him. He was good at staying hidden and to be honest he was nervous about how you’d react. It wasn’t any secret that a lot of people thought he was weird and even a bit scary. But the few people he had managed to befriend they all stayed out of each other's intimate relationships. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to go changing that now. ~~~~~~

"I can't for the life of me figure out who's been sending these gifts."

"Have you gotten any new ones lately?" 

Looking across the table at Johnny whose wife I was currently feuding with, I nod my head. Reaching into my bag I pull out the most recent picture. Handing it to him I watch as he looks it over then shows it to the guy beside him. 

"I can almost guarantee you that it's Lumis, he's the only person around here I've seen that draws like this."

Johnny says and hands the picture back with a chuckle.

"Which one is he?" 

I ask as if I didn't already know, I had been paying attention to Lumis since that night I ran into him. There was just something about his presence that made me want to know more about him. 

"He's that really tall guy kind of blonde colored hair, mustache and muscles he wears those leather gloves when he wrestles." 

Johnny says and then points towards the door over my shoulder. 

"That one right there, aye Dexter! Are you the one sending these weird pictures to Y/n?"

"Like you'd actually stand a chance?"

The guy sitting with Johnny laughs loudly, frowning I watch as Dexter stops in his tracks staring at our table. He quickly turned away leaving the catering area.

"Why would you do that?"

"Oh come on y/n don't worry or waste your time on Lumis he's a freak that's why he stays to himself."

Johnny listens to his friend before turning his attention back towards me.

"You'd do your best to stay away from him y/n honestly."

"I think that should be my choice to make and right now I'm going after him. I suggest you two find something else to do then be awful to someone who just doesn't wanna talk to people."

Grabbing my things I quickly leave the catering area looking down the hallways. I had no idea where Dexter had gone or even what room he stayed in. Pulling my phone out I text Finn.

Y/n🎶⭐: Do you know where Dexter's room is?

Hitting send I begin walking around if Finn couldn't help me I may have to find a staff member who could.

Finn😈👑: It's one hall down from mine left turn

Finn😈👑: Why?

Y/n🎶⭐: Cause Johnny thinks he's the one that's been sending me the pictures and gifts and they called him out on it and I think they made him feel bad

Y/n🎶⭐: So I wanna talk to him

Finn😈👑: Dexter doesn't really talk to anyone here except for the few people that he's friends with

Y/n🎶⭐: It's worth a shot

Finn😈👑: Just be careful and if you need anything let me know

Y/n🎶⭐: I know thanks Finn

Pocketing my phone I make my way down the hallways heading for Finn's room. Once past it I go down turning left. I look at the doors, not all the superstars had their own changing rooms but Dexter's was one of the only few back here. Taking a deep breath I knock on the door then step back to wait and see if he opened the door.

"Hi Dexter."

I wave after he opens the door.

"Can I come in please?"

Dexter steps out of the way after a moment of hesitation, stepping inside I walk a little farther in his room and look around. He motions to the couch, smiling at him I sit down fiddling with my fingers in my lap.

"We haven't formally met apart from me running into you, I'm Y/n. I wanted to come and apologize for how Johnny and whatever his friend's name treated you. I didn't think showing him the picture would cause that, I was just hoping he could help me figure who sent it."

Pulling out the picture I place it on the small coffee table between us.

"Did you do this? Are you the one who's been giving me the flowers, little gifts and drawings."

Watching Dexter rub a hand against his neck then nods his head, smiling at his gaze darting around the room I place it back in my bag.

"I want to thank you for everything. It was really sweet of you. You don't have to be embarrassed about it either if you were, I'm actually quite flattered."

I explained looking around the room, he hadn't said anything yet and I wasn't sure what else to really say.

"I know you don't really say much but maybe would you like to exchange numbers? I think we could be really good friends, and it would be easier for you."

Dexter nods and grabs his phone, swapping we put our names in and I hand it back.

"Well I guess that I better go, I have a practice match coming up and I don't wanna miss out. Thank you again."

Standing I walk to the door Dexter holding it open for me, stepping out I turn giving his hand a light squeeze then quickly making my way back towards my room. I felt really good about how it went and I hoped we could be friends. Stopping at my door when my phone goes off I pull it out smiling.

D. Lumis👁️👁️: Would you like to go get coffee or something sometime? Maybe Wednesday morning?

Y/n💮: I would love to😊

[corvus--rex]

Semi-abandoned soulmate au. I actually started this one before The Sound of Color, although this is vastly different from that one. This particular au also doesn't have the requirement that soulmates are always romantic (ie Pidge and their soulmate). It jumps around a little, and those sections are marked with dividers. Soulmate strangers-to-lovers. . .

~*~*~*~

Soulmarks. Everyone had one. An indelible mark that bound two people together. Age 13 was when it would start. The mark “waking up” as some called it, and reaching out for its companion mark. Most soulmates were within a few years of each other, so the lingering tingle of a mark searching for its mate usually didn’t last long.

Lance was lucky that way. His mark sprang to life on his thirteenth birthday and quieted three months later. There was no way to know who or where his soulmate was at that point, but he knew they were three months younger than him. He had been getting ready for school that day when the constant tingle in his mark faded.

He’d always liked the quarter note-shaped mark on the inside of his left wrist. What confused him were the numbers that circled it. No two marks were the same, and Lance knew that his soulmate would have something different. But those numbers confused him. 1030211933. Trying to figure it out was a favorite pastime throughout middle and high school, but he never could get there. He hadn’t met his soulmate yet, but he hoped that it would make sense when he did.

Once two marks found each other, the secondary connection opened. The marks on the soul allowed for marks on the body. Words, doodles, full-blown artwork. Drawing or writing on skin would appear on a connected soulmate. Once Lance’s mark had connected, the first thing he did was ask his soulmate about the numbers. They didn’t know either. But he did find out that his soulmate’s mark sat on their right hip, it was a feather, and they didn’t have those numbers but they did have a series of roman numerals along the feather’s shaft that read:

X X X X X X I X I X X X X I I I

They continued to talk for years, learning about each other. They had decided not to share identifying information like names or location, but Lance knew that his soulmate had a twin and that their parents had adopted their cousin when their cousin’s parents died in an accident. They didn’t know anything about the accident because they’d been too young at the time and no one had explained it since. Lance told them that he had three siblings, that he was a twin, too, and that his older sister connected with her soulmate the same day he had.

He lay in his bed in the dorm he shared with his best friend Hunk, rereading the last message his soulmate had sent him about how college sucked and how they already had an in-class performance a month into the semester. He’d responded with a note about how trying to balance classes with rehearsals as the lead in his school’s fall musical was kicking his ass. Lance already knew that his soulmate was studying music at a college close to where they grew up. And they knew that he was majoring in theatre at a college a three-hour drive from home.

Hunk trudged into their dorm room and threw himself onto his bed. “Remind me again why I decided this was a good idea?” he groaned.

“Which part?” Lance asked in return.

“The part where I decided to be a pastry chef and subject myself to the hell that is the one professor I can’t get away from?”

“Because you love baking and always have and one asshole can’t make you hate doing what you love.”

“I swear she just likes to terrorize us. There’s that guy I told you about – Sal, the one I had a class with freshman year and he transferred to general culinary and now he’s back – she hates him. And I don’t know why. But then, she hates me, too. Pretty sure it’s that bun. It’s so tight she doesn’t need a face lift. But I’m also convinced that Chef Dayak is just evil.”

“Hey, at least you have Shay there with you. Not everyone gets to have their soulmate in class with them all day,” Lance pointed out.

“How’s it with yours?” Hunk asked.

“We’re working our way up to talking about meeting. I know I wanted to wait until after graduation, but I’m getting impatient, y’know? It’s been eight years and I don’t want to wait anymore. But I get that they do. So…yeah. Anyway,” he said, shaking himself out of that particular spiral, “You going to the Halloween party this year?”

“Dude! It’s a month away!”

Lance sat up, turning to his best friend, one eyebrow arched. “Seriously? You say this like there’s such a thing as too early. And no, it’s only three weeks. We need to start now.”

Hunk groaned again, this time in only partial exasperation, and sat up. “Fine. The fuck are you planning this year?”

Lance just laughed. Hunk threw a pillow at him, collapsing in his own fit of giggling when a startled Lance took the pillow directly to the face. Lance’s alarm sounded, loud and annoying. He groaned, throwing Hunk’s pillow back, and fumbled for his phone to turn the blaring sound off.

“Fuck me. I have to get to rehearsal.”

In an apartment just off campus, Keith stopped playing and pulled the pencil out of his hair, making yet another correction to his scribbled sheet music. He started over, again, ignoring the key in the door and his roommate coming back in. He ignored their slight form dropping their overpacked backpack on the floor and throwing themselves onto the other end of the couch with their laptop and notebook. Keith was too focused on his music to pay much attention to Pidge.

Except that Pidge wanted his attention right then. “Hey. Asshole,” they said, throwing a ball of notebook paper at him.

“Yes, hellspawn?” he asked casually, setting his guitar on its stand by the couch, “What the fuck do you want?”

“I’m on the committee for the party. You’re coming,” they said while typing away on their laptop.

“No. I’m not. I don’t go to parties, and you know it. Why the fuck are you so determined for me to go?”

Pidge looked up, fixing him with their stare. “Because I said so. And because Matt’s going to be there. His girlfriend’s going too. You actually like Neve. So you’re going.”

“Including you, that’s three people I’d be willing to talk to. Why should I bother?” he stopped, a dreaded thought sparking as to why they were so hellbent on his going to the party. “It’s because it’s a week after my birthday, isn’t it?”

“What? You mean that thing you ignore every year except for the proliferation of doodles from your soulmate? Why would that have anything to do with it?”

“I'm still not going,” Keith insisted.

“We’ll see about that,” Pidge answered cryptically. They went back to their laptop, typing furiously. They stayed that way, ignoring Keith’s death glare until he gave up and went back to his music.

Eventually, Keith decided that the music portion of his brain was fried and gave up for the night. Pidge was buried in their laptop, writing a paper for their robotics class at top speed. Ignoring them for the moment, Keith opened his own laptop, going back to the English assignment he still hadn’t finished. It was due by the next class, which was two days away, but he’d been putting it off for longer than that. He typed lazily at it for a while before a horrible thought hit him and he realized that his previous assessment had been wrong. He glared up at Pidge over his screen.

“She’s going, isn’t she?” he asked.

“Who?” Pidge asked back, pretending they didn’t know what he meant.

“You know who.”

“If you’re referring to your sister, then yes, she is.”

Keith sighed. “Just because she knows who her soulmate is now, that doesn’t mean that you’re right. Mine could be literally anyone.”

Pidge closed their laptop. “And you’re in denial. I can not believe that your twin sister happens to have a soulmate who has a younger brother who is also a twin and his soulmate has a twin. The odds of that happening are so small as to be inconceivable! Not to mention the part where Acxa’s soulmate and her brother both connected with theirs on the same day.”

“Ok, I’ll give you that it’s weird. But you don’t know anything about Acxa’s soulmate’s siblings, and neither does she. And not everyone’s met theirs yet. You haven’t! All you know is their handle on Steam!”

“So? I also know that Beezer’s on the other side of the country. I know that we won’t get to meet in person until after graduation. All I'm saying is that this is a little too weird to be a coincidence.”

“And I’m not going to let you harass my sister’s soulmate about her siblings on the day they’re meeting face to face for the first time. Leave it alone, Pidge.”

“Fine,” they said, going back to their paper.

Keith knew full well that Pidge would not leave it alone, but there was only so much he could do to stop them.

A few days later, Lance dragged his twin sister, Hunk, and Shay to the nearest Halloween pop-up costume store. None of them had found anything they liked, and Lance was getting bored. Shay had wandered off to the decoration part of the store, and Hunk was making sure the twins didn’t get into trouble. But Hunk had gotten briefly distracted and lost them.

“Jules no.” Ah, there was Lance.

“Jules yes.” And his sister.

“Are you two still arguing?” Hunk asked as he approached the twins.

“Hunk,” Lance said, putting his hands on Hunk’s shoulders, “She wants us to be the Wonder Twins again. I absolutely refuse. We did that once when we were like nine.” He felt something hit his back and whipped around to find his sister holding a Wonder Twins costume. “Ana Julieta Alameda-McClain, get that fucking thing away from me.”

“Oh, fine. You’re no fun,” Jules pouted. She put it back, then turned around, spotting something else. “Ooh! Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch?”

“What the fuck – no! I’m never going Halloween shopping with you again. You’re on your own,” Lance said, wandering off and taking Hunk with him.

Hunk was laughing. “Why do you keep letting her do this, dude?”

“I don’t know. Anyway, I say we go over to The Costume Company. I think I’m done with mass-produced crap.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll go find Shay and meet up with you two at the car,” Hunk agreed, heading in the direction he’d last seen Shay.

Lance reluctantly went back to his sister. “We’re going to The Costume Company,” he said without getting her attention.

“Hm? Ok,” Jules answered, not paying attention to her twin.

“Bye, then.” He started to leave without her, getting halfway down the aisle of the Halloween pop-up before she realized what he’d said.

“Lance! Get back here, you ass!” she yelled after him.

He ignored her as payback for her insistence on twin costumes and kept going. She chased him all the way to his car, where Hunk and Shay were already waiting. Lance finally lost his composure, cracking up when he reached his waiting friends.

“Leandro. Alejandro. Alameda. McClain. I am going to kill you,” Jules growled while out of breath from chasing him.

“No you won’t,” he said, “Mamá would kill you in return.”

Shay saw her opportunity and took it. “Shotgun!” she announced, hopping into the passenger seat.

“Shay, I love you,” Hunk said, getting in behind Lance, effectively separating the twins.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Acxa, just promise me you won’t give in to Pidge. They’re being totally insufferable with this,” Keith said. He lay on his bed, earbuds connected to the call he was on with his twin.

“You know me better than that. Gremlin won’t get shit out of me. And she’s not getting anywhere near V at the party."

~*~*~*~

Links to the rest of the series:

1 | 2 | 3* | 4 | 5* | 6* | 7 | 8 | 9* | 10 | 11 | 12* | 13 | 14 | 15* | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19*

[rolandtowen]

Prince Zuko was a harsh, entitled boy.

Firelord Zuko is a ruler who makes amends. - a study in the various side characters that Zuko came across in his banishment, and how he repays his past actions.

Read Chapter One on ao3 or under the cut! TW for referenced non-con and colonialism

[I believe @flamehotman and @flameomcfirey wanted to be tagged?]

Chapter One: Song

We will get there when we get there, don't you worry Feel bad about the things we do along the way But not really that bad We inhaled the frozen air Lord, send me a mechanic if I'm not beyond repair

- The Mountain Goats

It happened on a Tuesday afternoon.

Zuko was meeting with the agricultural council, a collection of both scholars and farmers, to discuss best practices for renewing the Fire Nations agricultural trade. For so many decades, the Fire Nation out-sourced its agriculture to land in the colonies and imported much of its food. But with the land being given back, the Fire Nation was either going to have to begin growing its own food again, or import their food at a fair price. The economic committee decided on Monday that reviving the Fire Nation farms would be far more cost effective - and of course, would create more jobs in the Fire Nation. With the war over, the number of soldiers that the military required had dropped dramatically, and there were many citizens without work. Zuko had instated severance benefits for unemployed soldiers - the ones not found guilty of war crimes of course, mostly the young recruits - but it couldn't last forever.

It was maddening. Every time Zuko unraveled one problem, he undoubtedly found or created another one. He was trying, really trying, to keep his people safe. But he also had a duty to the rest of the world. The nations that his lineage colonized, pillaged, and destroyed. He resists the urge to write to Aang, to ask him how he does it, how he balances all of the nations in every action he takes. But Aang is busy, all of his friends are, spread thin to the four corners of the world.

Uncle visits him occasionally, when the letters from staff concerned about Zuko's health pile up on his desk. One too many servants have found him, asleep at his desk, face down in treaty papers. But Uncle has his hands full. He already splits his time enough between the Jasmine Dragon and Ember Island, looking after Azula.

Azula.

She was improving, and that's really all Zuko can ask for. He sees her a couple of times a month, pours her a cup of tea, and they sit on the balcony of their vacation-house-turned-mental-retreat. Most of the time, they don't talk. Zuko won't push her; he remembers his silence in his first few months of being banished, how Uncle had to coax him to say anything at meals. Sometimes the only words he uttered in a day were in prayer before meditation. Zuko had thought to himself, speaking out got me into this mess: I'll never speak again.

He's not sure what words were exchanged between Azula and Ozai before he left her and went to burn down the Earth Kingdom, but he can guess it wasn't good. Few of his father's words were.

So they sit and drink their tea. Sometimes, on a good day, Zuko will fix up Azula's hair for her, and she'll reveal some bits of information that he files away for future examination. Something like, I saw Mom before you came with Master Katara. Or she'll double check her reality, asking, you let Ty Lee and Mai out of jail, right? and Zuko will say yes, her friends are safe, they should be visiting any day now.

As painful as seeing her may be, spending time with Azula is far preferable to sitting through an agricultural council meeting.

He looks down at the paper in front of him, a comprehensive budget list for all of the supplies needed to revitalize the Fire Nation's agricultural sphere. Dozens of machines that he's sure Sokka had a hand in inventing, hundreds of varieties of seeds that Omashu is generously selling to them, and -

Thousands of ostrich-horses.

"Councilor Yichen, can you elaborate on the number of animals in this budget? Certainly with the machines we'll provide, farmers will not need so many working livestock."

Councilor Yichen stands, giving a little bow in Zuko's direction. "Of course, Lord Zuko. While the machines will certainly boost productivity, we only have enough for one per farming village at this point. Each family needs at least one working animal, if not to plow the fields, then to transport goods. We decided on ostrich-horses on a recommendation from farmers in the Earth Kingdom colonies, who found them to be invaluable. An ostrich-horse is, in many ways, more valuable than a machine."

Zuko's stomach settles uncomfortably, but he isn't entirely sure why. "Thank you, Councilor. I understand now."

Yichen gives another little bow before he sits, and the rest of the meeting goes as planned, with the exception of a strange seed of unknown guilt now growing in Zuko's stomach.

"Uncle, do you remember when you made tea out of that poisonous plant?"

Uncle laughs, hands faltering as he pours Zuko a cup of jasmine tea. "I remember, Nephew. How could I ever forget?"

"Do you remember the girl who helped you?"

Uncle takes a sip of the warm tea. "Song. Her mother made the best roast duck." He looks at Zuko out of the corner of his eyes. "Why do you ask?"

Zuko looks out over the gardens. He's able to see the whole palace grounds from where they're seated on the second-floor balcony, watching the sun rise. As far as the eye can see, Zuko is upheld as a flawless ruler, his word taken as law. He's sick of it.

"I stole her ostrich-horse," he murmurs into his tea, taking a sip to calm his nerves. "I just remembered, in that agricultural meeting a few days ago. I - I never knew how essential those were to farmers, I just thought I was taking their ride." He turns to fully face his Uncle. "But I think I took a lot more than that."

Uncle meets his eyes with understanding. "And now you want to give it back."

"I know there's no way for me to fully apologize for how I acted in exile, but it feels like I have to try." The cup quivers a bit in his hands, and so his hands drop to his lap. "I'll need someone to watching over the Nation while I'm gone."

Uncle places one of his warm hands over Zuko's shaking ones. "I'm sure I can deal with your advisors for a few days." He squeezes his hand just slightly around Zuko's. "I'm proud to see that even in a few short months, your wisdom as a ruler is growing. Go, make your amends. The Nation will be here when you return." Uncle calls for Zuko's secretary and tells her to clear as much of the Firelord's schedule as she can for the next week. Their voices fade into the background as Zuko stares into his tea, wracking his brain to try and figure out how to track down just one girl in the entire Earth Kingdom. Sending scouts or soldiers from town to town is a recipe for disaster, and the Earth Kingdom villages have been traumatized enough. He supposes he could always call in a ride on his favorite air bison but - this feels like something he should do on his own.

If Song hates him, it might be hard for her to show it in front of the Avatar.

So he'll go alone. No friends, no royal guard. He'll come into Song's town the same way he came last time - defenseless. She can hate him if she wants, he'll give her that.

And he'll try to give back what he took from her.

He packs light, pulling an old tunic and boots from the back of his wardrobe. Though they've been thoroughly cleaned by the palace staff, the scent of campfires and smoke linger upon them. He grabs a cloak - the Earth Kingdom will be starting to chill at this time of year - and he slips out of the palace, using the servant's entrance to get onto the streets unseen.

Autumn comes quietly in the Earth Kingdom. The trees slowly lose their color, giving the last of their strength into vibrant leaves. Soldiers previously conscripted to fight in the war have either returned to their families or have gone to tend to the scorched earth where the Phoenix King made landfall. They clear the debris of fallen airships, making room for the earth to slowly restore herself.

Song envies those soldiers.

Their lives have changed with the ending of the war, but Song's life continues on, its mundane routine continuing over and over again. She cares for a small garden, crafts herbal remedies for her neighbors, and tries to make her mother comfortable. She curses the Spirits for their cruel sense of humor - her mother survives the greatest war ever seen, lives through the attempted invasion of her homeland, only to be struck down by frailty months after the end of it all. Hasn't she suffered enough? Song has whispered those words to the woods on her way to the well time and time again. Now, her body is just - stopping.

Her mother is dying and there's nothing she can do.

Song knows all living things have their time. And she's seen too many living beings go before their rightful time. But she never imagined her mother's time would be in a time of peace. Wasn't ending the war supposed to stop all this pain? Apparently not. She tries not to become bitter, knows that that's the last thing her mother would want for her, but - it hurts. And there's not a damn thing she can do about it.

The leaves from dying trees crackle under her feet.

She arrives at the well, alone. Her hometown is just barely beginning to wake up, rising from its slumber as mothers bring in dry clothes from the clotheslines and fathers begin to toil in the fields. Children run freely from street to street, with a joy that was forbidden during the Fire Nation's occupation. They're kicking at a ball, passing it from one pair of bare feet to another, and Song smiles at them. Someday, maybe.

She sets her water jug on the stone wall of the well and begins to lower the bucket before hearing the ball make impact and a man's voice grunt, "oof!". She spins rapidly around to see a young man, rear planted firmly in the dirt, one hand rubbing at his forehead while the other wipes at a watering eye. The group of children stand, frozen, and she gives them a look, and unspoken command to stay and apologize to the man they just hit with their ball.

"Here, take my hand," Song holds out her right hand, and the man takes it. When the young man meets her eyes, she almost drops him back in the dirt. He has those amber eyes, and she can just see under his loose hair - a burn scar. "Lee?!"

He stands, brushing dust from his cloak, and she catches the hints of red fabric that lie beneath. She recoils. He sighs. "Um, about that." Song sees his hands tremble against his cloak. "My name's not Lee - and I'm from the Fire Nation."

Song reacts as if she'd been slapped. She trips backwards, away from Not Lee, landing hard against the stone of the well. Her leg is aching, feels like its on fire all over again, looking into those amber eyes.

"How could you? I let you into my home." She braces her hands against the well, her leg threatening to give out at any moment. "Now it all makes sense, that you stole from me. That's all you ashmakers are good for." She spits, and it lands on his scarred cheek. "You take land that isn't yours, take women that aren't yours, you take lives!" Her leg finally collapses, and she sinks to the ground with her back against the well. Not Lee makes a move, and she throws her hands up. "Don't you touch me," she grits out, clutching at her leg. He stills, and she wraps her arms around herself, bringing her knees to her chest. "I pitied you, you know? I thought your mother must've been - I looked at your eyes and thought you were a victim like me, like my mother." Her whole body is trembling, but she doesn't care. "But I bet you know who your father is, I bet you're proud to have his eyes."

Not Lee mirrors her, curling in on himself, not even bothering to wipe his face clean. "I do know who my father is, but I'm not proud of him." He looks up to meet her eyes, and Song is struck by how young he looks. When she'd last seen him, he'd looked gaunt, malnourished, with sharp cheekbones. Now, his face had filled out and he looks - young? The scar makes him look older as well, but when you look on the opposite side of his face - all she can see is a kid, couldn't be older than a teenager.

And he was crying.

Stubborn as he is, Not Lee is resolutely ignoring the tears slowly falling from his eyes, but nevertheless - they fell. Song didn't expect that reaction. Tears are not what she expected from a Fire National. Anger, rage, violence - those are the things she's tasted at the hands of firebenders, but this? This is new.

"I'm sorry," Not Lee whispers, looking at his feet. "I came to apologize, I wanted to repay you for your kindness and return what I took. But I think I've overstayed my welcome." He scrubs at his face roughly with the heel of one hand. "But I am, truly sorry. I acted selfishly the last time I was in your home, and I took advantage of your compassion. And I understand that my nation has done even worse. I'm trying to make it better." He pulls his hair back with a band. "I know you have no reason to trust me, but I would like to purchase you a new ostrich-horse. And anything else you or your mother may require."

Without warning, Not Lee shifts from his seat position to a bowing one, kneeling with his head pressed to the dry earth. Song stares at him for a small eternity, before realizing that he's waiting, unmoving, for her response. For her judgement.

She lets out a small breath. "Okay," his eyes flick up to hers and her stomach twists. The way he bows is so precise - it must have been drilled into him hundreds of times before. Another thing she wouldn't have expected from a firebender. "Come to dinner."

He stands after she does and gives another slight bow. As they begin the walk back to Song's home, he offers to carry her water jug, and Song feels more weight than one lifted from her.

"What did you say your name was again, young man?" Mei pokes at Zuko's shoulder as she hobbles to the table.

"Mom, I'm sorry about her, she's getting older," Song sets a bowl of fragrant roast duck in front of him and Zuko feels his mouth begin to water.

"No, it's okay, I don't think I've actually properly introduced myself." He takes a quick sip of tea - bracing himself for whatever will happen next - and calmly sets the mug back down. "My name is Zuko," he begins slowly. "AndI'mkindoftheFirelord."

There's the sound of Song dropping a bowl in the kitchen, and Mei leans in a bit closer to Zuko.

"Sorry, dear, could you say that again? My ears aren't what they used to be."

Zuko opens his mouth to respond, but Song slowly enters the room, her eyes narrowed in on Zuko. "You said - you're the firelord?" He nods at her, waiting for her to swing a knife at him, kick him out of their home, call some earthbenders to rough him up -

Before his panic can start to set in, Song runs out the front door, slamming it behind her.

Zuko looks helplessly at Mei.

"Give her a moment." Mei brings her pair of chopsticks to her mouth. "Hmm, she still doesn't make it as well as I used to."

"What about you? Do you hate me?"

Mei sighs, putting her bowl down. "I'm too old for hate, dear. My time in this world is almost over. I can't spend it hating world rulers." She takes a sip of her tea. "But Song? She -" Mei sighs again. "She's been hurt deeply by the Fire Nation, in more ways than one. And it isn't just you. But for a long time, the monarchy has been the embodiment of everything terrible that's ever happened to her. And now you're here, standing in front of her."

Zuko nods. "I understand. And I am sorry, to you as well. I don't think I fully understood the reach of the war. I was always taught that the army acted with honor, that women and children were untouchable." He looks down at his folded hands. "I can see that was false."

"Unfortunately, you are correct." She reaches between them to refill Zuko's cup, then Song's, and hands them both to him. "Go to her. A bit of tea should help bring you some good favor."

The screen door opens and closes, and Zuko finds himself out on the porch. Song sits on the edge, absently massaging her leg, peering into the darkness of the forest.

"Can I join you?"

She shrugs, and he takes that as a yes. Handing over her tea, Zuko sits besides her and tries to find what she sees in the darkness.

For a few minutes, the only sounds are those of them drinking and crickets chirping. Then Song speaks.

"His name was Bao."

Treasured. Precious. Rare.

"That's a lovely name."

"What happened to him?" Song turns abruptly to look at him with shining eyes. "Did he...?"

Zuko shakes his head emphatically. "My Uncle and I traded him to a florist for safe passage to Ba Sing Se. The florist seemed like a good man."

"You went to Ba Sing Se?"

Zuko runs one hand down the back of his neck. "I might have conquered it, actually?"

Sing snorts. "That part I've heard about. You've lived an interesting life, Zuko."

"If by 'interesting' you mean messy, then yes." He sighs. "You had no reason to trust me. Why did you let me back into your home?"

Song laughs, tinged with bitterness. "My mother says I'm too trusting, too gullible." She swirls the dregs of her tea around the bottom of her cup. "But I think there's strength in being kind. And I really did want to forgive you. But you have to be ready."

"And do you think I am?"

She smiles softly at him. "For me, yes. But my guess is I'm not the only person you hurt in exile." She gulps down her remaining tea. "They may not be as forgiving as I am."

"I'm preparing myself for that possibility."

"Does it scare you?"

Zuko ponders it. "I think it does. The idea that I've hurt someone innocent so badly that they may never be able to move past it... that keeps me up at night."

Songs turns towards him, tucking her knees up to her chest. "We can't control how other people see us in this life. How they react to our actions is up to them - all that we can control is our response. You have to be ready to accept that someone may not be ready to forgive you, and you can't let that eat you up." She stares at him intently. "You have to confident that your own actions are enough. That they're good."

It's Zuko's turn to laugh sourly. "Easier said than done," his hand wanders to his scar. "Sometimes I'm still not sure if what I'm doing is right."

"You don't have to do it alone, you know," Song gives him an understanding look. "You need other people around you, Zuko, to remind you what's good."

He huffs, looking down at his hands, folded in his lap. "Do you want to be one of those people?"

"I think you have more than enough goodness surrounding you already. You just have to be confident enough to ask." She sighs, looking back out into the darkness. "Besides, I have to stay here with my mother. She doesn't have long."

"Are you sure there's nothing I can do? I could send my healers -"

She shakes her head, cutting him off midsentence. "It's her time." She begins to rub at her scars again. "I just didn't know how much it would hurt. We finally have some peace, and suddenly it's her time."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, not for this. It's due to you that she'll be able to die during peacetime." Her hands come to her eyes, wiping tears away before they can spill down her cheeks. "Her biggest fear was that she'd die and leave me alone to fend for myself during the war. You released her from that fear. Of course I forgive you, Zuko. My mother's no longer scared of dying because of you."

The two of them are silent for a long time, watching fireflies flicker off and on in the trees, listening to the crickets sing.

"I'm going to find Bao for you."

Song looks up in surprise. "You don't have to-"

"I want to, I'm sure he's still out there somewhere." Zuko rises from his seat. "If you ever need anything, anything, you write directly to me. I'll tell my staff that you're a priority."

"Are you leaving?" Song stands as well. "You could stay, if you want."

Zuko shakes his head silently. "I have to get back, and travelling by night is best for a Firelord who doesn't want his identity revealed," he smiles, his scarred skin relaxing into it. With that, he pulls his hair out of its topknot, grabs his pack and swords, and starts to disappear into the night.

"Firelord Zuko?" He stops and turns back at the sound of Song's voice. She makes the sign of the flame and bows. "Thank you, for everything." He bows back, lower than protocol dictates, but he doesn't care.

Three weeks pass, and the air has turned bitterly cold.

Song again makes her daily trip to the village well, with snow crunching under her feet instead of dead leaves. The soldiers have returned from their work in restoring fields for the season, and so the village feels alive when she steps into it. Despite the chill, children still run in the street, under the watchful eye of their mothers and fathers. Song feels a twinge of longing, but she tries to focus on the happiness she feels for the children instead. Song sets her water jug on the side of the well, breathing hot air into her palms to warm her hands after touching the freezing stone.

"Excuse me, miss, are you Song?" A voice comes from behind her, and she turns to see two men dressed in red tunics.

"I am," she replies, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hanbok. "And you are?"

They bow to her. "We come on behalf of Firelord Zuko, to deliver a gift." A third man rounds the corner with an ostrich-horse on a tether. "We found him at a desert settlement, he's been well taken care of, but if there's anything you need -"

They're cut off as Song runs to throw her arms around the neck of the ostrich-horse. "Bao!" She strokes his beak, looking into his eyes. "Do you remember me?"

Bao cocks his head to the side, pupils widening as he chirps softly, and then he lets out a loud whinny, pushing his head into Song's chest. He purrs, closing his eyes and relaxes against her.

"Sweet Bao, it's really me, you're really home," Song can feel her eyes dampening, but holds it together as one of the men hands her a bit of parchment.

"A note from the Firelord. He wanted us to remind you that you can write to him anytime you need anything."

Song nods. "And tell him I said 'thank-you' again." Bao whinnies loudly again, and she adds on, "Bao says 'thank-you' too."

"Of course, miss." With a synchronized bow, the men depart, and Song unrolls the parchment.

Song,

I've followed your advice and surrounded myself with good people. It helps.

Give my best to your mother - my Uncle still talks about her roast duck sometimes. I've established a fund specially for women and child victims of the war, inspired by some of what you and Mei shared with me. Write me if you feel like you or anyone in your village wants to apply for it.

And, thank you for trusting and forgiving me. I'll try to keep earning it.

May the Spirits continually bless you,

Zuko

She tucks the parchment into her pocket, fills her jug, and finds herself back in Bao's familiar saddle after more than a year. "Come on, Bao," she says as she takes the lead into her hands, guiding them back to the empty farmhouse.

"Let's go home."

[if you read through this whole thing, go drink some water! I'll know if u don't :) ]

[gisellelx]

Why would Bella have been interested in studying biology in college? It makes no sense at all for her character. Just because she was ✨ gifted ✨ at biology for knowing the same mitosis lab every 10th grader in the country does? And HOW did she get into Dartmouth with no advanced classes and no extracurriculars?! Did the Cullens have to Aunt Becky her into Dartmouth? Is there a photoshopped picture of Bella playing water polo somewhere out there?

Forgive the time on this one. I actually forgot that I have bootleg pdfs of all the books--I downloaded them a decade ago and then they’ve just been on various backups ever since. I wanted to verify what Bella had ever said about her major before grandstanding on this. But now, let me grandstand on this a bit. :)

I think SM absolutely wants us to believe that the Cullens Aunt-Beckied Bella into Dartmouth. However. In normal circumstances, I’m relying on good research when I talk about what might have happened in a given Twilight situation. In this situation, however, I’m drawing on several years’ experience on the admissions staff of an honors college at a major elite university you’ve heard of. 

We absolutely would have admitted Bella Swan.

Bella absolutely got into Dartmouth on her own, once Edward submitted her materials and here’s why. Two words. Pell Grant. Universities want them. They’re not huge, but it helps fend off the “Oh you’re just for the elite students” charge. Let’s look at Bella for a minute. She’s a first-generation student (ooh), with parents of lower middle class incomes (ahhh), her father is in law enforcement (great, respectable middle-income job that is going to appeal to the kinds of people who accuse higher ed of being "elite"), who is coming from a county with an under-average college matriculation rate and low test scores. 

These are exactly the kinds of things an elite college is looking for. They want to balance out the “My daddy went to Princeton and my mommy went to Harvard” enrollment. They need to be able to go “Look, here’s a talented student who comes from nothing and we were able to make it work for her” in order to make themselves look and feel good. They need the rags-to-riches story, and if it can get a 1400+ on the SAT...bring it on.

There is nothing in the saga to suggest that Bella isn’t an excellent student. In fact everything suggests exactly the opposite--she comes into junior year Bio having already taken Bio AP at a bigger school district. She seems to be a vigorous reader, which means she’s probably not a bad writer. And she’s an introvert, so she probably spends a great deal of time studying. While it’s true we don’t get an indication that she has an extensive extracurricular life, extracurriculars are the domain of the well-off students, and admissions experts know this. Newton’s Outfitters would suffice. We/they know that our working-class, first-gen students are likely to be working as their extracurricular, so a steady job stands in for band or Science Olympiad, or what have you. 

So...yeah. Presuming her test scores are where we would expect them to be for someone who considers Wuthering Heights to be pleasure reading...she absolutely got into Dartmouth on her own. She’s exactly the kind of student elite universities are looking for--not too much trouble (and ngl, white! She'll fit in! Admissions committees are totally racist AF!) who is just kind of poor but not really through no fault of her own. So yeah, she’s getting an admit offer. 

As to science--I had to go searching here because I’m not sure if you’re referring specifically to my personal AU. But I have to assume you are, based on what’s in canon. In canon, we don’t get any indication that Bella is bad at science. She just prefers Victorian lit. In One Day the Sun Will Rise, she chooses neuropsych precisely because of what happened in TW & NM. She has an aptitude for it, if an underdeveloped one (but seriously, every undergrad has underdeveloped aptitudes for lots of things) but she has only ever imagined herself as an English teacher. Edward, and his death, force her to re-imagine that--English lit is painful because it reminds her of him, and neuro is intriguing because it offers insight into his gift. So something very different than what she has envisioned makes a lot of sense in that canon divergent AU. She doesn't suck at science, obviously; she just hasn't dreamed of a need to cultivate it. And Edward gives her a reason to cultivate it.

I think in canon, had pregnancy not been forced upon her by SM, she absolutely majors in 19th century lit, has a wonderful time at Dartmouth, eventually gets turned, and does other degrees later. But I don’t think it is implausible to think she got into Dartmouth on her own, nor that she would pursue a science degree if Edward were out of the picture. 

[superworldunkown]

Chase you to the Top

AN: Dad Bakugou fics are my favorite. I am 100% convinced, with evidence I made up myself, that Bakugou would literally be the best dad in the worst way. Would his children swear? Yes. Would they be wholesome and the righteous hero’s in the making? Fuck yes. I’m here for it. Also, Bakugou and a POC character would make the most cutest biracial babies, like I cant. But I’ll write it anyways. 

Summary: The day finally came when Deku passed Kacchan on the Hero Billboard charts...but, surprisingly, Bakugou is still on top. It’s mostly BakuDeku friendship, with a nice helping of Dad Bakugou, and a sprinkle of Bakugou x POC reader. The perfect recipe.

Midoriya dreamed of this day. It was finally here. The Hero Billboard Chart JP Annual ceremony. All of the training, the battles, the wins and losses, it all seemed worth it to have his name once again be echoed in the same stadium as his mentor, All Might. Of course, Midoriya was nervous beyond recognition. But, in true Midoriya fashion, he spent all week preparing and perfecting his entrance walk, his wave to the crowd, and the speech the top heroes gave. He had it down to a science.   After all, he was now a top hero! However, he was not prepared for the ranking, 

Midoriya ranked 3rd.

Kacchan....4th.

He ranked higher. He surpassed Bakugou?! And now, the entire world was going to see it. This could very well be his final Hero Billboard Chart moment. He was sure Bakugou was going to blast him on live TV. Maybe he shouldn’t have invited his mother as his plus 1.

He gulped, despite how hard his body was rejecting any more fluid into his already churning stomach. The two hero’s stood side by side backstage, both dressed in their full hero costumes; Bakugou foregoing his left gauntlet. Since the war with the League of Villains several years back he only dawned both gauntlets in serious missions where the firepower was absolutely necessary.  

The roar of the crowed hummed through the walls and thick theater curtains. The two hero’s haven’t spoken to each other since their rankings were reveled in private late last night. Some hero’s weren’t even given any notice to their rankings. He and Bakugou were the exceptions.  Bakugou and Midoriya stood out for so many reasons. Both seen and unseen. To the public, they were the symbol of the next generation of Heroes. Also, the Hero Committee knew of Bakugou’s fiery temper, so it was probably for everyone's safety that it wasn’t publicly announced without notice. 

Midoriya thought for a moment. They weren’t kids anymore. And their friendship, dare he say it, had transformed so much from their days at U.A. They were on speaking terms, they trained together. Ran missions together. Bakugou even threw himself in danger to save his life once. Hell, he was even invited to Bakugou’s wedding, and only 5 other classmates were invited! They had become so much closer, but was that all about to be destroyed?

But Midoriya couldn’t live with the silence. He had to say something. Something to cut the tension. Something to make Bakugou look at him, acknowledge him. Even if he got screamed at, he had to say something. 

He began slow, and quiet, “So...Uhh, pretty exciting we both made it so high up, huh?”

Oh no.

Was that pandering? Shit!

“I mean, its great right? We’ve both worked so hard. You worked even harder you know, your quirk is so amazing and you’ve become such a great hero- not that you weren’t in the first place...Sorry not likethatKacchanijustknowyou’vebeenwatingforthismomentyourwholelifeandihopeI’mnotruiningitbecauseirankedhigherthanyouthisyearbuttheresalwaysnextyearwhoknowsmaybetheyputmehigherbymistake-”

“Damnit Deku! You’re muttering again! And It’s pissing me off!” 

The green haired man didn’t know why the abrasive response made him smile, “Sorry, Kacchan.” 

Bakugou huffed an inaudible response while he began tinkering with his gauntlet before setting it down at his feet, “Shit, forgot to turn the safety on.” 

“You’ve gotten so strong, you dont even really need those anymore.” Midoriya pipped up, “You’re now able to set of explosions that can be felt half a mile away-” 

Red eyes were cast his direction, “I should’ve gotten that restraining order. You know so much about me its weird, ya damn nerd.” 

“Am I really still a nerd to you? After all these years?” 

Before the explosion hero could respond, the presence of a small child caught their attention. The curly haired child stood in front of Bakugou, staring up at him with wide, bright eyes. She dawned orange dress with green polka dots and small black and red shoes.

“Oh, Hey Ki-” 

“What are you doing here, kid?” Bakugou’s brash voice filled the backstage. He knelt down in front of her, snarling, “Looking for an autograph or something? Well they ain’t free!”

The girl didn’t bat an eye. Rather, her freckled face scrunched up as she responded with a giggle, “You’re mean, Daddy.” 

He was beaming, “Damn right I am.” He snatched his daughter up his arms, lifting her in the air as he stood. The girl laughed at her new found height before she began reaching for Bakugou’s hero mask. 

“Kiara-there you are!” You called out while rounding the corner, eyes finally set on your daughter, “You can’t run away from Mommy like that.” 

Kiara was Bakugou’s 3 year old daughter. She was the perfect balance of you and Katsuki. She had your brown skin that glowed with tiny freckles, curly hair, albeit blonde like her fathers. She had your smile, big and bright. And just like her namesake, she was the princess. You were convinced she got that from Katsuki’s side of the family.

“Hey, Y/N.” Midoriya spoke, only to be enveloped in a big hug.

“Deku! I heard the news! I’m so proud of you, number 3 hero, that’s amazing! Try not to break any bones during your speech, okay?”

“Thanks, Y/N. I’ll try not to.”  

Bakugou let out a small laugh. You turned your attention towards your husband and wayward daughter, “And you, no swearing during yours either! I mean it Katsuki if she learns one more word...” 

Kiara watched you before mimicking your moves, waving her small finger in her father’s face, “Yeah, no spearin-” She finished with a squeal as Bakugou flashed his teeth playfully bit at her finger.

‘Top 10 heroes, take your position at the main stage. Again, top 10 heroes, main stage please.’ 

“Alright missy, Daddy and Deku have to go.” You reached out for your daughter who whined in protest, clearly not ready to depart to their seats.

“You sure you can hold her?” Bakugou asked softly, staring down at the small bump that showed ever so slightly from underneath your sweater.

“Trust me.” You reassured him, “If I let her feet hit the ground again, she’ll rush the stage. Okay, Kiara one last hug and it’s time to go.” 

Kiara gave her father a tight hug before leaning away towards your arms, “No madder what Daddy, you’re still my mumber one hero.”

While he only witnessed the tender moment, for Midoriya it finally dawned on him. At the end of the day, he didn’t surpass Kacchan, not even by an inch. Midoriya was still chasing after him, just like when they were kids. It didn’t matter where he was ranked or what the public thought of him. 

To the people that mattered. Who truly loved him, 

Kacchan was already number 1. 

AN: I just really want to write more Dad Bakugou. Mah Heart! Do you need Baku-dad in your life, too?  Let me know. 

[whoslaurapalmer]

so i never do this but i put a lot of thought into really specific details about the structure and scene layout of (the three-part folding mirror) and i really really really want to talk about it so here are some of my notes and some general commentary 

-the crux of the fic, at least the way i had envisioned it, is what vfd does to family, how it becomes biological family vs the family created by vfd

-what vfd did to specific families: -physically separated the calibans -morally separated the denouements and the snickets -somehow brought the anwhistles closer together

-in terms of ramona and olaf, ramona was there to stress the distinction of biological family vs. vfd family but also how they’re so inextricably intertwined with each other, and olaf, this is harder to tell bc he doesn’t have a point of view here, but olaf is scoping out potential candidates for his personal group of firestarters – his own sort of “family” (ramona bc she’s a duchess, ernest because he has a similar line of thought, josephine because her husband is working with the mushrooms, the white-faced women because, well they wind up in his troupe and I have very vague headcanons about how that happens)

-related; the reason frank asks olivia about miranda at the end is because, at that point in the fic, frank feels so terrible about what he said to ernest that he’s trying to reassure himself that his family is still okay because (dewey’s right) at least they’re together, compared to the calibans, who haven’t seen each other in years. it was one of the first ideas I had when I was jotting ideas down in april and it stuck with me the whole way through. I really wanted it in there. I went back and forth before I got to this plot, though, on whether or not frank or ernest would be the one asking it. but I think it fits frank. -(ahahahahahaha the kicker being that miranda really was at the party the whole time and olivia didn’t recognize her) -anyway 

-the parallels in the fic were: -the denouements start the fic together, and end the fic alone (by being honest about how they feel about each other) -the snickets start the fic relatively separated, and end the fic together (by being dishonest about what happened during the party) -the denouements start the fic by playing their game, and the snickets end the fic with theirs -frank is mistaken for ernest, ernest is mistaken for frank -frank pretends to be ernest on accident, ernest pretends to be frank on purpose -dewey has never slammed a door in his life; towards the end of the fic he slams the tray -i….think that’s all of them. I think

-character-wise, jacques and frank both see themselves as the people holding their families together; when in fact for the denouements, it’s dewey, which I think is clear in this, and for the snickets it’s lemony, which is less clear here? but definitely something I agree with -dewey and kit see themselves as the most ‘normal’, and they both have relatively solitary positions of acquiring information -ernest and lemony clearly both vibe on a ‘question vfd’ wavelength -i was also interested in kit and ernest, as siblings who feel stifled by an older/perceived older sibling, and dewey and lemony, who are sometimes unnecessarily protected by their siblings because they are the youngest/perceived youngest -this doesn’t show up in the fic bc olaf’s parents are still alive, but I thought ramona and olaf were also interesting foils re: reacting to their parent’s deaths

-some narration notes: -frank never refers to ernest and dewey as his brothers, except in the scene where he argues with ernest. because frank doesn’t necessarily see the split of biological family vs vfd family but has definitely swayed more to vfd family -ernest and dewey always refer to each other as brothers. -similarly, frank refers to the members of vfd as associates, most everyone else refers to them as friends. -ernest refers to vfd as strictly VFD because he’s distanced himself from it, while everyone else calls it ‘the organization’ -frank doesn’t swear even in his narration when he’s thinking them and not saying them because it’s, still his narration. he still wouldn’t quite completely say the words. (oh, he’s like gansey, like that. the raven cycle is still on my brain. i had so many scene sketches where ernest and frank were way too callous to each other bc they kept coming out like ronan and declan.)  -kit’s line at the beginning is “someone in this very room has betrayed us” which is jacques’s line from the building committee meeting in unauto. the clock saying wrong afterwards is because the someone who really betrayed them (lemony) isn’t in the room. 

-the costumes, which i did decide very arbitrarily: monty: clearly a snake. olaf: sigh. wolf ramona and olivia: oh, there was actually a slight distinction that just no one notices because none of them have looked at an insect (and also because describing clothes properly but succinctly is the hardest thing. i've written fic for a long time!!!!! i did my time in block paragraph clothing description hell!!! it haunts me!!!!!!!!!!), but ramona was the butterfly and olivia was actually a dragonfly. their masks are roses because, well 1) I thought that would be cool 2) butterflies and dragonflies land on flowers…. jacques: the boxwood, but a lion otherwise. josephine: ocean widdershins: the octopus with the pirate hat jacquelyn: the gold star suit (because gustav said she should do it for a play on. star. like. actress star.) miranda: uranus’s moon named miranda. it was very vague and I put that in the fic before I decided to have her in the little scene with esme. and then i thought i would put her in that scene too. gustav: phantom of the opera.  haruki: tree frog hector: tree (not because of haruki’s costume but because i literally could not think of a damn thing for hector to be) lemony: uhhhhhh I had vague ideas he was. a cloud or something. like a stormcloud???? couldn’t pan out though. I like him in grey anyway. kit: I really just wanted her in red. with a big cape. and i spent so much time mentally deciding if i wanted her to have glasses or not in the archives that i forgot to mention her mask. everyone has one i swear to god  white faced women: did anyone recognize that was them? :) it’s not mentioned in any way at all but in my head they were all dressed identically as flappers

esme actually doesn’t have one, because I, forgot, to give her one. I’m taking suggestions. 

-references to lyeekha’s fics: -“that which is essential is invisible to the eye” is what frank says to jacques at the end of edge, and also the title of their snicket/denouement series  -it initially wasn’t in there, because I was worried it wasn’t, like, in the right tone, re: what happens in edge vs how I was interpreting jacques and frank? but i liked it a lot. so i put it back in.  -“frank quit smoking, but you didn’t” is a reference to frank smoking at the end of rigged  -guess the guest and the clock alcove are from the end of fragments, with dewey and ernest watching hotel guests. this is my favorite thing in the whole world and something i actually keep forgetting is not canon because it is SUCH the perfect beethoven parallel  -kit’s tattoo, which I was specifically imagining as the giant bombinating beast tattoo from ink on her back, which is definitely not around her neck but that was the only spot of skin she was showing so it was available and my thought was, it was kind of a low-cut in the back dress, and she was wearing the cape to cover up the giant tattoo on her back because beatrice was not there to cover it up with makeup (also bea picked out the dress.) (bea: if I can’t be there you have to make a statement) (kit: I have to what) -lemony being a “powerful, mythical figure” to the sugar bowl gen was actually something I wrote a long time ago, back in 2013, and I put it in the fic because I thought it fit, and then happened to reread double edged VERY late into the rewriting, literally THE DAY after I wrote that line in, and i saw a similar line of thought, and I was like “*cooper voice* sometimes you just get lucky ~ ” -jacques being in a lion costume, from the masquerade outfit sketches

additionally – -yes I am still cackling about ‘angel of my apple’ -angel of my apple -ANGEL OF MY APPLE  -writing olaf is constantly like, he can say the funniest fucking things. and then turn around and say the absolute cruelest shit and the balance can be difficult.  -but, angel of my a p p l e 

-i can’t believe that out of all the people here, frank and jacques are the ones having the most semi-successful romantic relationship. well, ramona and olivia, too, but frank and jacques actually kiss so good for them -i know it was very vague and it’s because writing romance is physically embarrassing, but yes that last line was supposed to be them kissing, i’m so sorry 

-undercover underwater was a last-minute addition because I didn’t want to take the time to try and google something real and good because I didn’t have the time. my guilty pleasure is super shitty hallmark murder mystery movies (I like good murder mysteries as well, thank you.) and my mom’s been reading terrible murder mysteries during lunch (where I was sitting across from her, also eating lunch, but also hiding behind my laptop and writing the fic) so I just came up with undercover underwater on the spot, but my mom came up with the tagline. it was originally ‘sleeps with the fishes’ (especially because i love the godfather movies which also, clearly has a very big stress on family vs The Family) but I thought ‘diving for the truth’ was funnier. -my mom and my brother (who has no interest in shitty murder mysteries, but loves to verbally smack them down with me re: their predictable tropes) and I decided that the plotline was something like, single woman scuba dives and keeps running into stuff (you know, hidden treasure, dead bodies, the like); her love interest drives the boat; her overbearing family member is an aunt; this is definitely like, book four in the series. there’s probably twelve books or something. (she goes on vacation on like book six and still finds a dead body, come on it practically writes itself.) (she probably owns a little fish tank......it’s a small sunny beach town.........etc etc.........) (it’s so easy to do this.)  -oh, fixer upper is the worst hallmark murder mystery series, murder she baked is the best. in my opinion. 

-dewey and lemony were supposed to have an actual conversation at the hors d’oeuvres table but every time I tried to put lemony in earlier he just wouldn’t work. it didn’t feel right. so he got saved for the reveal. -but i’m still delighted by the idea of lemony literally doing the shot of gazpacho.  -dewey uses a spoon because he doesn’t have the composure or the guts to do a shot of cold soup  -lemony was also supposed to have a scene with kit and one with jacques, i’m pretty sure, to lead up to the gazpacho conversation and the commiserating re: siblings. but again, didn’t work out. so then dewey had to fare alone in the scene. -oh!! the line about how lemony hides, in the least likely places, was actually something that was in my initial write of lemony’s scrapped pov of my ellington fic. jacques being responsible for sending olivia to the hinterlands was from a scrapped jacques fic.  -steal from your unused fic. 

-because I had to take scenes with lemony out, I had some, gaps in the night that I had to fill in (especially because this is a party more people are there than the snickets and the denouements), so that was how esme, the herpetology squad, and olaf and josephine came to be. (also olaf needed to show up again somewhere else otherwise he kind of, disappeared awkwardly, I thought?) -also because initially there was going to be a scene of bea and bertrand, elsewhere, but I wanted to keep the fic contained to the hotel, because one of the ideas I wasn’t able to put into the fic all that much was the sense of the hotel being its own world -oh, bea and bertrand don’t know that lemony used them as cover. the assignment they were working on instead of being at the party? planning the opera. the scene would’ve come right after ramona and olaf’s conversation. -the herpetology squad not only serves to highlight that people can’t tell the denouements apart (part of the foreshadowing that ernest would pretend to be frank), but was also me roasting myself because writing like a million different characters I had never written like this before had me very concerned about if their characterization was consistent, specifically for kit. (specifically, her with dewey.) also defining a character down to one base trait can be helpful when writing and creating characters, but for people no it’s not ideal. -haruki’s estimation of the denouement’s traits were not how i was mentally keeping track of them, because i definitely do do the ‘one base trait’ sometimes, but i had a lot more going on when i was thinking of them -but yes dewey is kind. in the way that bertrand is kind, but bertrand’s like, way more smooth about it. 

-lemony does not have his own pov because, for me personally, I can’t fathom writing him in any other way besides first person, and it just would not do to have one scene out of the whole fic not in third person. unless he was secretly narrating each scene, which, he clearly was not. i would’ve had to do it in a whole different style. 

-i love that dewey and kit are like ‘ahaha we’re the normal ones though’ and their normal conversation is them literally going ‘hey these creepy fish are AWESOME THOUGH’ -i looked at so many fish. for hours.  -ALL BECAUSE I came up with the phrase ‘oceanic intrigue’ as a fun phrase and decided I had to commit my soul to it and never look back. -oh, the fairy shrimp are really very cute though. and i think the cookiecutter shark is, fucked up but a neat little guy. 

-i’m eternally going to be laughing about this too  kit: where the fuck is frank frank: /three floors down, making out with jacques

-oh!! 40-49 is unassigned in the dewey decimal system (which I googled. many, many times.), and was previously biographies. there’s another section for biographies now, but because biography was the closest I could come to like, some sort of, identity category, I thought it was more fitting if it was the section that used to be biography but was now as blank as frank felt.

-dewey is the one responsible for the clock sounding like it does. he just thinks ‘wrong’ is a fun word. that, and frank recognizing jacques by sound, were from my earlier scene sketches for this when i thought this fic was going to be much, much shorter. 

[beetlegoose01]

Frostbite Chapter 5- Toxic

AN: Happy Friday y’all! Here’s a longer chapter to celebrate! It’s a little intense, but I hope you enjoy.

~~~

Morning came sooner than any of the turtles anticipated, but especially to Donnie who was running on three hours of sleep. He counted on snoozing for another twenty minutes before training, but luck wasn't on his side. Even before his own carefully crafted alarm clock robot beeped, a loud voice woke him.

"Donnie!" came Michaelangelo bounding in with the energy of a golden retriever puppy. He bounced on the crooked bed with a loud creak of movement.

He groaned, still half asleep and bleary. "I'm sleeping, Mikey."

His baby blue eyes sparkled with mischief, prepared to annoy his older brother with his charming, but obnoxious grin. "No you're not. If you were asleep, how could you be talking to me?" He poked Donnie's head playfully. "Duh. I missed you, bro." He lay flat on his back, taking up most of the space and nearly smacking Don in the face. "It was like peanut butter without the jelly. Batman without Robin. Raph without Chompy! Elphaba without Gali-"

Rolling over, Donnie sat up begrudgingly. "I get the point. But you saw me last night." He stated obviously. "Remember?"

He scrunched his nose thoughtfully. "That was forever ago! And you were all cooped up in your lab for most of the time. We never hang anymore. Like, doing fun stuff."

"I guess you're right about that." He shrugged. "Sorry, I promise we'll hang out again sometime. Maybe tonight?"

"Dude, that's gregarious!" He looked immensely proud that he used a big word, even if it was used incorrectly.

"Uh...close."

"We can have pizza, play video games, ooh! Have a monster movie marathon!" He exclaimed, listing each activity on his stubby fingers. 

"That sounds great."

"Come on bro, I'm making everyone breakfast! So you better hurry before Raph hogs it all." Mikey leapt off the bed, springing into action. Most likely the kitchen. 

It took a good five minutes for Donatello to physically move out of bed. He wasn't one for sleeping in, but he was never opposed to it either. Whereas Leo was always awake in the early morning and Mikey was chipper no matter what. And Raph...well, Raph was Raph.

The kitchen was bustling with energy, at least from Mikey's angle. He was cheerfully serving up omelettes on plates, carrying the ones he couldn't hold on top of his head with the balance of a ninja. Mikey had a talent for making even the fouled stench of the sewers comfortable and hospitable with only his charm and sweet demeanor. Not to mention his excellent cooking skills.

"Omelette au fromage made especially for Master Splinter." He said, passing the first plate to the wise rat. "Fromage means cheese in Spanish!" He explained. "Or...one of those languages."

"Thank you, Michaelangelo."

"Looks delicious, Mikey." April complimented, still residing in the lair. It was an hour or so before school, so she enjoyed having breakfast with the brothers. It felt as though she was part of their little family.

"Eh, don't forget me! I'm starved." Raph complained, eagerly stabbing his food with a fork as he dug in. Smiling softly, he cut up neat pieces for Chompy Picasso.

"Where is Leonardo?" Splinter glanced around the kitchen, noticing the blue masked turtle seemed to be missing.

"I thought he was mediating still." Raph said, puzzled.

"No, he wasn't." said Mikey. "I checked." He looked innocently at his brothers and April. "I made a plate of food for him and everything! Now it's gonna get cold." He looked down glumly.

"Maybe he's still asleep?" April suggested.

The three youngest turtles shook their heads in unison.

"Leo's always the first one awake. It's weird that he isn't here." Raph lifted Chompy onto his shoulder. "Not that I mind. I like the peace and quiet and lack of Space Heroes references to start my morning right."

"Donatello, perhaps you should check your brother's room?" Splinter suggested, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "It is possible he is still resting or feeling unwell."

"Hai Sensei."

April, sensing his apprehensiveness, stood up and rested her hand on his shoulder. "It'll be alright. I promise."

Feeling comforted by her warm tone, Donnie nodded firmly, and left the kitchen with high hopes that Leo was just snoozing longer than usual.

Something wasn't right. Donatello knew this, deep down, despite his optimism. His worry was growing the closer he moved to Leo's room, silently praying that everything would be alright. Raising a shaking hand, he opened the door.

He breathed a sigh of relief. There Leo lay in a deep slumber, even snoring lightly. It felt awful to simply wake him up, but he didn't really have a choice.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead." He murmured, patting him. "Training time."

Unexpectedly Leo retracted his head into his shell, snoring even louder. This was beyond unusual- heck, even out of character. Leo was always extremely punctual and neat, refusing to be late for any training session.

"Why are you so tired?" Donnie wondered aloud. "We went to bed at the same time..."

Leo yawned, sluggishly moving forward out of his shell and stretching. "M' awake." He blinked. "Were you talking to me?" The blank expression that he gave was enough to cause further anxiety.

"Yeah? We have training."

His eyes widened. "Training! Oh, sewer apples!" He stumbled out of bed clumsily. "I'm here, I'm-" He yawned again. "Awake."

Donnie frowned, trying to analyze why Leo was so exhausted. Sure, they went to bed fairly late, but they've gone to bed later before and Leo hadn't been nearly as tired as he was now. But he wasn't about to start an argument either.

"Right."

Training was...awkward to say the least. Leonardo, who was usually extremely precise and swift with his movements, was now sloppy and uncoordinated. Everyone seemed to notice, but no one made a comment until Mikey had successfully pinned his oldest brother to the ground after a Barai.

"Booyakasha!" Mikey cheered. "I did it!"

"Yeah, because Leo barely put any effort into it." Raph said smugly, holding Donnie in a headlock.

"Yame!" Splinter commanded.

Dropping Donnie casually, Raphael glanced at their sensei with a bored expression on his face.

April, looking uncomfortable, placed her tessen back in her bag. "Class starts soon. I should probably get to school." Turning to Splinter, she smiled. "Arigato, Sensei. See ya later guys."

Splinter nodded. "Excellent work, April."

Leo groaned, rubbing his back. Humiliated, he bowed miserably.

"Leonardo, I think it would be best for you to rest."

"Arigato Sensei." He replied gratefully.

Raph crossed his arms. "That was pathetic. Even for you." He sneered. "Sorry we can't have you leadin' without your little nap time. Should I tuck you in too?"

He glared. But he didn't seem to have the energy to argue.

Donnie watched him leave, a pensive look on his face.

~•~

April found herself trudging to school, regretting leaving the lair after remembering she had a math quiz that she forgot to study for. Funny how she'd rather be in the sewers over a classroom.

A long time ago she craved a normal life, but now she loathed it.

Though there wasn't much normality in crushing on both a deranged hockey player and a mutated turtle. With the Kraang, mutants still running rampage- her life was destined to be abnormal.

She placed her bags away in her locker, sighing loudly. The bell was about to ring, and she hadn't seen any sign of Casey. She had been hoping to chat with him at least a little bit.

"Hey April!" A pretty girl with afro puffs came towards her, beaming.

"Hi Summer," She breathed, tension breaking at the sight of her friend. Well...not really friends. But they were friendly, and that was good enough. "How was your weekend?"

"Fine." Summer said. "Very productive. The yearbook committee is in full swing!" Glancing at her quizzically, she giggled. "Are you okay? You seem a bit distracted."

"Hm? Oh yeah, I'm fine. Listen...have you seen Casey?"

Summer, who was fairly popular and seemed to know everyone at the school thought for a moment. "Casey Jones? Senior?" After April nodded, she shook her head. "Nope, I don't think so. Sorry, I know you two are close."

April felt herself blush. "It's complicated."

"Don't I know it. Come on, it's time for homeroom."

Her mind wandered throughout the day, wondering how she could possibly concentrate on physics, when the growing uneasy feeling in her stomach.

It was all going to be alright.

Convincing Donnie was one thing. But convincing herself? A totally different problem.

~•~

Instead of going to sleep as he was instructed, Leo found himself topside again. The sun was setting a beautiful peach orange color over the skyline of smoke. Teenagers roamed the streets, and he swore he caught April with a group of girls chatting animatedly about something. He smiled, happy she was having fun and some resemblance of a normal, mutant free life.

He felt like a lousy leader. Hell, a lousy brother. Sneaking out like a kid, over some girl? A gorgeous mutant girl...but still. Without even telling his own brothers, let alone father where he was going.

There was that annoying feeling. Guilt. But...he was making the right choice. By getting his siblings involved, it would only lead to trouble.

"Leonardo..." That sultry voice cooed from behind.

"Nova." He gasped, releasing his katanas back in their holders.

"Sorry I'm late, my darling. My sleep schedule has been quite difficult."

He cringed.  "Don't call me that. But, it's okay."

She curled her muscular tail around his waist comfortably. "My apologies." She slithered beside him, golden eyes meeting his ocean blue ones. His heart rate increased.

Changing the subject, he smiled easily. "Have you reconsidered my offer?"

"I have. My hunger has been satisfied for now, but that won't last long."

"What have you been eating?" Leo looked at her wearily, afraid of the answer.

"Shh...that isn't important." Lifting his chin gently with her claws, he melted at the touch.

"If you say so." Leo hugged his knees, then grazed her gnarled scales, admiring their shimmering form. Her claws brushed against him casually and he winced.

"Sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's...okay. It didn't hurt. I promise."  They were faint. Surely no one would notice.

Relaxing, she nuzzled him. "Good."

Her eyes were big, wide. The moon reflecting in her pupils made him move closer. Then he stopped.

"This is a bad idea." He said, taking his hand back. "I barely know you. Maybe...you should meet my family first? Or get to know each other? This is happening so fast I-"

"Soon." She vowed. "I trust you though. I think."

"I think so too." He uttered, soft lips pressing against hers. If this was wrong, why did he feel so right? Why did he feel so shaky, yet so bubbly inside.

This was one of his worst decisions. Why wasn't he stopping? He didn't know her. He didn't-

"It's a pretty good bad idea, isn't it though?" She smirked, stealing another tender kiss.

All he had to do was say no. That he couldn't put his family in danger.

Just say no.

Don't make the same mistake.

But he didn't want to.

"God yes."

~•~

His head felt foggy and tired, he hadn't gotten any closer to convincing Nova to stay but...he was alright. Leo hadn't had a chance to retreat to his bedroom before he was cornered by his taller brother. He hid his grimace with a forced grin.

"Donnie, I don't have time for this. I've got..."

"This'll only take a minute."

"Alright. What's up?"

"Did you really have trouble sleeping last night?" He asked, then jumped to a stronger conclusion.  "Or...did you not go to sleep at all?"

"Don't be stupid, Don, of course I went to bed." Leo said. "I just..." He raised his left arm casually, and his younger brother once again caught the scars littering. Worse, they looked fresh.

"Your arms..."

Leo flinched away. "It's nothing."

His dark eyes narrowed.

"Donnie?"

"You're lying, aren't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Leo brushed him off, but Donnie wasn't about to give up. He grabbed a hold of his forearm, pulling him back, though Leo was unaffected by the sudden jerk of movement.

"What happened to your arm?" Donnie demanded bluntly. "And tell me the truth this time."

"Donnie, I'm really tired. I...just want to meditate for a spell. We can talk later." He hadn't meant to sound dismissive, but his tired tone and increasing frustration made it seem that way.

"How much longer are you going to keep avoiding us all, Leonardo?" Donnie asked weakly.

Leo hastily moved his arm out of the way. The hostile motion made Donnie recoil.  "I'm not."

"You keep shutting us all out. We aren't naive. We know you're stressed, but we're a family. We can help.  Don't you see? First with Karai, now..."

"This is nothing like Karai." Leo blurted out. "Nova isn't like her." When Donnie looked confused, he elaborated. "That's her name. The mutant."

"She did that to you." He said, referring to his injured arms. The dots were slowly connecting.

Silence. "Not on purpose."

"You told me you were going back to bed. You promised! And you went out and tried to fight that dangerous mutant alone? Are you crazy?"

"I was trying to protect you!" Leo snapped, temper rising, though his voice still felt oddly robotic. "It wasn't done out of a whim. I didn't try to find her for fun. I was protecting you and the others."

"By lying to us? Your family?"

"Fighting her was not an option. I wanted to persuade her to join our side. She wasn't too dangerous, just scared. And I didn't lie, I did go to bed. Just not when you did."

"Do the others know?" He was mainly referring to Raph, who he knew would be as furious as he was. Maybe even more so. Mikey would have been heartbroken had he knew that Leo was going behind their backs.

"No."

"Why? We could have gone together." 

The thought of Donnie watching Leo and Nova's last encounter made him blush profusely in horror.

"If we had gone as a group, it would have ended horribly. I needed to talk to her alone. I think..." He paused. "I think she's starting to trust me." His cheeks felt suddenly hot. He didn't want his brother to know that he had been out again, though this time with no moral intentions involved. The less Donnie knew, the better.

"Trust you?" Donnie repeated in disbelief. "You barely know her."

"You barely know her."  Leo retorted.  "You haven't even seen her. What could you possibly know?"

Those careless words set Donnie's rage into flames. "I know that you're my brother and she's hurt you, quite obviously!" Furious tears filled his eyes. "If you just listened to me- if we had a chance to go as a team, maybe she would have joined us. Willingly!" He took a deep breath. "I know what it's like to care about someone." His mind brought up sweet April, then the smirk of Casey Jones. "But it's so risky to do this. You've got to think logically. You're the leader."

Regret was hidden in his deep blue eyes, but he masked it with a scowl. "I didn't ask for this burden, to be lectured. Logic- inventions, all your science-y bullshit won't help us now. So stay out of my way. I know what I'm doing." The tone of his voice, mixed with his expressions were jarring and cold. Unlike the older, wiser brother Donatello had grown to admire as a hero.

Stunned and hurt by the harsh tone, Donnie blinked, taking a step back, as if he feared him.

Leo's eyes widened, immediately realizing his mistake. "Wait, Donnie I didn't mean-"

"Fine."

"Please, just let me-"

But as his older brother had done so many times before, Donnie dismissed his desperate pleas, stormed by him as the words flooded out of his ear slits and away from his mind.

 ~•~

The second Donnie climbed out of the manhole cover, he realized he had no idea where he was going. He knew the city by heart, sure, but he was never one to go topside for emotional reasons. Usually he locked himself in his lab. Now...he didn't know what to do or where to go. Each direction felt wrong. And the increasing feeling of wrongness calculated by the feeling of dread equaled an equation he didn't quite understand.

"I don't even know where to go..." He groaned. "I'm such an idiot." Wiping his tears, adjusting his staff, he kept walking the unknown direction, hoping to find an answer.

School had to be out, since the stars were already dotting the sky. Maybe he could swing by April's...

No, she was still living at the lair. How could he have forgotten? And he doubted her aunt would be thrilled to see a six foot tall turtle standing in front of her. That would only leave...

He stopped, looking at the cluster of apartment complexes. It would be risky, but he couldn't imagine going anywhere else. As he climbed the fire escape with ease, he had already made his decision.

As much as he longed for April's hugs or comforting words, he knew Jones was the best bet. So he carefully used his bō to tap lightly on the window, while still remaining hidden.

It swung open, and there was Casey Jones. Handsome, cocky, hair even messier than usual without its iconic black and white bandana holding it in place. He seemed ready to go to bed as he was dressed in a tank top and pajama bottoms.

"The fuck?" He rubbed his eyes. "Donnie?"

"Hey there Jones." He mused, awkwardly rubbing his neck. "Is ...this a bad time?" He couldn't tell if Jones was simply tired or had been crying, since his eyes appeared too red and dusty.

"Nah, Riley's in bed." He confirmed. "Asleep."

"And your parents?"

Casey waved him off. "Hang on a sec," and he swung over the window to the metal fire escape. Climbing up the spare ladder casually, he glanced back at Donnie. "This place is more private." He was now perched on the roof, smirking. "You comin' or d'ya need an invitation?"

Donnie joined him, sitting on the ledge with their legs hanging over. "Is everything okay?"

"It's...fine, I guess." He chewed at his lip moodily. "Well not really. It's family bullshit."

He huffed a laugh. "Boy, do I know how that feels."

"I'm assuming you didn't just come here to chat. Something happen?"

Donnie nodded meekly.

"Hey, you don't need to tell me." Casey stared at his calloused hands. "I guess I can tell you what's been going on." He picked up a stone, flicking it across the roof. It fell loudly into a dumpster. Donnie winced. "My dad is a huge dick." He stated bluntly. "But it's complicated. Normally I'd talk with Raph about this but..."

"You don't have to..."

"Nah, it's chill. Here's the Cliff Notes version of it. Basically my dad decided to drop this major bomb on me n' Ri. That he proposed to Sara. His girlfriend." He made a vomit noise. "And I can't believe it."

"Is she not nice?" Donnie wondered.

"She's okay, I guess. No, but they haven't been dating that long and- I can't believe he decided to replace Riley's mom like that."

"Riley's mom? But you..."

"She's only my half sister. My real mom died forever ago. He was cheating on my mom with Riley's mom- Grace. He's a mess. It's all a mess."

"What happened to Grace?"

"Divorced her. Like I said, he's a dick." He looked back wearily. "Sorry, I know that was a lot. I'm not good at...dealing with my feelings but I shouldn't have dumped that on you with no warning."

"No, please don't apologize. I understand."

"Cool. So...your turn."

"My turn?"

"I just dramatically revealed my trauma. That shit doesn't come for free, yo. And I know you came here for a reason. So what is it? Because I think we're at that stage where we can talk about it. Whatever it is."

The purple masked turtle hesitated.

"There's only so many Electric Skullz albums we can talk about..."

Donnie took a deep breath, finally settling on revealing his troubles. "It was just an argument."

"With Raph?"

"No, Leo. He's been acting so strange lately. With the new mutant and everything. I think he likes her. As in, having feelings for her.  I swear, this is a Karai situation all over again." He frowned. "And then we started yelling and..." Head in his hands, he groaned. "It's troubling. He's been acting so distant and it's making me so ..."

Casey waited a moment for Donnie to find the word.

"Peeved."

"So, what you're saying is: it's all a mess."

Donnie laughed. "It sure is, Jones." Their shoulders bumped together. "Thanks for letting me vent."

"Hey, no worries. You let me rant, it's only fair. But I do know one thing for sure, families are complicated as fuck."

"Here here. But um, why did you bring me here again?" Donnie cocked his head to one side.

Casey stood up, hands on his hips. "Come on."

Donnie followed suit, raising a curious eyebrow. "And?"

"Start yelling."

"What?"

"Start. Yelling. It ain't rocket science. You're pissed off, I'm pissed off, so let it out! Go nuts!" 

"But it's night out."

"This is the city that never sleeps, genius. Look, I'll do it first."

He let out a loud, ear splitting bellow from above, hands spread out and wind hitting his cheeks. When he finished, he turned to Donnie eagerly.

"Go on."

Donnie exhaled. "If you say so..." And with that, he too joined in with the screaming. At first, it felt silly but then it surprisingly felt therapeutic. As if he was letting out his pent up frustrations with life.

"How'd that feel?" Casey moved closer to him until they were inches apart.

"It felt...good." Donnie admitted. "And you're sure no one can hear us?"

"Pshaw." Casey said smugly. "Anyone who does hear us will think we're a couple of drunks. I got ya, D." He took his hand in his, squeezing it. The difference between their hands- one large, green with three fingers. The other pale, smaller, five perfectly normal fingers. Casey didn't seem to mind.

"It doesn't solve our problems though." Donnie said.

"No, but it releases a little tension. I've done this with my friends a lot from the hockey team whenever we lose. Which rarely happens, but on that off chance we do? We scream. Fuck the system!"

"You ...consider me like one of your human friends?"

Casey's hazel eyes squinted back at him, as if he was confused by the question. "Of course. Why wouldn't you be? We're friends."

"But I'm..."

"Don't." Casey stopped him, pressing a finger to his lips. "I don't say this to just anyone, okay? But you're a cool dude, Donnie. And the smartest guy I know."

Donnie swallowed. "Jones I..."

"You're perfect the way you are, you hear me? Don't go moping around. It's a little sad to watch." He punched his shoulder affectionately. "Alright?" He looked back into Donnie's mahogany eyes.

"Alright." He nodded, now fully aware how close they were. He stopped himself from staring too hard at Casey's individual freckles, dotting his cheeks like a galaxy of stars. Or his deep hazel eyes, or his perfect peach lips...

An embrace felt too forward, so Donnie simply smiled, revealing his adorable gap. Casey's heart warmed, loving every time he saw that smile. He wasn't lying. He thought Donnie was beautiful in his own way. Turtle or not. As beautiful as April, maybe but in a different way. He wanted to stay the entire night, watching the stars with him.

"I promised Mikey I'd hang with him." Donnie remembered.

"Oh," His eyes looked down, disappointed. "I can walk you there? It's getting kinda late."

"Sure."

"Listen, um, Donnie...there's something you gotta know..."

There was a rustling noise behind them. Donnie froze. "Shut up."

"Excuse me? Did you just tell Casey Jones to shut up?"

"Shut up!" He hissed. "Someone's listening. You idiot, we shouldn't have been screaming our heads off!"

Casey mumbled a curse under his breath.

"Ah, so you are the clever one. Good to know." An unfamiliar voice snarled.

"Who said that?" Casey yelled, grabbing his trusty hockey stick and taser. Donnie gripped his own bō tightly.

"How cute."

Out of the shadows approached the two boys. A mutant reptile at least twenty feet in length with massive yellow eyes staring them down.

"Jones?"

"Yeah, Donnie?"

"I think we found the mutant."

[jewishtwilightrenaissance]

Two Become One

Notes: Since I myself am a Jew and both the culture & faith is really important to me, I wanted to add that into the story to add some depth and something for the characters to bond over. I got really emotional about it towards the end, but hopefully it just adds to the story!

Also, this originally started as a ‘Life and Death’ fic with Billy’s female version, Bonnie Black, but I really wanted to celebrate OG Billy first. So let me know if y’all want to see that, too!

Context & Plot: The reader is in their mid-20′s and has just recently moved to Forks. By being a member of the Forks Intracommunal Committee, the reader happens to meet Billy Black, a Quileute Council member who serves on the Forks Committee with her. They strike up a friendship that soon evolves into a romance.

Word Count: 3,048

“____!” A familiar voice cut through the din of the committee, drawing your attention from your notepad. You looked up and over your shoulder to see Billy Black wheeling towards you with a bright smile on his face. “How are you?”

“Billy, hi. I’m good,” you answered. As Billy approached the table, you nudged the folding chair on your right to one side to allow enough room for his wheelchair. “Meeting’s about to start. You got here just in time.”

He hummed in response. “I had a few things to take care of back home. Namely Jacob and the other kids,” Bonnie added with a chuckle.

Somewhere in your chest, you felt a muscle tighten. You’d heard plenty about the escapades of Billy’s youngest child, a rowdy teen who just so happened to be about 10 years younger than you. That in and of itself wasn’t a bad thing, but it did remind you that you were at least 20 years out of Billy’s age range. You bit back a sigh and turned your attention back to your notepad, eyeing your hastily scribbled notes and doodles.

You and Billy exchanged a few more pleasantries before the meeting officially started a few minutes later. A few local business owners and church leaders brought up whatever it was they had to say but in all honesty, you had trouble concentrating on them with Billy sitting right next to you. It was ridiculous - you were a mature adult who had left her puberty years well behind her, but sitting next to your crush made you feel like a teenager all over again. His long hair,  dark eyes, his smile - they were all so rich and full of life, full of energy just like Billy. And like a damn prepubescent, you’d fallen for it all.

A nudge against your thigh caught your attention and you blinked yourself back to reality. Billy was leaning in your direction, one arm braced against his wheelchair, and there was a note pushed into your line of sight. ‘Today is more boring than usual. I think I caught Hank dozing off.’ You let out a quick breath through your nose and bit down on the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

Grabbing your pen, you wrote back, ‘I think I almost caught myself dozing off,’ and passed the note to Billy’s end of the table. Crush or no crush, Billy was also your best (if not only) friend in Forks and you loved the absolute hilarity of passing notes with your 40+ bestie in the middle of class a meeting.

Eventually, the meeting came to a close and it was your turn to share with the committee (and hopefully no one would be ignoring you like you had been earlier). Energy was thrumming in your fingertips as you anxiously gathered and regathered your notes and pen, 15 sets of eyes on you. You cleared your throat.

“So as I hope you all remember, Forks’ spring interfaith gathering will be in 2 weeks time on the 21st. First, I want to share how excited I am.” By now your nerves had turned to eagerness, and you rubbed your palms together with a smile. “But I also want to say thank you to everyone here for allowing me to run this event, seeing as I’m so new to the community. I especially want to thank Father Thomas, Pastor Martinez, Pastor O’Callaghan, and Billy Black for working with me and allowing me to work with their communities. It really means the world to me.

“I also have some really awesome news regarding the event. As you all know, there are no synagogues or notable Jewish communities under an hour away from Forks. But I’ve managed to reach out to a few Jews individuals and families in the county who are going to be reading some prayers and scripture with me. Other than that, I don’t have anything else to update you on. But I’m excited to see everyone there!”

Some scattered applause and supportive remarks followed your announcement before the committee leader brought the meeting to an end. After fielding a few questions about the event, most of the committee members had started to leave. Billy, you noticed, had stayed behind, as if he was waiting for you. Or so it seemed, if the curious shine in his eyes was anything to go by.

You raised an eyebrow in his direction. “Yes?”

“I received an interesting letter in the mail this morning,” Billy said, the corner of his lips twisting into a knowing smile. Your cheeks immediately flushed and you dipped your head to avoid his gaze for a moment, as if you’d been caught red-handed with your hand in the cookie jar.

“You did, huh?”

Billy laughed; music to your ears. “You really didn’t have to send me a thank you card, ____.”

You shrugged, looking up a little shyly through your eyelashes. “You’ve made me feel really welcomed here, Billy. Not just as a fellow committee member, but as a friend. Inviting me into your home, introducing me to your family, everything! It really means a lot. I-I... I just wanted to show you that I appreciate it.” And, you added to yourself, I guess it doesn’t hurt that I have feelings for you.

There was a tenderness to Billy’s eyes that made you feel some type of way. You could tell he was touched by your gesture.

“Thank you.” He backed away from the table and waited for you to follow suit. Once you had gathered your things and pushed your chair in, he started wheeling alongside you, keeping pace with your footsteps. “If your offer still stands, I’d be happy to come over tonight.”

You could’ve sworn your heart skipped a beat. When you first sent out Billy’s letter, you’d invited him to come to your place for Shabbat dinner as a way of showing your thanks and also respect for his culture by sharing yours in return. You may have also had a little bit of wine at the time and had plans on making the evening romantic-coded.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d really want to join me or not,” you said hesitantly. “But-”

“I do. Like you said, there aren’t many Jews around Forks and certainly not out in La Push. It would be good to learn more about your people and traditions, the things that are important to you.”

You caught Billy’s eyes and smiled. “Like you did with me.”

G-d, you were such a sucker for his shining eyes. Deep and dark like the forest itself, like the rocks and sand on the beaches, like rich coffee grounds at the bottom of a mug.

He nodded. “Yes.”

By now, the two of you had left the meeting room behind and were in the parking lot outside. The sun was peeking through the heavy cloud cover while a gentle misting of rain swirled in the air. You could see that Billy’s truck had been parked a few spaces away from your own.

“It’s close to 4:30,” you said after checking your phone. “I’m lighting my candles around 6 tonight. Did you want me to give you a ride to my place or would you like to come over a little later?” You’d hardly given Billy a second to think before adding, “I still have some cooking to do, but you’re more than welcome to relax while I do that.”

Billy nodded thoughtfully. “You have any beer?”

“I may have one or two cans that I saved just in case you were ever over,” you admitted.

“Then what are we waiting for?”

Shabbat evenings were always hectic for you and this night was no different. Between keeping your challah from burning, keeping an eye on the clock, ensuring the rest of the food was kept warm without overcooking, and making sure Billy felt comfortable and welcome in your home, you were sure you’d gained a few gray hairs. Luckily, though, dinner was ready at about the time the sun finally set and the twilight hour descended.

After setting the challah on your best dish (your challah board and cover was still missing in the abyss of your unopened moving boxes), serving up two plates of food and placing them just so on the table, you dug out your candlesticks and shabbos candles. Billy watched you silently as you wrapped the bottom of the candles in foil and balanced them in the candlesticks.

“The candles are meant to stay lit until they burn out,” you explained. “It’s just easier to clean up this way.”

You fidgeted with the silverware at your place setting, then the vase of flowers in the center of the table, then finally sighed and let your hands fall to your sides. You’d been so anxious about wanting to put on a good first Shabbat impression for Billy that you’d forgotten the night was meant to be enjoyable for both of you.

Billy, it seemed, had picked up on your anxious energy and kindly said, “It looks wonderful, ____.”

“Thanks.” You chewed on your bottom lip somewhat thoughtfully, giving the table a final glance over. “I suppose we should start before the food gets cold, huh?”

You pulled out your chair and settled down as Billy moved his wheelchair into the open space across the table from you, his hat placed on the couch behind him. The tiny box of matches rattled when you slipped out a match and lit it. The warm, comforting glow of the candles soon followed and you felt your anxieties dissipate in response. You circled your hands once, twice, three times over the flames, drawing their light in towards your body. You took a breath - in through your nose, out through your mouth - and let your eyes flutter closed, your hands hovering above them to block out the extra light.

“Baruch ata Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha’olam, asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav vitzivanu l’hadlik ner shel Shabbat.” Then again, in English. “Blessed are You, Adonai, Ruler of the Universe, who sanctified us with the commandment of lighting Shabbat candles.”

When you opened your eyes again, you looked across the table at Billy and saw the reflection of the candles flickering in his eyes. In that moment, bathed in holy light, he was stunning. You gasped and smiled and committed the moment to memory as he gazed back at you, wordless yet clearly moved. Your cheeks were already starting to hurt from smiling so broadly.

“Shabbat shalom, Billy,” you all but whispered.

His eyes, large and all-consuming in their beauty and warmth, drew you in. “Shabbat shalom.”

After the lighting of the candles came one of your favorite songs, the song that welcomed in peace the Sabbath angels into your home. You offered Billy a short explanation of the song’s meaning before finally singing your own rendition. He was silent the entire time and you hoped that he didn’t feel left out at all, but the emotion shining in his eyes told you that your worries were the farthest thing from the truth. Next, came Eshet Chayil, recited in English from your old siddur. And finally, Vayechulu and Kiddush.

Your voice started out as a whisper, recalling the holy memory of creation and the day of rest as first practiced by G-d Himself. Prompting Billy to repeat after you, you raised your glass of wine. “L’chaim!” There was an indescribable joy in seeing Billy participate in your culture, in hearing him say something as simple as a mere l’chaim and knowing that he honored it, respected it, and honored and respected you as well. It was because of that realization that your heart swelled with pride and tears threatened to choke your words as you finished the Kiddush blessing.

“Blessed are you, Adonai our G-d, Ruler of the Universe, who has sanctified us with his commandments and favored us. And given us in love and favor his holy Shabbat as an inheritance, as a remembrance of the act of creation.” Here your voice faltered. In the presence of someone you loved, in the presence of the Sabbath angels and even the Divine Presence itself, you felt the calling of your people. “For this day is the beginning of all holy days, a remembrance of the Exodus from Egypt. For you have chosen us and you have blessed us from among all the nations.” Indeed, you were chosen. Like those who had come before you, G-d chose you to be His, to be given the gift of His commandments. And in this moment, you were choosing to share that inheritance with Billy, to give him a window into your world to see it in beautiful detail. “And you have bequeathed us your holy Shabbat in love and favor. Blessed are you, Lord, who sanctifies Shabbat.”

Both you and Billy were left speechless once the final words of Kiddush left your lips. You felt raw and exposed, bare for Billy to see every detail, every flaw, every crease and line from your body down to your soul. Is this how he had felt when he brought you to the reservation and showed you his own traditions, welcomed you into his home and shared the stories of his people? Did he know how highly your regarded him, his people? Did he understand that you could see that same regard in his eyes as he watched you now?

Your voice cracked when you finally spoke again. “Billy.” You swallowed nervously as a number of mixed emotions began to bubble inside you. “Thank you for being here tonight.”

“It’s my honor.” His voice seemed raw.

You reached across the table with an open hand. He gently placed his hand in yours and you both smiled. “Can I tell you something?” He nodded, his eyes again catching the light of the candles. “I like you.” Cringe. “I really like you. More than a friend.” Billy remained silent, only raising his eyebrows in an entirely imperceptible expression. “I know this might be weird to you. I don’t know. And, I mean, the chance of you also being interested in me is so low. I get that. No matter what, I want to be your friend. But... but having you here tonight, after learning about you and your people, the traditions you hold dear, and after sharing my own with you, I realize that I want to share more with you.

“I want to hear more about all the trouble Jacob’s getting up to and how your daughters are doing. I want to hear more about what you have to say about the things that are important to you, even if it’s just some stupid football game.” Billy chuckled and squeezed your thumb. Your heart was pounding deep in your chest as if it were going to explode. “I see you, Billy. And I know you see me, too. And I never want to stop seeing you.”

The room was silent. So silent that it was almost uncomfortable, except for the occasional crackling of the candles. Billy, still quiet and with an unreadable expression, slipped his hand from yours and moved his wheelchair back. Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach. You retracted your arm as if you’d been burnt and held it against your chest. You wanted to look away, you didn’t want to see his expression turn angry or disappointed as you were sure it would, but you also couldn’t tear your gaze from those deep, dark eyes.

“Fuck, Billy, I’m sorry.”

Your face fell into your hands. What the hell had you been thinking? What had started out as a beautiful evening was starting to go to shit all because you had to open your dumb mouth.

“____.” Billy’s voice drew you from your inner-scolding. He moved around the dinner table and came to sit beside you. “Don’t apologize.”

By this point, the several sips of wine that you had taken earlier were starting to create a buzzing sensation in your stomach. And Billy’s sudden close proximity was making the buzzing more intense. Oh no.

You felt the skin of his hand rest on your arm; he was warm. “You’re right,” he whispered. “I do see you. I always have.”

You and he had never been quite this close before. You could see in detail the creases at the corners of his eyes, the few stray hairs of his eyebrows, the stubble along his neck and chin. You wondered what aspects of your face stood out to him as his eyes flitted across your features. Billy’s smile was what finally did you in. Were you blushing? You suddenly felt very hot.

He moved his hand from your arm and pushed himself forward until his knees bumped against your chair. Turning in your seat and folding one knee under you, you were able to fully face him. Billy’s gaze dropped to your mouth and paused, and you suddenly either felt like flying or like vomiting.

“Billy?”

You couldn’t have said anything more if you wanted to. Billy leaned forward, took your chin in his hand and guided your mouth to his. Like his hands, his lips were warm. His warmth spread across your mouth and down into your chest where your heart was doing backflips. Blindly, you pawed at his arms, his jacket, trying to find something sturdy to hold onto to remind you that this was absolutely real. Billy’s hand trailed from your chin, across your jaw, and around the nape of your neck where his fingers finally curled into your hair.

A sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan escaped you and Billy swallowed it. Gently and hesitantly, you gave him a little nip on his bottom lip. His lips parted just slightly, his breath hitting your teeth, and you quickly ran your tongue along his skin. He smiled, gripped your hair a little tighter, and then pulled back.

This time when he said your name, it was sweet, reverent. “You’re certainly full of surprises,” he murmured.

You smiled breathlessly. “What can I say? I have no excuse.”

“Thank you,” he said again. “For telling me, for tonight-”

“The night’s not over yet.”

Billy smirked. “No. No, it’s not.”

[littlemdzsdump]

talent show

tiny high school xicheng is my fix

~

The mic screeches a lot if anyone even breathes at it the wrong way. So Jiang Cheng is not quite keen on using it in the next 15 minutes. 

But he doesn’t really have much of a choice now, does he? 

Their school talent had just had that to work with, since their investments usually went to sports. With their decade-long streak of first place at statewide and national competitions, of course Sector High would channel all of their funding into the biggest and best sports facilities for their students. It left mildly amaetur musicians like Jiang Cheng (and wildly expressive theater kids like his brother) reeling while struggling to find a small corner of self expression.

It had always been the biggest and baddest sports kids. The football team was obviously the kings dining at this high school table, followed closed by the lacrosse kids. Soccer was there as well, because they’ve been the most resilient team since their start, keeping the school victorious unbeatable title safe. Then the rest of the high school food chain was followed by other mildly impressive clubs like the A.I. STEM Committee and Model U.N. 

In a student population of over 9,000, you could count the musicians and artists on two hands. 

Okay that could be a slight overkill. Maybe Jiang Cheng was exaggerating. Maybe he wasn’t popular enough to know that many people who played the guitar or sang harmonies. But it doesn’t change the fact that the arts field was being bullied out of their school system.

What was more was the grand gestures. Girls and boys alike, swooned at the idea of a hubby running to them after a goal on whatever sort of field. Or wearing a large sweaty jersey and painting their faces colors of blue and yellow or whatever they were now (the student reps liked to change that around often). Jiang Cheng never looked good in any of the colors and the noise of the cheers and hoots of field games were alway too loud.

Jiang Cheng preferred the quiet ambiance of their single arts classroom. It was at the end of the third floor, with a window that looked out to the green lush surrounding their school instead of the two large football fields. 

It was a nice change.

Jiang Cheng preferred the solitude of still and quietness with his soft voice humming to the strums of a guitar. He preferred hearing his timbre echo in the space of drawings and empty tables. Which is why it’s kind of weird that he was standing behind a dark curtain now, clutching his acoustic guitar tightly in his hands.

Well despite the crappy microphone he’s using in the school auditorium tonight, he had something to prove. 

Busy reassuring himself, Jiang Cheng almost misses his cue to go on stage. He’d completely blanked out when they began introducing him. If it weren’t for his brother giving him a hard push behind the curtain, he wouldn’t have made it out on time. 

But he also wouldn’t have stumbled onto the stage if Wei Ying just nudged him.

Snickers ripple through the audience as Jiang Cheng walks up to the microphone. When he gets in front of the mic stand, he begins to put his guitar strap on. Maybe he didn’t see the distance between the guitar and the stand well, for the head of his instrument hits a bit against the mic.

Obviously the mic howls its feedback.

Those near the front of the stage groan immediately, some people throwing their hands over their ears. 

Jiang Cheng winces, but immediately regains himself, clutching onto the mic and pushing is deeper into the mic stand. He doesn’t know what that’s supposed to do but it works to silence the feedback. Disgruntled noises and hisses of annoyance ripple over the high school audience. It does little to calm his already shaky nerves.

Luckily there weren’t too many people at the talent show tonight; but it was still a bigger crowd than he had ever performed to. Jiang Cheng clears his throat as softly as he can, careful not to breathe too hard onto the mic and stares out at the people before him.

He can’t make out any faces in the blob of the audience in front of him. The stage lights shine too brightly. Jiang Cheng just hopes in his heart that the right person is there to hear him.

Someone boos in the back, but they’re quickly hushed by snickers and laughing.

Jiang Cheng uses that as a cue to start singing.

He’s never believed that he’s had a particularly loud voice. It’s not something dramatic and deep like Wei Ying, whenever he recites the main lead lines. But it’s also not soft like their friend Nie Huisaing when he hums to himself in the soundbooth. 

Jiang Cheng’s voice carries where it needs to. It accompanies the chords of his guitar like hands would when they’re intertwined. Jiang Cheng never was immersed in the arts like Wei Ying or even as much as his sister was. All he’d ever picked up from the various instruments his parents made him play was the piano and even then it wasn’t enjoyable. He’d picked up the guitar at a random garage sale and has been teaching himself ever since. 

Jiang Cheng was by no means professional or talented, but he loved what he sang.

Jiang Cheng lets his voice swell with the bridge of the song, changing the key as he sings the final refrain.

 It’s a stupid love song that he’ll never admit to writing. But he’s never going to be embarrassed about singing it out loud. Because every single word that he sings, he means.

Jiang Cheng lets his voice carry out the last notes of his song, a confession in actual honesty. When his breath catches onto the microphone, it (blessedly) does not howl with feedback.

There is a pin drop silence after his performance. 

It feels like the longest pause in his life and Jiang Cheng’s hand feels clammy from where it’s still wrapped around the neck of the guitar. But the silence doesn’t last.

Suddenly the audience breaks out in hoots and hollers above the applause that rains down on him. Jiang Cheng still can’t see anyone clearly with how bright the stage lights shine. But he sends an awkward wave back and exits the stage. He steps towards the side stage, taking off his guitar as he walks behind the curtain. 

The applause is still loud behind him and for a moment Jiang Cheng is scared to leave backstage. A few people clap congratulatory hands on his back and arm and all Jiang Cheng can do is nod a small thanks back. His feet halt their steps down the steps that would lead to the audience. 

He doesn’t know the answer that would await him if he dared to step out and face it.

So he doesn’t.

~

Jiang Cheng sits behind the curtain for the duration and all the way to the end of the show. His performance leaves no aftertaste in many people’s minds, disappearing after a few short minutes.

Jiang Cheng wonders if he would even remember what he sang.

He’s too busy being lost in his thoughts to notice that the talent show has long ended. He’s only startled back to reality when the main lights of the back stage darken. Jiang Cheng’s breath hitches in surprise. Quickly picking up his guitar, he gets up and leaves the dark backstage. Just as he’s about to get to the stage door, he hears the resounding lock from the outside.

Great, Jiang Cheng thinks and quickly backtracks back to the stage to leave from there. 

Jiang Cheng puts the guitar strap on, going back up to the stage.

The stage lights are duller now then when he was on stage. So it takes a minute for him to realize that someone is sitting in the first row near the stage.

Specifically, he notices this when he’s halfway off the stage, almost dangling off the stage.

“Ah. Xicheng-ge” Jiang Cheng splutters. Jiang Cheng jumps the rest of the way down. He almost (very nearly) breaks his ankle when he lands, but he regains his balance in the nick of time. 

Lan Xichen, soccer captain, stands up immediately, not even letting Jiang Cheng walk halfway to him. 

“Xichen-ge,” Jiang Cheng repeats again when the senior is close to him again. Lan Xichen simply stares at him, a soft look on his face. Jiang Cheng doesn’t really see that, just hears the deafening silence between them.

“I...I sang it. Because I just...wanted to share it with you…” Jiang Cheng explains awkwardly. He plays with the guitar strap on the front of his chest, staring down at the centimeters between their shoes. 

Jiang Cheng doesn’t dare to look up, anticipating the blunt rejection (or the nicely wrapped one because it’s Lan Xichen, but a rejection nonetheless) and willing himself to receive it when a gentle hand tilts his face up to meet Lan Xichen’s eyes.

The softest kiss lands on his lips. It lasts just a few seconds. But it is enough to make Jiang Cheng understand.

“Play it again,” Lan XIchen urges, finger flicking Jiang Cheng’s chin lightly.

The younger student smiles, easily complying.

[eleanorbloom]

[OH] When You’re Ready (Bryce L. x f! MC x Ethan R.)

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything of the Open Heart World, it belongs to Pixelberry Studios. The name Eleanor Bloom and her story was created by me.

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x f! MC (Eleanor Bloom) x Ethan Ramsey. 

Word Count: 2.7k

Warning: Some angst, adult language, some adult situations. This is definitely a NS-FW fanfiction so anyone under 18 years old MUST NOT READ IT.

Summary: Bryce has decided to let go of Eleanor because she’s in love with Ethan Ramsey. But a turn in her relationship with the attending might change Bryce's plans.

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Chapter 1: Why.

So many nights trying to find someone new

They don’t mean nothing compared to you

 He opened the door of his apartment, staggering. The celebration at Donahue’s had been wilder than he expected. Too many tequilas he couldn’t deny to Jackie. And too much anxiety to kill with alcohol.

Bryce sat on the sofa and sighed. He finally had a break to process what had happened today. Eleanor was safe. The Ethics Committee had decided to not suspend her, and Teresa Martínez’s family had withdrawn the lawsuit against Edenbrook, as they were grateful for what Eleanor did for their mother. In the end, all her effort and dedication had been rewarded.

He was happy about it, but more relieved that Eleanor wouldn’t leave. Bryce had been feeling increasingly afraid of that possibility, although he was trying to stay positive. The world wasn’t a fair place, the doctors didn’t have to understand the real reasons that led Eleanor to help Teresa Martínez. They would only see incompetence, malpractice, but never the honest desire that Mrs. Martínez enjoyed her last days traveling, just as she always dreamed since she was a child.

The very idea that things had been different caused him intense pain. Thinking of all the suffering that Eleanor could’ve to go through was almost unbearable. Also, the fact that she had to leave and he couldn’t see her anymore. But mainly it was her pain that affected him the most. She was one of the few people who deserve all the good in the world, for her kind heart, her dedication, her solidarity with her colleagues and patients. She didn’t deserve anything that was happening to her, but at least it was all was over now.

And now another thought came to his mind: Eleanor was with him right now. With Ethan Ramsey.

He wished with all his heart that whatever they had now would work for them, because she was truly interested in him, to his misfortune. But he respected her decision. From the day she told him that they couldn’t keep their casual hookups because she was feeling things for Ethan Ramsey, he respected her decision and wished her well. Every time Bryce saw her or saw them, he wished them all the best from the bottom of his heart, although they were apparently far from it.

Since Ramsey had left the hospital, he hadn’t reached out to her not a single time, not even to ask how she was or to support her in the difficult process she was living with the Ethics Committee. What asshole leaves Eleanor at a time like that, when she was supposed to be someone Ramsey cared about? When she heard from Eleanor that Ramsey had not contacted her, he felt uncontrollable anger but did his best to not say anything. Yes, he was suffering for his friend, Naveen Banerji, but Eleanor, with his life on the verge of collapse, still cared for Banerji and him, she hid the secret from her friends and colleagues, and then, when she found the cure for the old man, she used her time to cure him instead of preparing for the Ethics Hearing. But the Great Ethan Ramsey couldn’t give her a fucking hour just to support her because it was more important his suffering and sense of failure than what Eleanor was going through.

Eleanor had left him for a selfish, insufferable ass who was unable to use his position or his freedom and time to support her when she most needed it. Instead, Bryce had spent all the time he needed to recover from the poorly sleeping hours every surgical resident has since Medical School, acompannying and helping her to get the support of senior physicians from Edenbrook.  

Well, yes, in the end, Ramsey did use his contacts to help her. But of moral support? No signs.

And now she was with him. He saw her approaching Ramsey when he entered Donahue’s, and how quickly they left.

Bryce couldn’t judge her; it was her feelings after all. But he sensed that the following events wouldn’t be good news. There was the rumor that Ethan Ramsey would return to his old position at Edenbrook, so he would continue that stormy dynamics of setting limits with Eleanor because he was her boss, but still breaking those limits at the slightest pressure. And he would continue to have Eleanor in limbo, waiting for him to make up his mind and choose her despite his fears. Waiting for him to decide to give her everything she deserved without conditions or hesitation. All that love, attention, and affection that he wanted to give her, and that somehow were still there, waiting for his chance.

He sighed again.

“Everything happens in time, Bryce. Don’t rush it, ” he said to himself before making his way to his bedroom to catch some sleep.

The next day, the good news were announced. Harper Emery left her position as Chief of Medicine and would return to her scrubs as Head of Neurosurgery. Naveen Banerji would take her position, so Ethan Ramsey was officially Director of Diagnostics. The last big news was that Eleanor had won the junior fellow competition and would be spending her second year of residency as a junior member of the Diagnostic Department.

He was so happy for her because it was something she really deserved. All the sweat, blood, and tears that she had put into that competition had found its reward. Besides, she deserved it for her human qualities. However, he also knew that the news implied a turn in her relationship with Ramsey. Aside from being her boss, now they would be colleagues, they would work much closer, and if Ethan already intended to put boundaries between them, her position in the Team would put much more difficulty on that. Bryce didn’t want to take this news as a light at the end of the tunnel, an opportunity after so much confusion, but he couldn’t lie to himself. Deep down he wanted this to complicate things, but on the other hand, he didn’t want to see Eleanor suffering again. He wasn’t a selfish bastard to want something like that.

Bryce saw the exchange of awkward glances between Ethan and Eleanor, while Naveen Banerji gave them a knowing smile. It was clear that the old man knew what was going on between the two and didn’t seem to care at all. Probably Naveen would be in the front line encouraging Ethan to stop being such an idiot and accept his feelings for Eleanor. Hell, if he himself didn’t have feelings for Eleanor, he would be by Banerji’s side, with popcorn cheering Ramsey to finally make up his mind and stop making Eleanor suffer. But of course, that was not the case. He was hopelessly in love with her.

Ethan looked away, embarrassed, and quickened his pace to catch up with Naveen. Eleanor turned to him. Her smile was so bright that the sun would be jealous of the light, warmth and beauty that emanated from her, happiness and pride swelling her heart.

Bryce opened his arms, inviting her for a hug.

“C’mere!”

Eleanor cheerfully received the hug, rejoicing in the warmth she only found in Bryce’s arms. From the first hug many months ago, both hiding in a supply closet, Eleanor had been conscious of the healing powers of his hugs. At that time, he consoled her of her first breakdown on her first day at Edenbrook. And now, that embrace was simply showing the pride and happiness Bryce was feeling for her achievement. He, who had always trusted her, even more than herself. He, who had always shown her the way to self-confidence and fight for what she believed in.

“You did it, Elle. You really did it”

“Yes! I am still in shock. Yesterday, this time, my life was still threatened, and look at me now! I won the competition. Well, not technically because it was finished when Ethan left … But I was chosen by Naveen Banerji himself, my mentor’s mentor”

“Yes, and the guy whose life you saved. It was the least he could do”.

“Well, I think so,” She shrugged, “But I’d like to think that I made it for all my merits in the competition.”

“Of course, Elle. You deserved this spot more than anyone, apart from being an excellent doctor, you are an extraordinary human being. And that’s what makes you better than anyone.”

“Aww Bryce,”Eleanor hugged him again, touched, “You’re always so flattering. I hope someday I know my qualities just as well as you know them.”

“Well, just keep hanging out with me and this self-assurance will infect you. But be careful, our friends could stop tolerating you as they do with me sometimes because my ego is too big.”

“Oh, I think I could reach a healthy balance between knowing my worth and not overstepping the limits of self-centeredness”

“Oh, are you implying I’m out of it?”—Bryce raised an eyebrow, serious.

“No, but you are always very close to the verge. Since you haven’t surpassed it yet, that’s why I still consider you my friend”

“Oh, you honor me,” He feigned a modest bow.

“Well, I should get back to my patients before the attendings chew me out for wasting my time with a scalpel jockey.”

“Oh my gosh, Eleanor, how can you be so cruel to someone who treats you well and fills your soul with self-confidence? I think the position went to your head”

“Who are you again? ”She asked, looking at him from head to toe.

Bryce grinned, “I’m going to become Harper Emery’s favorite and I’ll be the one to ask you who you are. We all know that surgery is more popular than internal medicine.”

They both laughed.

“You are such a child, Lahela. Never change.”

Eleanor raised the palm of her hand.

“I won’t, "Bryce replied as they high fived. 

He saw her leaving to the Nurse's Station at a light pace.  He couldn’t suppress a smile. He was extremely happy to see her succeed on her first day back at Edenbrook. She deserved that and more.

As he supposed, things between Eleanor and Ethan didn’t go well. From what he could observe and the things he heard from Eleanor’s drunken babbling, Ethan was trying to set serious boundaries between them, but not strong enough to prevent them from ending up kissing in his office to kill the tension or suppress the pain of not being able to be together as much as they wanted, simply because Ethan didn’t want it that way.

As the weeks went by, the situation became increasingly annoying to Bryce. Although he had made up his mind to forget Eleanor, he still unconsciously wanted her to realize that he was everything she needed and deserved. And he felt stupid waiting for her because it was clear that Eleanor had no eyes for anyone but Ethan, even if he kept ignoring her.

His annoyance reached such a point that one day he made the decision to avoid any contact with Eleanor and her friends as much as he could. He began to spend time with his surgical mates in his interest to meet new people and lose himself in the sea of parties and girls with whom to spend the night.

That night, he went to Donahue’s with the interns knowing that Eleanor and her friends had a night shift, so he wouldn’t have to meet her. He took a seat next to Rosa and Charles.

“You had a fight with your nerdy medical friends, or what?” Rosa asked when she saw him take a seat.

“No, why?”

“Because you have been spending a suspicious amount of time with us lately, when you used to be with them all the time.”

“I needed a change,” he shrugged nonchalantly,“Now that the competition’s over, there’s not so much gossip around them.”

“Sure, ”Rosa replied, not convinced.

A few shots later, several surgical residents were gathered. Including a third-year resident Bryce had always found attractive because she had an air of Shania Twain, and she was the first musical crush he had ever had.

Apparently, the reputation of being Bryce Lahela was also well received by older residents, because after two hours of drinks, Bryce was there, crossing the door to his apartment with his arms wrapped around Caroline’s waist, the attractive surgical resident who aspired to specialize in plastic surfery.

The woman was incredibly neat and was dressed impeccably. She had an exquisite aroma and a look so inquisitive that it seemed like she was looking through his skin. Although, she was actually scrutinizing his skin.

“I can’t believe it’s real,” she said, touching his cheeks with her fingertips.

“Me? Of course I am.”

Caroline rolled her eyes up, “No, your skin. I was always struck by how smooth it looked, like you were a doll. And I think you are.”

“I think this level of observation is more intimidating than having to pose for an hour naked in front of the whole hospital”

“I bet you wouldn’t mind spending your life walking naked with that body you have.”

“And I won’t in a couple of moments either.”

Caroline cut the distance between their bodies with one swift movement, kissing him. They continued their journey to the room, where the clothes went down the floor and the four walls muffled the moans and exclamations that came from their bodies. And so came the culmination of that long-awaited search for pleasure on the skin of another woman, with the intention of erasing the marks of someone from the past, believing that it would help him end his agony.

“Crap, Lahela. I always try to have low expectations, but you have proven me wrong.”

“Prove you wrong?”

“I thought you weren’t the wonder that people said, but you are.”

But no. Instead of ending with the ego energized by ending up banging with the woman he intended to, and even more flattered for his performance; Bryce ended with an existential void that decomposed him the entire night.

“And you are as attractive as I imagined you would be, since my first week as a surgical intern.”

Caroline didn’t know it, but those were the hollowest words Bryce had ever said. Without true charm, candor, interest, or desire. And he said them just to not be rude with her. 

“Shut up, it sounds like you have a crush with your elementary school teacher, and we don’t have that much of an age difference”

Bryce simply gave her a humorless smile.

He woke up the next morning with the bed empty.

He sighed with relief. The truth was he had no intention of dealing with Caroline or faking a smile or joking about the night before, because he was in such a shitty mood, he hoped it would at least let him greeting the staff and patients before locking himself in his bad mood.

In his intention to try to be better about the situation with Eleanor, he was worse now.

Weeks later, he tried again, but with the same result. During the encounter, he couldn’t help but wish that she was the one in his arms, or that she was by his side after the act was over. Was it Caroline, or any other resident, or even a Tinder date, the result was the same. He still missed her, he still imagined her features and the beautiful expressions on her face when he had another woman in his bed.

Bryce finally understood that the lie of filling the void she had left with other women had only increased his pain, so he decided to not be with a woman again until he had begun to heal. And to do it, he had to learn to deal with Eleanor and her friends. He couldn’t use the technique that so much criticized Ethan Ramsey, so he stopped being so reluctant to the company of Eleanor and her roommates, and returned to spend time with them.  It wouldn’t be easy,  he was sure about that, but it had to be done.

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A/N:

Hello everyone!

So, here I am posting my first Choices Fanfic ever. I’ve been working on it for a while because I have the bad habit of publishing things and then don’t finish them.

This is a challenge for me because it’s written in English, which is not my mother language. I’m a Spanish speaker, so, I’ve been reading and polishing my vocabulary and looking for more informal expressions and slang to make this fanfiction less boring or formal. So I apologize in advance if my narration is weird, my grammatic is wrong or if I have misspelled words. I appreciate your patience and if you have any advice of how I can better my writing skills, it’s welcome!

I’m an old school fanfiction writer, which means my fanfic will be LARGE compared to most of the fanfics that are here. I really admire the people who write drabbles or one-shot fanfics without previous fanfics to referred or just with a prompt list! This will have at least 20 chapters (I’m still deciding if I merge some or not, so that’s why I don’t have an exact number) because it’s a slow burn story.

Oh, another thing. The title of the fic and all the chapters are song-inspired. The title’s fanfic and the plot are inspired by Shawn Mendes’s song. At the beginning of each chapter, you’ll find the lyrics that inspire the plot of each one.

Well, enough verbiage. Welcome to When You’re Ready. I hope you enjoyed it!

Let me know if you want me to add you to the tag list.

Eleanor.

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Chapter 2.

[agentmonet]

Jacqueline “Jack” Devereux (FC: Astrid Berges-Frisbey)

Pronouns: She/Her

Rank: Apollo

Skill Set Strengths: Gymnastics and Acrobatics, Art and General Counterfeiting, Linguistics, Surveillance, Long Cons

Areas of Opportunity: Smuggling, Operational Organization, and History

Weaknesses: Marksmanship, Hand-to-Hand Combat, and Technological Aptitude

Positive Traits: Disciplined, Calculated, Careful, Balanced, and Intelligent

Negative Traits: Cold, Frigid, Impersonal, Disloyal, and Snobbish

Timeline

Born October 22nd, 1988 in Nice, France to well-to-do French/Spanish aristocracy on the verge of financial ruin

Child of mixed trades - a passion for fine arts, but a talent for gymnastics

Begins competing as a gymnast, earnings gold and silver trophies. Nearly qualified for the Olympics, before an injury and growing dependence on pain killers disqualify her from competition (Age 19)

Earns a scholarship at The Royal College of Art in London, England and emerges with a Fine Arts Degree (Age 23)

Employed as a junior, art restorer for the National Gallery when she catches a counterfeit art piece - catching the attention of Pantheon’s ranks

Joins Pantheon and is placed as an Apollo (Age 27)

The Pantheon’s go-to for art counterfeiting and cons requiring steady hands and athletic flexibility

Languages Spoken

French (Native)

Spanish (Native)

English (Fluent)

Portuguese

German 

Mandarin

Italian 

Learning Japanese and Cantonese

Character Parallels

Marcia Roy

Olenna Tyrell

Amy Dunne

Mystique

Black Widow

Blair Waldorf

Full Biography

There was a certain, gilded path for the members of Spanish aristocracy. A life that promised importance, lineage, and relevance - long after one had come and gone from the world. It was an old world ideal, but for Duque Lorenzo Jiménez, it remained the expectation. Never mind that the Jiménez’s finances were built on the dwindling foundation of ancestral wealth. He would argue that nobility is synonymous with grandeur. They simply needed to show it to the world. To dig within, and shine. In the bloom of young love, Marianne Devereux promised just that. A highly accomplished painter from a well-to-do family from the South of France; the artist encapsulated what Lorenzo wanted for himself. A grand existence of popularity and influence, shrouded by the classist structures he enjoyed so well. The promise of a son came soon after their wedding, cleverly picking the name ‘Jackson’ after the Pollock painter. But a misread sonogram brings a surprise, and in his place, is her. It’s Jacqueline, they decide. However, the affectionate nickname ‘Jack’ was solidified throughout Marianne’s pregnancy - and it sticks.

Life is not without its share of disappointments, and Jack is exposed to the tumultuous nature of her parents’ marriage. At a young age, the cracks began to appear over the polished glass of the couple. Her father’s taste for champagne, caviar, and excess slowly but surely diminished their financial status. A man of privilege, who never knew a day’s work in his life, placed the blame on his partner. An art career that once showed promise, proved fruitless in the years to come. Year after year, her popularity dwindled. And with it, the financial prosperity of the young family. In the cold, imposing ancestral home - Jack lived in relative solitude. When the marble halls weren’t shaking with her father’s wrath and her mother’s cool resentment, it rang a hollow silence. Something cold and imposing, in all that surrounded her. A cold state of being, as it turned out, made for survival. Jack managed through the toxicity of her family, by virtue of numbness. The singular source of emotional expression, brought by a paint brush and a canvas.

It was the first of many things that her father would take away from her. In its place, is the rigor of gymnastics. What began as a six-year-old’s hobby, evolved into a vocation. Sure, Jack was a tried and true natural - likely inherited from athletes from her father’s side. Something special in her bones, that made her pliable and agile. And sometimes, it was enjoyable. Nothing to be disliked about being excellent, and earning her hyper-critical father’s approval. Still, she would search for a canvas when the night light turns off. By day, she is her father’s trophy. But at night, she is her mother’s daughter. Hers was a technical talent, lacking in her mother’s artistry - you needed a soul to put humanity on the tip of a paintbrush, and stroke genius. One ought not to be fooled by the liveliness of the Jimenez’s home - there is not a soul to be found. As the years trudged on, the unhappiness and instability of her parents’ marriage clung onto the slimmest of threads - Jack’s athletic success. It’s not long before gold and silver medals line their home. The accolades prove to be a commercial success, drawing benefactors and sponsors alike. A cash cow, a champion, a winner - it’s who Jack Devereux-Jimenez is destined to become.

At only twelve-years-old, she began her career as a professional athlete. By nineteen-years-old, it comes to a screeching end. All before ever making it onto the Olympic arena, no less. The mounting pressure, combined with a slow-recovering injury push Jack to performance enhancing drugs. Orange pill bottles smuggled in her leather satchel, pried open after each intensive session. A minor crutch, she argues, that would dissipate when the true competition began. Jack is a winner, but even winners need a push up the hilt. But when it comes to light, she is disbarred from competition. A name that verged on grandeur, blacklisted and forgotten. The sponsors and accolades follow, and so too does her loveless father. Her parents’ marriage is undone, and Marianne and Jack are thrust onto the world on their own. A great many disappointments come from the unraveling, but in some ways, Jack feels relief. She is free - from her father, the Jimenez name, and the volatility of their home. An estate that is sold to settle the family’s debts.

In the aftermath, the mother-and-daughter find their way to Paris, where Marianne’s expertise earns her a coveted spot as a curator for the Louvre. In the simplicity of their two bedroom apartment, Jack heals in the arms of her lost love - putting paint to canvas. A therapeutic act that allows her crutches to become awash. But Jack is not one for keeping still, for just getting by. She is flexible, malleable - and her thirst for excellence can be foregone, for more subdued passions. She builds a portfolio, leveraging her familiar name and inherent talent to earn her place in London’s coveted Royal College of Art. A welcome reprieve, too. The space between Jack and her mother felt smaller and smaller, as resentment simmers just below the velveteen words. Jack leaves for London, and four years later, accomplishes a Fine Arts Degree. The name, Jacqueline Devereux, embossed on the degree. It is a new moniker, for a new Jack.

At first, The National Gallery is the perfect fit. As an art restorer, she is surrounded by fantastical works that spoke to her cold heart. But Jack was never made for ordinary life, or the straight-and-narrow. She is made to win, to see the world, and to bring her own grandeur to life. When a ‘Woman With a Parasol; by Monet is brought to her for restoration, it takes all of five minutes for her studied eye to catch the misnomers. The subtle changes in stroke, the off hue in red, and the tightness in the lines. It was a counterfeit. An impressive one, but a counterfeit nonetheless. But it passes through chains of authentication, caught only by a junior art restorer in the basement of The National Gallery. When the falsity of the piece is brought to the committee’s attention, an investigation takes shape. Never mind the loss of history, the millions in loss it represented caught headlines. And Jack, centered at the eye of the storm. As she makes her leave from the studio in the late hour, footsteps follow her through London’s sleepy streets. They chased her down, nipping at her heels. She believed them to be the perpetrators, offended by Jack’s ability to catch them in the middle of their con. Instead, the mysterious and hooded figures claim their loyalties to Pantheon. Their arrival is not judgement, but the promise of heaven itself - a place where her staunch eye, careful hands, and athleticism could find value.

The swift but calculated decision comes easily, almost too easily. Her workplace comrades, apartment leases, and social media presence is abandoned within the month. She vanishes from her life, but she is not missed. And it’s that ingenuity, that malleability that prompts the committee to decide instinctively. Apollo, a “Jack” of All Trades. A perfect fit for a woman that simultaneously blends in and stands out. She is young, willing, and bountiful with potential. So, they build her up by breaking her down. They dismantle her skills to their bare bones; from starting off on a beam, to drawing shapes instead of restoring images. She is patient through the process, trusting in this new mold. Keen and willing, as her abilities evolve throughout the years. But it’s always been in her, deep as poison. It only needs to be drawn out.

In Jack, there is a light touch and a cold-cut sensibility. She lacks harsh lines or impassioned stances. Her motives for joining Pantheon are simple - Jack is a winner. At what, and against whom? Those were all just details. Nowhere else could pull together her expertise, and draw out the sleeping champion. Nowhere else would value the cold, vacant stare or the way attachment is rootless. She sees that - and she commits. Her specialized skill set, acting as transferable and valuable to each crew. In the years that follow, Jack evolves each of her skills. Her gymnastics turned invaluable in espionage and stealth - lithe form allowing her to blend seamlessly and without notice. No area too guarded, that her physicality cannot navigate through. Jack’s ability with a paintbrush and canvas make her a skilled counterfeiter, forging dummies for the Pantheon’s missions. And even her background of aristocracy proved beneficial. A number of learned languages, combined with her ability to mislead quickly cement her as the quintessential Apollo. She grows, until she is the grand beast that her father could only dream of. In seven years, her reputation within Pantheon’s ranks is one of cold disposition, married with a competitive venom. It’s perhaps the only time that those around her could scratch the surface - when one proved to gnaw at the insecure young girl behind the skilled woman. Despite her divisive attitude, she is adaptable and flexible to the nth degree. Poetically called Agent Monet, she is old world whimsy in a seemingly forgettable scene. A known pragmatist that leaves things as she finds it, as if she was never there at all.