#also scratch is a lot easier for a nine year old who is not the best speller lol

[tj-crochets]

Hey y'all! Thank you so much for recommending scratch for the kidlet I used to babysit who wants to learn to code. He's started playing with it and he loves it! Do you have any recommendations for any supplemental materials I could give him? Like books or guides or something?

[comic-book-jawns]

Ricochet

“I’m sorry.”

Andrea truly doesn’t want to hurt Lena. She never has.

But this conversation is already nine months overdue. Well, nine months, plus three years. And if she’s doesn’t take advantage of this adrenaline high, she’s not sure when she’ll get the nerve back.

“For how I left.”

The way Lena tenses and crosses her arms tighter around herself tells Andrea she doesn’t have to elaborate.

“It’s fine. It’s not your fault I threw myself at you. And I’m the one who ran first.”

Well, yes, and Andrea obviously does not regret not kissing a 14-year-old back a few days before she left for college.

“I couldn’t give you what you wanted. But I… I could’ve give you closure.”

Lena scoffs.

“I would never have let you.”

Andrea thought so too — it’s how she eventually convinced herself that ghosting her only real friend from boarding school had been for the best.

It’s only occurred to her over the past few months that that was never the point.

“You would’ve known that I’d tried.”

***

Lena had really thought (cringey as it was) that she might actually cry if they won ICCA’s. If she played a part in making Kara’s dream since her freshman year come true.

Only Lena hadn’t really caught on that doing so had become her dream somewhere along the way. And, well, with her track record of dreams coming true…

Unfortunately, turns out that disassociating over placing first in a fucking a cappella competition is far more mortifying than tearing up.

Especially in front of someone like Kara. Not that there is someone else like her.

So she’s supposes she should be rather grateful to her team captain for bringing her back to reality… by bringing up her most mortifying experience of all time.

Of course, crying over your childhood crush saying sorry for not like you back is also quite cringey. But Lena’s dignity has lost sight of the shoreline at this point.

“So, yeah, that - that’s what I wanted to say. In case, being a complete bitch to you since August hasn’t been a sufficient apology.”

On the one hand, Lena is surprised by the genuine laugh that bursts out of her amidst the tears. On the other hand, Andrea is the only person who’s ever rivaled Lena’s dry sense of humor.

“I know it’s not an excuse, but… it was easier than worrying about disappointing you again.”

Already nodding along, ready to wrap this up, Lena freezes when she actually process what Andrea said.

“What?”

At the time, she’d been so blinded by hurt and shame for letting herself dream she ever stood a chance that she’d never even tried to put herself in her ex-best friend’s shoes.

It didn’t occur to her until she was actually getting ready for college herself that she had no idea what she’d do if a 14-year-old girl kissed her out of the blue and said she was in love with her.

Not that that was a remote possibility, Lena having sworn off friendship after convincing herself that Andrea had never given a shit about her.

Trying to convice herself, that is. Because she knew deep down that it was a lie. And that was the most excruciating part.

Still, knowing teenage Andrea had cared about her in some form… Well, Lena hadn’t just run into her at the Activies Fair three years later — very alarmed because it was not school Andrea had left for that summer — and assumed…

“I could never get your face out of my head.”

Humiliating, Lena feels herself blush, full well knowing Andrea didn’t mean it like that, and scratches at her wet cheeks as cover.

“No matter what Lex and your mother did, you - you wouldn’t cry. And I was always relieved.”

Oh? Lena’s not really sure what to say to that. But what really catches her off-guard is the sudden rasp in Andrea’s voice. And when she finally looks at the older girl for the first time since she joined her out here in the parking lot, she finds her swallowing harshly.

“Because I knew how to distract you. I was good at it.”

Andrea meets her gaze with an even more jarring attempt at a smile.

“But in the end, it was me.”

Andrea turns fully away then, her back to Lena, so all she can see is the hand running stiltedly through dark hair still pulled into a bun.

“I made you cry.”

Lena doesn’t need to see her face, though.

***

Precariously carrying five cups of steaming hot tea in her bare hands — every kind available; you’d think a singing competition would have a more robust selection?! — Kara considers it quite an accomplishment that she doesn’t immediately give herself third-degree burns when she finally finds the freshman in the parking lot.

Successfully placing them all down on the pavement doesn’t prove to be much easier, but Kara isn’t willing to tempt fate when she’s so preoccupied with the scene in front of her.

Kara does consider her fellow senior a friend, but more in the way she considers a lot of acquaintances her friends. And, frankly, her treatment of Lena has driven a wedge between them that Kara’s doesn’t know if she’s all that interested in dislodging.

Sure, Kara had eventually convinced her that Lena is the team’s future, literally.

The reason they’d used the same repertoire for years was because no one knew how to arrange new material. Nothing better than what they already had at least.

Andrea had never admitted their severely lacking musicianship, of course. So Kara had done it for her… after not defending Lena when she’d previously had the chance.

The point is Kara’s friendship with Lena “it’s just math” Luthor is her priority. She can live with never speaking to Andrea again after graduation. The thought of anything changing between her and Lena after graduation has been making her nauseous for weeks.

“So… Kara?”

Kara doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, she swears. Honestly, she’d kind of expected them to pick up on her presence whether she dropped the cups or not. But it seems the pair is still in their own little bubble, Andrea demurely wiping her face while pulling back from the embrace. Lena keeps her close, though, loosely holding her elbows.

“Kara?”

“I know, Lena.”

“Know what?”

Kara definitely should’ve turned around by now. She’s hardly in a position to get self-righteous about secrets when she has yet to tell her best friend that she won’t be leaving campus, after all.

Staying on for a Master’s in Journalism hadn’t been her plan even back in the fall. But a lot has happened between now and then, so.

Andrea sighs with none of her characteristic exasperation.

“I knew you had feelings for me before you kissed me.”

Kara is positive the only reason she doesn’t audibly gasp is because she’s too shocked. Well, that and Lena scoffs loudly as she takes a step back.

She’d figured that Lena and Andrea had a history, per se. But her mind had never gone… there.

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t act like it.”

“How was I supposed to act?”

In four years, Kara has never heard Andrea speak so gently, without even a hint of condescension to boot.

Lena’s more choked scoff seems to suggest she’s not used to it either… and that Kara is probably missing something.

“You don’t have to believe me. And if you want to tell me I’m wrong about Kara, go ahead.”

Yeah, she’s definitely missing something.

“But… if you want to tell me I’m right, I certainly wouldn’t discourage that either.”

Lena’s chuckles in that beautifully thick way she does when Kara gushes over one of her mash-ups profusely enough.

“Fuck you.”

“Still too young for this ride, sweetie. Sorry.”

Kara can’t help her eye roll at Andrea gesturing at her own body like it’s a letter on Wheel of Fortune. But then Andrea frowns, which makes slightly more sense when Kara hears Lena’s abruptly dejected tone.

“It’s the same.”

“What is?”

“You - you and me. Me and Kara. It’s the same age gap.”

“Yes, but I’ve known you since you were a baby.”

“Seven.”

Even as her mind races — scrambling for the missing context — Kara can still hear Lena’s scowl clear as day. Andrea waves dismissively.

“Same difference.”

But then she takes a step forward, her arms hovering pretty awkwardly for someone who was just clinging to Lena a minute ago before she settles them on Lena’s shoulders.

“You jump. I jump. Okay?”

Kara recognizes the quote instantly, but it doesn’t clear anything up for her. Other than it means something to Lena, judging by the way she loops her arm through Andrea’s and leisurely leads them further out into the parking lot.

So they’re thankfully well out of earshot by the time Kara accidentally kicks over all the cups.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

The Marali Festival Commentary Part 4

Nearing the end! I hope you guys have enjoyed reading these as much as I have enjoyed making them.😊

**SPOILERS FOR THIS FIC BELOW**  

Chapter 10- Cooking For Each Other

Today was meant to be the least stressful day of the Marali Festival. The passion for your family. A day to spend together doing various activities where Thorin wouldn’t be required to be ‘King Thorin’ or to have to put on airs, but could just relax with the people who genuinely loved him. And then his sister ruined it.

I am the oldest of three myself. I have plenty of experience to pull from when it comes to writing sibling interactions. (This includes making one super melodramatic over minor issues.)

“Personally, I think you deserved a lot worse.” Dis sang.

On second thought, maybe Thorin didn’t want to celebrate the Passion for Family at all because at this rate he was well on his way to the ‘Passion for Ignoring People Altogether’.

Relatable. When my siblings and I get together, it is always 1 vs. 2 with the 2 picking on the 1. Fili slid in as a perfect substitute for Frerin to keep up the dynamic.

Thorin tried to remain neutral at the offer. On one hand, he wanted to accept the truce flag and try to get back to normal with the hobbit. On the other hand, he hated cooking. It wasn’t that he was particularly terrible at it, but he had grown up with cooks to do the work for him. Even after the fall of Erebor, it was easier to let someone else provide meals or to get a meal from the inn where he stayed than to get ingredients to make it from scratch. Bilbo, he’s come to learn though, loved to cook.

So I certainly lean into the fanon HC from time to time of Thorin’s inability to cook. But I actually HC that the few ‘spoiled prince’ habits that stuck with him through the years was he doesn’t want to cook. So he messes up on purposes sometimes so people won’t ask him to do it.

“I’m sorry.” Thorin stated.

“You’ve said that.” Bilbo remarked, but his tone seemed lighter than yesterday at least.

“I’ll say it as many times as necessary until I feel forgiveness is deserved.”

I sometimes worry that I make Thorin ‘too’ much of a jackass when he flies off the handle. So I sometimes feel like I overcompensate Thorin feeling guilty about it for days, weeks, months later. He’s a bit of the self-punishing type.

Chapter 11- Picture Time

There is NOTHING better than when your siblings enter a serious relationship, and you can pull out the baby books. This chapter was the Middle Earth equivalent.

“It is a high honor indeed.” Thorin stated gravely, his arms crossed. “None of your kind have ever been invited.”

I need it to be noted that, I love Thorin accepting Tauriel fics! I just like to play with different versions of him sometimes, and Thorin just had so much animosity in the movies that I couldn’t see him getting over it completely. He’s getting better though!

“Actually, Kili mentioned he learned his bowmanship from you, Your Majesty. I would be most interested to compare techniques as your nephew is quite skilled.”

If Thorin knew he was being played, he said nothing of it as he immediately launched into what seemed to be a well told lecture on the difference between dwarven and elvish bows. Bilbo had to hide a smile at Fili’s relieved expression and Kili’s over the moon eyes. Yes, this was quite a big step for the dwarf king, and Bilbo couldn’t be more proud of him.

See? Also, I need like...SO MANY MORE FICS talking about Thorin’s prowess with a bow.

He flipped to the next page, and Thorin couldn’t be much older than nine or ten, and while it was clear he was trying to sit still, you could see the mischief dancing in his eyes.

And in the category of ‘things no one ever asks me about, and I don’t offer up information even though I should’, so I actually mathematically calculated the relationship between hobbit, man, and dwarven ages. So when Bilbo says ‘nine or ten’, he means for a hobbit. Which is about 5 years old for a man, so 11-12 is Thorin’s actual age.😅 Why am I so extra?

Also, yes. I 100% believe that Thorin was a holy terror as a young child.

She heaved a large sigh. “I won’t do his job for him if that’s what you’re getting at, Master Baggins. No matter how much I worry he’s too thick to get it right. But, I wanted you to know, to me and my sons you are already family. And always will be.”

Bilbo felt an unexpected prickle at the corners of his eyes at the dwarrowdam’s kind words. He had always considered the Company his family, but it was nice to know the reverse was true as well. Especially from someone he did not meet until after Erebor had been reclaimed.

I love Bilbo and Dis interactions. Heartfelt included.

Chapter 12- Giving/Receiving Gifts

And FINALLY! The misunderstanding comes to light...

Bilbo even found the desire to wear just a small amount of jewelry in the form of a handsome silver brooch and ear cuff.

I like to believe the Company helped Bilbo pick out pieces in the treasury that would make him more��‘dwarven’, and Bilbo 1. being a bit of a clothes horse and 2. knowing the importance of fitting into society’s expectations would relent.

“Being king means he has a lot of apologies to pass out.” Bofur teased.

Bofur was clearly not exaggerating as the line of dwarves in front of Thorin was nearly out the door, and the dwarf looked positively thrilled with the development.

I imagine Thorin has to deal with a lot of people during the year, and he’s probably not as cordial as he should be.

Bilbo’s smile slipped almost immediately.

“That’s it?”

Thorin froze, and Bilbo could almost physically feel everyone suck in a breath.

Can you imagine what all these other dwarves are thinking? Like ‘oh what Shire custom did the king forget with his apology gift?’ or ‘Had he disrespected the Company’s Burglar twice?!’

“Master Baggins, Bilbo.” Tabor amended. “You…you have always been very kind to me, and I just want you to know that…you are a gem greater than any the Halls of Erebor have seen before.”

Bilbo was smiling the whole time until that last line. It rang with a vague sense of familiarity until it settled like a rock in his gut. He knew exactly where that line was from, and he could feel the blood draining away. No, no it couldn’t be.

The LEVEL of secondhand embarrassment here. Bilbo’s just like ‘please don’t do it, dwarf I see as a small child’.

“I would be the luckiest dwarf in all of Erebor, if you would consider courting me.”

What was Fili and Kili’s back-up plan if Bilbo had accepted just out of sheer awkwardness?? An AU for later consideration...

[tibby]

will u share more ab the decor around the jigsquad house w amanda, adam and lawrence?

oh happily!!!

they live in some like, victorian style home painted a shade of green that could be mistaken for an office space in a neighbourhood full of them. this is the best visual reference i could find for how i picture it in my minds eye:

amanda built a ramp that they placed over the stairs so it's easier for lawrence on a daily basis

lawrence gets primary say over the interior decor because he technically pays the most in terms of mortgage/bills. which isn't to say adam and amanda don't contribute, because they do, but lawrence IS a surgeon who comes from a wealthy family. so it's only fair that he pays the most, and therefore it's only fair that he fills the place with weird statues and nice pieces of art and intricately carved wooden furniture and silk pillows. and also his clock that we see in the first movie.

however. adam and amanda DO also live there so they DO get somewhat of a say. which is why the house's overall decor has the vibe of "trust fund baby going through an emo phase."

adam and amanda kept sticking posters of bands and movies that lawrence has never heard of to the walls and he decided that it was ruining the aesthetic so he had them framed and now adam's crumbled old nine inch nails poster is hanging in an expensive frame next to some painting that lawrence paid an obscene amount of money for.

the kitchen is...surprisingly very domestic and homey. whether or not the weed and shrooms that adam and amanda are growing on the windowsill adds to that or detracts from it is a matter of personal opinion. but yeah! the fridge is covered in photos of the family and drawings by diana and bills and a grocery list that has everything from gourmet cheeses written in lawrence's unreadable doctor's handwriting, kerosene in amanda's chicken scratch, and pop tarts (FROSTED!!!!) in adam's surprisingly beautiful cursive. they have one of those bread/flour/sugar/rice/coffee/etc ceramic container sets and they are ALWAYS filled with the appropriate things. erratic collection of mugs including: one that 4 year old diana painted for lawrence for father's day, the one adam had made that just has a photo of his cat (bastard) on it, the world's worst serial killer mug that amanda got mark for christmas (he tried to bring it into work one time ""ironically"" and strahm nearly had an aneurysm). shelf absolutely stuffed with cookbooks and a homemade spice rack on the wall and a coat hanger with a bunch of embarrassing aprons (they intentionally bought pink ones with heart shaped pockets or cringe ones like KISS THE COOK because mark does a lot of the cooking and they love to see mark "built like a brick shithouse" hoffman in the most ridiculous aprons they could find). sometimes they work on smaller traps on the kitchen table but for the most part that is done in the basement.

murder basement is dark and gloomy and adam hates being in there because well. it's where they make murder traps. so he tried to liven things up in the most intentionally annoying way possible by putting like, fairy lights and lava lamps and beanbags everywhere. it's tacky and they all hate it but if lounging around on a beanbag is the only way for adam to spend more than five minutes there then so be it. the lock on the basement door is all rusted and they tell everyone that "oh we can't get it open haha we just don't use the basement" which is a horrible cover story but it works so. who am i to judge. the basement is also where they store their holiday decorations so there's stuff like a christmas tree and a dancing skeleton figure amongst their tools designed to maim and/or kill. they're kind of weird.

i think amanda isn't used to being allowed to have and keep things so she's a bit of a hoarder. i said this in my mandy hcs post but she's a big reader and doesn't ever throw out any of her books, which range from big hardcovers to tacky romance paperbacks that are falling apart. the bookshelf is full so there's random piles of them all over the house and she WILL somehow know if one is missing and there WILL be bloodshed.

erratic shared vinyl collection? erratic shared vinyl collection. erratic shared cd collection? erratic shared cd collection. erratic shared dvd collection? erratic shared dvd collection.

lawrence got full control over decorating his and adam's bedroom, which adam didn't really care about because they just use it to sleep and have sex. his only request was that he could hang up a bunch of photos of them (many with diana) and lawrence happily agreed. anyway. it's all a nice wooden bedframe and matching drawers and bedside tables and like, silk sheets and an incredibly expensive mattress. they have a little ensuite and the light is ALWAYS on in there because adam can't handle full darkness anymore, let alone in bathrooms. it's kind of boring but like. whatever. let the murder gays be boring in their love nest.

amanda's room is more all over the place, there's barely an inch of free wall space because again, a little bit of hoarder tendencies. she's got postcards and photos and ripped pages from books and magazines stuck up everywhere. lots of reds and purples with the upholstery and the curtains and whatnot. she's got a little desk that's absolutely covered in sketches and trap plans and poems and letters because she's always working on something. adam is forbidden from smoking in his and lawrence's room (tbh lawrence keeps trying to get them to stop smoking in the house but they don't listen) so he usually smokes with mandy in her room.

adam's cat bastard as her own room. bastard does not usually sleep in her room in her fancy pet bed, because cats are like that. bastard is banned from sleeping in adam and lawrence's room after she ate a bird (that was still alive during) on their nice silk sheets. there are dead things in bastard's room and more toys than any cat could ever have. nobody is allowed in there except bastard or adam unless they want to lose an arm.

the other spare room is for diana, and it is constantly changing because she is a growing girl and her interests are constantly shifting. it is on the top floor of the house and has a giant window that looks out into the backyard.

ik the backyard isn't really decor but they do have a very nice large one and adam has a vegetable patch that he tends to religiously. adam's green thumb is a shock to everyone given that he once tried to serve them pasta boiled in gatorade. but. he loves his vegetables and his fruits and his flowers so love is love. they also have a hammock and a back porch with rocking chairs on it.

[starrynite7114]

Years Together (Sergio Ramos)

A/N: Here I am, back with my first football little one-shot, or multiple parts since this is based on a TikTok. Anyway, I wanted to do it on bae, Sergio Ramos. I love this man, I would sacrifice a whole lot of things for this man. I know I usually write Mayans, specifically Angel, but I wanted to branch out. Be on the lookout for Rio, Billy Russo and Bucky Barnes. Maybe even Lewis Tan, Sebastian Stan are on the horizon. Regardless, I hope you all enjoy what I write still. If you don’t read, totally understandable, I still love you all!

I will try to finish all my works in progress along with the requests I have! EZ should be next since I’m almost done with his, I just have to actually finish it. 

Love you all!

Word Count: 1206

CREDITS TO THE GIF MAKER <3

You sat beside Sergio as he watched the next Marvel film in the series of chronological order for the Marvel Cinematic Universe. So far, you two were at Iron Man II. Sergio has been either working out or watching film during the quarantine. La Liga was set to reconvene in two weeks and you were honestly excited. Though you couldn’t go to the matches, at least Sergio and the boys would be gracing your screens again. 

You and Sergio have been together for nine years and in those ten years, you two have had two sons together, Sergio Jr. and Thiago. You two were set to get married this year, but with the pandemic happening, you thought it would be best to postpone the wedding till all your friends and family could safely participate. 

With the pandemic happening, your work has been moved to a home setting. You actually didn’t mind holding meetings and working at home, it made things so much easier for you. You could take care of the boys, with Sergio’s help and also be able to stay safe. Sergio was holding Thiago, your three year old, while Junior, your five year old was nestled right beside you. 

“Should we order dinner? Or are we cooking?” You questioned him.

“Pizza?” Sergio has been indulging due to the pandemic and it wasn’t like the calories were staying on him. Sergio worked out far too much for the calories to really make a dent to his ungodly body.

You ordered pizza through an app, letting Sergio pick the toppings. You all got your own personalized pizza that was the perfect size for one person. You also got some cheesy bread since your sons were a sucker for cheese and so were you. 

You scrolled through TikTok as the movie began. TikTok has become an obsession you couldn’t drop. It was ridiculous, but the endless hours you spent on this app was dangerous. You even made an account. You’ve posted a few TikTok’s of you messing with Sergio, but nothing too insane as of yet. You did want to try one with Sergio, to see how he would react to this specific TikTok. There was a TikTok going around where the person gets the number of years together wrong and their partner reacts. There were a varying amount of reactions and you wanted to see what Sergio would say. 

Setting up your phone to record him, you focused the camera on Sergio, who was enjoying some juice you made earlier in the day. 

“Babe,” you called out.

“Hmm,” his eyes remained on the screen.

“You know what I find insane? My sister just texted me and told me that we’ve been together for seven years. That’s a long time huh?” You had to hold back your laughter. You didn’t think Sergio was paying attention since he’s been occupied by the Marvel Cinematic Universe since he finished his morning workout. 

Sergio paused the movie and looked back at you. “Seven years? Who have you been dating for seven years?” He gave you an incredulous look. “We’ve been together for ten years, five months, three weeks, 5 days, and six hours.” 

The details he uttered made you speechless. You knew how long you two were together by at least years and months, but he knew the weeks, days and hours? 

“What?” You looked at him in disbelief. “You know all of that?”

“Yes, of course I do. I still don’t think you understand how long I waited for you to agree to go on a date with me.” Sergio shook his head. “Now, who the hell have you been dating for seven years. I can text our sister right now.”

You’ve known Sergio since childhood through your sister. He wasn’t much older than you, just by a few years. Your sister was never fond of the idea of you dating Sergio, so you kept him at arm's length, but after the 2010 World Cup, you changed your mind and said screw it. You went on one date with Sergio and the rest was history. You two were on and off, but Sergio never let too much time pass till he waved the white flag. He had a temper and you liked to push him. You two were volatile, but somehow, you two made it work. He loves fiercely and so do you. Sergio always knew you were the one, he always said it was the way you would ignore him that got him. 

But you weren’t ignoring him, you just didn’t like him. 

And the dislike eventually grew to fondness to friendship and then to love. 

“Babe, it's a prank.” You stopped recording, saving the video as a draft and showing him where you got the idea from. 

Sergio looked at you and shook his head. “You’re such damn trouble.” He chuckled, playing the movie once again. “I’m gonna have to start watching some videos, just so we can be at an even playing field.”

“Do you know the seconds too?”

“That’s pushing it.”

You had to laugh at that. “That’s pushing it?” 

Sergio turned to you and kissed you. Junior let out a giggle along with your youngest son Thiago. “Babe, you’re the longest commitment I’ve had besides being in the Madrid team. So yes, I value and keep track of how long we’ve been together, pretty soon, I’ll be counting marriage years.”

“You know, we should just get married at a courthouse. All we need is your mom, my mom and there we go. Hell, we can even do it virtually.”

Sergio paused the movie again. “I want you to have your dream wedding.”

“I don’t have one, I just want to be married to you.”

Sergio chuckled and shook his head. “You know that’s what I want to, but I want us to be able to celebrate with our family and friends. To really enjoy the fact that we’ve annoyed them with our PDA for ten years.”

You laughed. “You’re such a dork.” You pushed his head. “Okay, we can wait. As long as I become Mrs. Ramos at the end.”

“Baby, there’s no way you won’t be Mrs. Ramos at the end. I told you three years in, it’s you and me.” Sergio squeezed your thigh. “Te queiro mi amor.” He kissed you again.

And it was true, Sergio had told you he was going to marry you some day on your third year anniversary. You brushed it off and said we’ll see next year. And each year after that, Sergio upped his game. Finally, on your eight year anniversary he proposed. It’s not like he didn’t want to do it earlier, but he knew for some reason you weren’t ready. A relationship was one thing but an engagement was another.

“Love you too.” You had your hand at the back of his neck, scratching it, a gesture Sergio absolutely adored. 

You two watched the movie, mostly Sergio whole you browsed around TikTok. You started saving videos to do with Sergio. Another one you wanted to do was the ‘what three things would you take with you if we got divorced’? 

But you would save that for next time.

Let the TikTok videos begin.

[alienaiver]

Half the Battle, pt. 1

Kuroo Tetsurou x gn!reader

find part two here!

warnings: slight angst about childhood/parents fighting/divorce, one (1) bottle of wine is opened, someone is betrayed in Mario Party, NOT beta-read! apologize for any mistakes! (lmk if there’s any warnings i missed!)

wordcount: 5.5k

content: soulmate AU, mild angst, fluff, post-timeskip but slight canon divergence (i haven’t read the manga yet so this is loosely based off of their canon timeskip lives), gender neutral reader, reader is a video editor, reader is bad at eye contact but the details as to why are vague/up for interpretation!

notes: this was made for @gg9183 ​ ‘s wonderful birthday event, a soulmate collab! (go read the other wonderful works!) happy birthday once again, gray!! this was meant to be a 2k one shot but.... plans and inspiration changes sometimes, right? 🥺 so this ended up as a 5k part ONE lmfao i hope thats alright w u!!! part2 will be up asap, i promise!! i hope you enjoy this!!!! 

—————————

Not meeting his soulmate was fine, Kuroo often found himself thinking. The odds of finding your soulmate’s way too low to be realistic anyways, he supported the thought. It’s illogical to spend so much time fretting about it, he finally added for good measure.

Soulmates were a natural part of life, always had been. But with the big wide world filled with over seven billion people, meeting yours wasn’t completely unheard of. But given the powers of soulmates even existing, it wasn’t unrealistic to also believe that some kind of fate would pull you towards each other throughout your lives so that you would meet each other. Kuroo however, prided himself in not caring about soulmates. His life was rich enough. People explaining their feelings about “something being missing until they finally meet them” was incomprehensible to him.

Kuroo had lived for 29 years without being able to see color. And you know what? His life was damn well fulfilling enough. He had a beautiful apartment, an economy that flourished, an adorable cat named Cucumber and good people around him. What would he really need a soulmate for? He could ignore his friends comments on how wonderful the world was in color, if only he would just start looking for his soulmate, how much meaning it gave life. Just because the people in his closest circle had all magically met theirs – not to mention how many of them had already met in Goddamn high school, Kuroo scoffed and was always able to move on.

Even though a lot of people actively made eye contact with everyone they met, even people on the street, to make sure they would meet their soulmate, Kuroo kept his eyes down. He wasn’t insecure, come on, he was perfectly happy! He just didn’t need to be late for a meeting because he got eye contact with some stranger, you know?

His life was in perfect balance as is.. Until yesterday, of course. It had turned out there was mold in his apartment complex so they had to evict it for a month while a crew would go through everything to remove it. He didn’t want to go to his mother’s place, that was too far from his work, but he wasn’t in the mood for a hotel, that was way too expensive, so he turned to his best friend of many years with the biggest set of puppy eyes he could muster and the prospect of making every dinner while he lived there.

“Fine… but don’t get in the way,” was all Kenma had to say.

And so Kuroo spent his last weekend in his own apartment packing things down to make it accessible to the cleaning crew. Cucumber hated other cats with a passion so he couldn’t bring him to Kenma’s, where three cats already happily lived, so his mother would pick him up tomorrow afternoon.

__

He sat on his couch, scrolling his phone mindlessly with Cucumber on his lap who had been stressed with all the packing down, sensing something was up. He was being extra cuddly towards Kuroo who, honestly? Didn’t mind at all. He loved when Cucumber was in mood for cuddles, though it wasn’t very often. He had been told his cat was orange and while he didn’t have a measure for what that color actually looked like, he was happy with his gray cat.

His mother was supposed to arrive any minute now, so he should have gotten up and put the cat in his carrier but it was easier to get him in it if you had two pair of hands. He scrolled through Instagram, reaching a photo put up by Tsukishima of his soulmate, the light-haired manager of their high school volleyball club, with a tooth-eating grin on her face and proudly showing off a ring on her finger, the caption said, This smile makes me wanna brag. Kuroo could physically hear the provocative tone of his voice, knowing he was one of the first in his circle of friends to actually plan a wedding. Kuroo clicked his tongue with a smile on his face and double-tapped to like the picture.

He didn’t know if it was the combination of that post and the fact that his mother was on her way but memories of his parent’s wedding flooded his mind. For a lot of people, weddings felt obsolete in the face of the whole “you already got your soulmate and you know this” thing, so a lot of couples were happy not getting married but just being together. But there was also the benefits of marriage in the practical sense, so some people did anyways, some hosting parties, some not. His parents weren’t married when he came to, but after he turned five they decided to do it so he would be protected by both of them, in case of any emergency.

It had been a small wedding, only the closest family and friends but Kuroo was vivid, so excited about being part of that whole romantic ordeal, even helping his mom find a dress and everything. He had been a huge and important part of the wedding – if he did say so himself. Everyone had been glowing at the day, the food was delicious, there was laughter, song and cheers and everyone had brought so many presents – even some for little Tetsurou, who had been very excited about his new train tracks.

But when Kuroo was seven years old, it wasn’t as romantic anymore. His parents were fighting a lot, he wasn’t entirely sure why or about what because they would never tell him about it, no matter how much he asked. When he tried to listen in, the words he heard didn’t explain anything to him because even though they were yelling at each other, the important words were always whispered, as if they knew Kuroo was listening in.

When he was eight his mom had come into his room, hugged him and with tears in her eyes and said that they were going to move away.

“Where are we going?” he asked simply, no emotion to be read on his little face. He was exhausted from his parents being this way – they were soulmates, right? Why did they fight like that?

“To Tokyo, just you and me, my love.”

That’s when he met Kenma. He had been very closed-off and shy back when they met, he reminisced. He had been a regular kid when he was younger but the way his parents split up – his soulmate parents – had closed him off pretty bad, so it was a miracle he met Kenma and started opening up again.

Kuroo smiled to himself bitterly before scratching Cucumber’s ear. He supposed this was also why he wasn’t interested in his soulmate. So many people had romanticized the whole soulmate ideal so a lot of people forgot that relationships still took work, took effort and just because they were made for each other, didn’t necessarily guarantee that they would stay together. His mom and dad didn’t officially talk anymore, but when he asked his mom as a child whether or not she still saw color, she said that she did. He also found long letters in her bedroom when he was nine, letters from his dad, so he supposed they still talked together, though Kuroo wasn’t let in on it – nor was he particularly interested. And he definitely we wasn’t interested in ending up in a relationship with someone who would end up not wanting to put in the effort for the relationship to flourish.

After Cucumber had been picked up by his mom it was time to leave for Kenma’s place. He carried the last boxes of valuables down to his basement and locked them in before trekking down to the subway with his suitcase and sports bag.

_____

You were late for work, so you scrambled to pack your things. It was Wednesday afternoon and you were supposed to meet in at 3PM, because that was around the time that Kodzuken had planned to finish his recording, he told you yesterday. You were a video editor and had met Kenma through your old part-time job in his favorite convenience store quite a few years back, back when he had first bought his house when he was 24. You remembered talking to him about video games in the store since you also played some, and after a good while of polite customer service and talk about new games, you had started hanging out outside of work as well. When you had then told him you were actually a freelance video editor but just didn’t get many jobs, he had almost instantly hired you to do his YouTube videos for him and general editing and set-ups of his streams. I know video games, not recording equipment, he had told you so many years ago.

Your original thought had been wary, because working for a friend might get messy but Kenma cared a lot about keeping it professional when you were on the clock, which you appreciated very much. In his house, down by his game room, there was a room next door with screens and all the best editing software just for you to play with. Your pay was higher than average for such a “simple” but regular gig but when prompted about it, he simply shrugged and told you it wasn’t up for negotiation and no one was being treated unfair – and who were you to go against such a good pay for a job that you loved doing and wanted to do full-time? With Kenma being a famous streamer and gamer, he often made lots of different videos for various sites so your job hours resembled a nine to five job, easy, even if the hours were off from the more conventional jobs and you usually came in later in the day and sometimes finished off late in the evening – some of his videos had a time limit for a release date of a game, so there was also days where you were extremely busy and scrambling to get the video done right for a release of a game.

As you closed your bag and ran out the door towards the subway, you checked your phone for any updates. If he’d finished early, he would’ve texted you about it, so you put your phone in your pocket and hurried towards his house.

When you arrived you immediately rang the doorbell before catching your breath, you were used to Kenma spending a few minutes before reaching the door and opening it, so when the door opened almost instantly you took a step back before looking up. The one opening the door was taller than Kenma and in a loose dress shirt that was unbuttoned at the top - that’s all you saw before your eyes darted down to your feet.

“...Hi! I’m uh… Where’s Kenma?” was all you got out while fidgeting with your purse strap, it certainly wasn’t his boyfriend Hinata opening the door today.

“Oh, hey! You must be his video editor, right? He told me about you!” The man said, pointing to himself with his thumb,

“I’m Kuroo Tetsurou! Kenma’s childhood friend! Sorry to intrude, I’ll be living here for the next month, I promise not to get in your way!” As he finished his introduction, he moved aside so that you could enter. As you took off your shoes you heard Kenma’s feet shuffling towards you, “oh hey, welcome, you’re early,” Kenma said with his usual deadpan expression but you could clearly hear the teasing in his voice.

“At least I’m here now, right?” You smiled back, instantly relaxing at the sight of your boss and friend. You turned to Kuroo again, bowed and introduced yourself before taking off your coat and putting it on a hanger, while Kenma and the guy named Kuroo seemed to bicker a bit about whether or not Kuroo should answer the door while he lived there.

“I’ll go set it up, have you transferred the video files to the hard disk?” you asked Kenma as you moved towards ‘your’ office, sending Kuroo a polite smile while keeping your eyes on his neck.

Eye contact was hard for you, it always made you extremely uncomfortable and you didn’t really have any before you felt comfortable with the person. Your mother had often scolded you, saying you’d never find your soulmate at this rate, which you always acknowledged with a hum or a simple yes without starting a discussion.

You honestly weren’t sure whether or not you cared for a soulmate. Your biggest argument to wanting to find one was so that you could see colors, because it’d help your career. Kenma already had his soulmate, so he was the one deciding the color scheme for his videos and helped with the color-related editing, which worked fine as of now, but you would probably appreciate to be able to do it yourself. You had also spent some years coming to terms with your struggles with eye contact and accept that this was just how you functioned. If you missed your soulmate in a random supermarket thanks to it one day, well, you’d be none the wiser, so you felt sure you’d survive without one, but you also couldn’t deny that the sound of a soulmate sounded really nice and comforting. That someone out there existed to fit you, that you were born to love someone who was also meant to love you. You were sure that finding your soulmate wasn’t a dance on roses, it was sure to still be hard, frustrating and maybe even painful sometimes, but you also couldn’t just have all the good, there was a balance that was sure to exist within soulmates as well.

After hours of going through the raw footage from his video game play and slowly editing while watching it, you popped your shoulders and stretched your arms for a moment, yawning as you did so. Your hours were always a bit intense, but that couldn’t be helped when you had six hours of raw footage to work with. Looking at the clock you saw that it was 5.30PM which meant that soon Kenma would wake up from his pseudo-sleep (which was more like a nap in your opinion) to look at your process and ask what you wanted for dinner.

Soon after a soft knock was heard followed by the door opening slowly, Kenma standing in sweats and a hoodie with bags under his eyes, “do you like hotpot?” he asked, and you smiled at him, “sure, are you cooking tonight?” he yawned while he shook his head, “Kuroo is. He insists on a ‘fulfilling meal’, whatever that means.”

You giggled before beckoning Kenma in to see some of what you’ve done so far and making minor adjustments along the way. “Now, something smells delicious and I’m thirsty,” you stated after the two of you had talked a bit about the rest of the video’s plans. As you went towards the kitchen you could hear the sound of of a nameless tune being hummed, pans sizzling from something being cooked and kitchen utensils being used.

Inside, the table was already set with plates and prepared ingredients lying ready for the pot that Kuroo was just about to put on the table. It seemed he had made an endless supply of different side dishes and really put in a lot of work for it, so you looked really forward to eating it and it smelled delicious. You grabbed a glass from the set table and went to the sink to get some water and just as your hand reached it, Kuroo had extended his hand as well to the sink and you accidentally touched.

You both recoiled as if you had been burned and you couldn’t stop the gasp that accidentally left your lips. A feeling was rushing through your body you hadn’t experienced before and you immediately apologized to Kuroo and went back to the table, foregoing the water. You didn’t notice how Kuroo was frozen in place from when he touched you before Kenma called out to him and he immediately started moving again.

You ended up eating shortly after, Kuroo serving the food and talking animatedly about him and Kenma’s childhood, making you laugh quite a bit at their (or more, Kuroo’s) antics and their volleyball days. Kuroo was the type of person to make you relax in his presence and have fun which you didn’t even notice until you got home later that evening and really thought about what a great time you had had. You found yourself surprised by how easily you clicked with Kuroo, a total stranger. It must be his charm, you thought to yourself before going through your night routine. You had to come back tomorrow and finish work, after all. You estimated the video would take you a few more days to finish but that would end up fitting well with the weekend coming, so as you went to bed you felt yourself more relaxed than you had in a while.

_____

“What are they like?”

It was Friday and it seemed you had finished Kenma’s video and therefor you weren’t here for dinner – for the first time in a few days, which did let down Kuroo just a tiny bit. He had talked a lot with you during dinner preparations when you came out from the office and during dinner as well and while you did answer all his questions (which, he admitted, there were quite a few of them) and follow up with your own for him, it still felt… off… talking to you – and Kuroo didn’t like not knowing why. “What do you mean?” Kenma asked, taking another bite into his mouth.

Kenma swallowed a piece of meat before looking up at Kuroo who was stabbing his plate with his fork in what seemed like a useless purpose. He knew he was being a little weird but meeting you was weird, even though he had no reason to explain why.

“I mean, is this how they usually act?” He didn’t even know what that question meant or why he was even asking it, nothing made sense! But he had a desperate feeling that he needed to get to know you – he was afraid of what that implied and what suspicions he needed to hold onto, but he was sure it was his gut telling him you were dangerous for Kenma to be around – that had to be it! Kenma was his best friend, his childhood friend, it had to be a gut feeling meant to protect him!

“Who knows, they’re being more polite than usual, I think. But that makes sense,” Kenma replied calmly before adding, “I mean you are a stranger who’s really intent on being social with them over our dinners, they were a bit shy as well when I met them,”

Kuroo nodded and finally took a bite of his own food. He didn’t notice Kenma’s raised eyebrows or the questioning look that was sent his way, so Kenma decided to let the subject rest.

Not seeing you today felt weird to him too and he couldn’t help the irritation building up inside him – you had just met a few days ago and only in the evenings when he was done with work and ready to make dinner – and yet, the thought of you kept invading his mind. He had gotten through work today thinking you were going to be there for dinner so when he came home and found out you wouldn’t be there, the first seed of irritation had been planted – why was he suddenly looking so much forward to seeing you? Had it been like this yesterday too? Why was it suddenly important that you weren’t there? He ended up sitting in front of the laptop in the guest room for the rest of the evening, the document left open and completely untouched.

Kuroo, however, didn’t let the subject rest in his head for the rest of that evening. Hinata was in town, having time off after a big game yesterday so Kuroo was left to his own devices – which really wasn’t a problem considering he had to make the paperwork for a promotional deal for a meeting Monday morning that he had procrastinated making – which wasn’t like him at all, he usually never pushed assignments to last minute and he then realized the reason he wasn’t done yet was because he had spent so much time over the dinner table with Kenma and you, talking even after dinner had been done for a while. You always offered to help him with the clean-up so you also spent some time talking there, drifting off to various subjects far passing the cleaning duties and sitting down again with a glass of water.

He enjoyed your company, it felt... easy, somehow, the sensation that something was off was there but it didn’t really settle in his stomach until every time after you left, as if it was left to grow a bit from a small sensation to a problem, which worried him – Kuroo prided himself as an impeccable people-reader, he was captain for both the volleyball team in high school and college, he knew how to act around business relations so well because he could read them so flawlessly – so the feelings he got from you was unsettling and unreadable and it took some control away from him – and Kuroo always felt uneasy when he wasn’t in control.

____

Kuroo heard your name and almost got whiplash from how fast his head moved towards Kenma, “what?”

“I asked if we should invite them? To game night? Being three is a little annoying in Mario Party.”

“Oooh, that’s a good idea! I’d love to see them again!” Hinata happily exclaimed before taking another bite of the lasagna Kuroo had prepared tonight. It was Saturday and Kuroo had been in a daze the entire day, first at the office for a quick meeting with his boss about a potential partner he might be able to reel in soon and then doing his laundry at Kenma’s and continuing to try and make the stupid paperwork but ultimately failing before he had to make dinner.

“Isn’t it a bit late to invite someone? I mean, they could have plans already...” Kuroo tried, knowing what a pain it could be to be asked to something an hour before it happened and he didn’t want to let you go through that – that’s what he tried to tell himself, at least. In truth? He was a bit afraid of seeing you again, afraid of his potential reactions, since he had spent his entire Friday in a stupor just thinking about you. His thoughts didn’t mean much for Kenma and Hinata though, who was already texting you to ask.  “Oi, no phones at the table, have you parents taught you no manners?” Kuroo chided and Hinata immediately shrank back and apologized – Kuroo smirked, yea the Chibi-chan still had respect for his seniors. But he was quickly pulled back to thoughts about you by Kenma’s phone lighting up again, “they’ll be here in an hour. They’re asking if they should bring anything?” Kenma looked up to gauge Kuroo’s reaction, having noticed something about his friend had been off the past few days. He immediately made a funny grimace before turning it into a smile. “Yea, they can bring a bottle of white wine, if I have to beat you all at Mario Party, I would very much like to be a tiny bit buzzed,” Kuroo said, and Hinata looked at him with wide eyes, “you drink wine!? So grown up!” Hinata exclaimed, to which Kenma just muttered, “or just an old man…” Kuroo didn’t hear that though, too busy to fidget with his hands under the table, suddenly feeling nervous that you were showing up.

Hinata plopped down between Kuroo and you with a controller in hand, “I’m gonna beat you all in this Mario Kart!” to which you laughed loudly, “good luck since we’re playing Mario Party.”

“Huh? Is there a difference?” Hinata asked, making Kuroo belt out a loud laugh as well, holding his stomach, “you just told us you’d beat us but you don’t even know what we’re playing!” Kuroo couldn’t contain his laughter for a bit until he noticed how you were looking at him and instantly retracted his laugh, sitting up straight with a cough, and apologizing for being loud, which confused him to no end. He had never been self-conscious of his own laugh! He knew it could be obnoxious and loud, but he also liked it himself, and-

“That’s a really cute laugh.”

The comment earned you the stares of the century from the three other people in the room, with Kenma in genuine shock – he wouldn’t say he disliked Kuroo’s laugh, just that it was… special.

“Uhm… Uh. Thank you?” Kuroo could feel that his blush went all the way to his ears but he hoped that the light in the living room wasn’t bright enough to catch it. “Yeah uh! Sure! Mhm,” you awkwardly coughed a bit as well before reaching for your glass of wine.

You had brought a bottle of white wine for Kuroo on the promise that you’d get a glass too, saying he was your first friend who also liked wine. The word ‘friend’ had dumb-founded him and he’d just answered “you can have it all,” to which you had laughed and said it’s fine with half, you weirdo.

The game was about to begin but Kuroo was still sitting stuck on the fact that his laugh was cute – cute? Had anyone else found it cute before besides Bokuto and his mom? He wasn’t sure – he sure couldn’t pinpoint them right now anyways. He tried to shake it off and focus on the game, though quite a bit of time was spent explaining the rules to Hinata who apparently had thought they were just playing Mario Kart.

When you were 12 laps into it, it seemed that you were set to win with your four stars and 121 coins. Kenma was right behind you with three stars and Hinata and Kuroo had been left in the dust with zero stars. You had stolen Kuroo’s first (and only) star early in the game, so he was plotting his vengeance in quiet but was getting afraid that the game would end before he could do anything to you – but just as his hopes were at the smallest during the last round of the game, you were put in the same team as him in the last mini game.

Kuroo had a wide smirk when you cheered and said, “this’ll be easy then!” because no, it would not be easy for you. If he had to go down in order to take you down a notch, then so be it. He’d rather Kenma win than you did with stolen goods!

The last mini game was “Tow the Line” where two players were put in a sewing box shaped with nine dots as a grid and two players tied together with a string and the objective was to make the shape with the string as shown in the middle of screen. As soon as the whistle sounded, Kuroo lowered his hands and stopped using his controllers, all with a big grin on his lips.

“Kuroo, what the fuck! Get moving, we’ve started!” you yelled at him as Kenma and Hinata won the first round, signaling the next round began, Kuroo started whistling and looking away from the screen, to which you got up from your seat, “fine, I’ll just take your controller and do it myself!”

Kuroo put his arm with the controller behind him, “nah-ah-ah! You’re not winning this, fiend! That’s what you get for stealing my star!” He grinned up at you with his eyes closed as you stood with your hands on your hips, “come on man! I stole that star in the fourth round! Kenma stole a star from me as well!” you tried, “maybe he stole the one that was yours, who knows! Get over it so we can win!”

But as soon as you’d said that, the third round had just been won and you sighed and flopped down on your seat again, “not cool Kuroo, not cool. I’ll remember this!”

You both laughed as the game made ready to announce the winner, Kenma and Hinata entertained by your antics.

“You can’t avenge something that I avenged in the first place! I only did it because you did me wrong, you know!”

“You can’t use logic on me, it doesn’t apply!”

To no surprise, you won the entire game, even winning one of the two bonus stars given at the end of the game.

After the last sequence and a bow from you there was a quick break before you decided to play some Mario Kart for Hinata’s sake, since his argument was that he lost due it being Party instead. You played quite a few hours and after another toilet break you had switched places with Hinata so Kenma could cuddle up against him. You yawned, drinking the last of the wine in your glass and said, “I should head home, I have a friend coming over for lunch tomorrow.”

Hinata and Kenma both started to get up to say goodnight but you waved at them with a smile, “I can walk out myself, it’s fine!” But Kuroo had already gotten up from the couch as well, so you walked with him towards the hallway where you put on your shoes. There was a comfortable silence between the two of you, which Kuroo noted and scowled a bit - he might have only known you for less than a week but for some reason he felt like it had been a lot longer, like you were old friends – it felt strange, to be so close with a stranger. He didn’t know anything about you, really. He knew your name, your job and how you liked some of your vegetables and which meat was your favorite, he knew you also loved cats but didn’t have one (he couldn’t remember if he knew why) and he felt pretty sure he would recognize you in a crowded area – why it was so intense, he was unsure of, he hadn’t tried meeting someone this way before. It had also seemed like having this game night had made you considerably more relaxed in his presence, even joking around with him instead of being polite, which made Kuroo somewhat giddy, though it didn’t really make sense to him as to why.

“I hope you had fun,” Kuroo said awkwardly, as if he had been the host and scratched the back of his head.

“Yeah, I did! I’m sorry I stole your star, though,” you laughed, buttoning your jacket.

“Nah, no worries, as they say, all’s fair in love and war, right?”

You giggled and picked up your bag from the dresser while Kuroo opened up the door for you. As you exited, you turned around with a bright smile, “well, thanks for toni-”

Everything ended up a blur, too bright, too much, too noisy, too… colorful? Kuroo was still looking into your eyes as all that went through him, completely blindsided. As he took a proper look, he could see that you looked just as surprised as him, your eyes wide but still never leaving his either.

“Is… Is this? Are you? Is…” You asked after what felt like both days and milliseconds, I could stare at them so much longer, he thought to himself, the colors only making your face more clear to him. Had you really not had eye contact at all? Had you seen each other for several hours – more than a few times, without looking each other in the eyes at all? Kuroo was more baffled by this happening so late than the fact that it was happening.

He was about to say something, anything, when you promptly turned around, nervously yelling, “I-I uh, I gotta go! Goodbye!” as you hurried out of the driveway and down towards the subway.

“W-wait!” Kuroo belatedly and unhelpfully yelled out as you turned a corner, too late. You were gone. A hand was dragged down his face as a sigh left him, what the fuck had just happened? He obviously needed to talk to you about this, but he also needed to gather his thoughts about all of this, so he slowly closed the door and went back towards the living room, greeted by Hinata and Kenma who looked up at him curiously, “why did you yell?” Hinata asked with his head tilted.

“I think I just found my soulmate.”

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

@sajdd

Ok since one singular person asked for this the Big Explanation for Everything In My C!Tommy Design.

General:

c!Tommy, in general, I always try and find a balance between my really soft style and c!Tommy's rougher personality. I draw him with soft features but very sharp eyes, both to make his facial features distinct from cc!Tommy and a contrast to c!Tubbo who I draw with less rounded features but much softer eyes. I try and keep his usual expressions slightly smug and self-assured, to get across c!Tommy's bravado.

I generally draw him with tanned skin, as I imagine he’d spend a lot of time outdoors. This does vary on the arc I’m drawing him in, though, for example he’s much less tan in Pogtopia because he has less access to natural light whereas he’s more tan in exile due to not having much shelter from the sun. This is also done to make the pale scar on his nose bridge more noticeable- it’s one of the two scars I draw Tommy as having from the beginning, as I feel it shows c!Tommy's scrappy, determined personality very well. The other scar is a long jagged vivisection scar which is there to show my labinnit headcanon lol.

While I draw c!Tommy with varying hairstyles and lengths, I always draw him with curly textured hair that’s a very pale blond. I also draw his hair as leaning to one side and partially covering his eye, similar to how I draw c!Wilbur's hair, to show their closeness. I also draw c!Tommy with similar wings to c!Wilbur and c!Philza- specifically, I draw them with the same starry night sky pattern I do with c!Philza, but a lot smaller and atrophied.

I really like putting lots of fun design elements in characters eyes because drawing eyes is fun and c!Tommy is no exception! I draw his eyes a very bright electric blue, and I use a small brush and very light varied colours to make them look like they’re filled with little stars. I also give him red pupils to match his main colour association in either the shape of a full or broken heart depending on the arc. I went with a heart design to show his hidden kindness and loyalty.

There’s also a lot of design elements that are admittedly there primarily because I enjoy drawing them, and less for any specific reason. The fangs do have the most reason, to help show c!Tommy's rougher personality, but I also just like drawing fangs lol. (I also draw him with braces in every arc, since I imagine he couldn’t get them removed in exile and he didn’t have the time to care afterwards). I also draw him with bioluminescent, starlike freckles and a strange blood colour which is also used to help texture the skin (well, slightly, it’s not super noticeable but it’s pink instead of red) which are both just things I like to draw.

Also, this is a small detail, but I always draw c!Tommy with a Church Prime necklace (unless I forget it which I do sometimes lol). It’s a good way of showing his faith through a quick look.

Fun fact, what’s probably most noticeable about my c!Tommy design is that as soon as Tommy made the joke about his character being made in a lab I picked it up and ran with it, specifically the idea of him potentially being a clone of c!Philza. I draw them with identical facial features and hair colour/texture, though a lot of the more supernatural features of c!Philza are toned down on him. That’s specifically because due to my hc that c!Philza is an angel and angels as ageless it’d be impossible to clone them exactly so c!Tommy has some random human/hybrid dna thrown in haphazardly (which also makes him a mess of instincts from pretty much every animal ever lol)

Disc War:

I really like the headcanon that c!Tommy was nine during the L'Manburg war entirely because its really funny to imagine c!Wilbur looking at this literal nine year old and being “yes, my right hand man, responsible enough to help manage a nation in my stead,” so c!Tommy is roughly 9ish around this time in my design.

During the early Disc War is probably the only time I actually draw c!Tommy as close to his actual Minecraft skin lmao. It helps show that, despite the fact I don’t hc him as human he is mostly just a normal kid. I don’t draw c!Tommy in the traditional red and white t-shirt entirely just because I want to make sure he’s not mistakable for Dave Strider though. I have him in a white button-up shirt, a red and white hoodie, cargo pants, and trainers.

During this arc, I draw c!Tommy's hair as fairly short and very similar to how I draw c!Wilbur, as this was back when he idolised his brother and I think drawing their hair so similar shows that well.

L'Manburg:

This covers the time from the beginning of the L'Manburg war up to c!Tommy's second exile to Pogtopia, so this design covers a period of years from when I hc c!Tommy was nine up until about thirteen.

During the war, c!Tommy wears his uniform without modification, except for of course wearing his Prime necklace, but afterwards he and the rest of the residents of L'Manburg (except c!Wilbur) slightly modified their uniforms to better fit their own tastes. Specifically, he wears his trainers instead of combat boots, loose trousers instead of shorts, and a slightly shorter and short-sleeved revolutionary jacket, for easier mobility.

During the war, his two canon deaths left him permanent injuries and scars. His death in the final control room, where he broke his leg during his desperate attempt to escape, left that leg permanently weakened (along with being badly scarred) and requiring a leg brace to help him stand and walk properly. The arrow through his skull during his duel with c!Dream left him with a large scar on his temple, covering his brows in crack-like scars which also leave him with frequent migraines.

During the L'Manburg arc, c!Tommy's hair in my design still looks like c!Wilburs as they were still close during this arc.

Pogtopia:

Since Pogtopia apparently lasted two years (which is probably from Cursed Timeline Lore but I love cursed lore it’s hilarious,) c!Tommy would be around 13 to 15 here.

In Pogtopia, I draw c!Tommy as wearing similar clothes to during the Disc War arc, however, I also add on a loose belt holding knives, to show c!Tommy's increased need for self defence along with his fondness for knives lol. I actually don’t do the bandanna design with c!Tommy and c!Tubbo a lot of people do mostly because I couldn’t figure out how to get it to work with c!Tommy's hoodie. They have an equivalent but it’s later on alas.

As c!Tommy and c!Wilbur get more distant, c!Tommy grows out his hair slightly, and wears it tied in the back in a short ponytail.

Exile:

Oh I have a lot of things to talk about here >:). As a quick note to my messed up timeline, c!Tommy would be 15 here.

During exile, c!Tommy wears the same clothes as he did in Pogtopia initially, though due to lack of care and supplies, they eventually of course fray and rip. He also wears c!Wilbur's old ragged longcoat, even though it barely keeps out the cold, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes weirdly comforting. Over time, he rips up his shirt for bandages to the point he’s not wearing anything under his hoodie. His leg brace breaks and he makes a new one out of branches and leaves. (He could ask c!Dream, but he doesn’t want to be fucking reliant on him, relying on pity handouts like a child, so he won’t.)

Eventually, since c!Dream doesn’t exactly want c!Tommy to get hypothermia and die anticlimactically, he gives c!Tommy one of his capes. This is one of my favourite character design decisions I’ve made lmao. I specifically draw it looking too-big, despite the fact that doesn’t make much sense because they’re the same height, so it looks almost like he’s getting enveloped in c!Dream's green shades, and it also hides c!Tommy's wings which helps reinforce the loss of freedom.

c!Tommy gains… a lot of scars over exile. I mean he was literally hit by an axe multiple times. Specifically they’re primarily around the shoulders or the torso. I also draw him with a Glasgow grin, specifically curved to resemble Dream's mask, along with smaller, self inflicted, scratch and bite marks covering his arms. In addition, due to him barely eating I draw c!Tommy from this point onwards looking very scrawny. This is also where c!Tommy's pupils change from hearts to broken hearts! They never turn back :)

During exile, Tommy's hair grows out a lot, down to just past his shoulders, in a matted mess. c!Dream used to braid it at the back, like how I draw c!Dream's own hair, but it very quickly grew too matted with saltwater, mud, and blood to style :) :) :)

Bedrock Bros:

c!Tommy turns sixteen here during my scuffed timeline.

c!Tommy patches up the rips and tears in his clothes. He can’t fully salvage his cargo trousers, so he turns them into shorts. He makes his own shoes out of leather to replace the ones he lost. There’s a gaping hole in his hoodie pocket that couldn’t be stitched up. He'll patch it up later. c!Techno gives him one of his capes to keep him warm, fur lined and arctic blue with silvery snowflakes embroidered on. c!Tommy has to be reminded, or he puts on the green cape, turned a dull viridian from the sun, that makes him feel both safe and so, so afraid.

Scars heal, but never fully fade. Still, his eyes brighten again, somewhat, even if the bags under his eyes less disappear and more just turn a strange gold. He finally has the time to clean out his hair, and c!Techno ties it into a short, loose braid at the back. With the cape, he almost looks like c!Techno like that. Obviously, the visual implication here is to show that even though it’s obviously not exile, c!Techno is still suppressing c!Tommy's identity, albeit unknowingly (and the gold is from his constant eating of golden apples).

Final Disc War:

By this point, c!Tommy's back to just wearing his old clothes, tattered and frail as they might be. He finds his old sneakers, and day by day he sees himself in the mirror a bit more than the gunpowder on a battered trenchcoat, blood on a smiley face mask, wither rot on the edges of an elaborate snowy cape. He patches the hole in his hoodie with a piece of the fabric from one of c!Tubbo's old shirts. He lends him one of his too-small hoodies so he can do the same.

He still braids his hair, but in his own way, in a tightly woven ratstail braid more for convenience than for aesthetics. Character design wise, it’s another way to show c!Tommy's openly rougher personality than say, c!Dream or c!Techno, and so’s the patchwork clothes and rough shorts and scars. Like I said, maintaining a mix of rough and soft is very important to me in how I draw c!Tommy, and I’m very satisfied with how I pull it off here and in the next entry.

Revival:

the story has handed me the opportunity to make my favourite boy undead. i will not pass up the opportunity to make my favourite boy undead.

After revival, c!Tommy stops aging, at least in appearance. His skin… less pale, more colourless and almost grey. One of his eyes glows a pure, empty white now, like ghosts do, and the white messy streak in his hair doesn’t glow but it’s white enough it might as well.

The injuries of his death bear apparent on his form. His limbs can bend at impossible angles, his entire body covered head to toe in bruises. Two black eyes cover his face like a raccoon mask, and the ugly mottled marks of strangulation on his throat stand out like a sore thumb. You cannot look at him anymore and not see that he hasn’t died. He avoids mirrors again.

There’s stranger things, too, like how he doesn’t bleed anymore, any cuts just revealing an impossibly dark void beneath his marble-cold skin. Sometimes he goes weeks without eating, the hunger only hitting once he realises. He feels so tired, so cold, in a way not even the touch of fire can stem at all. He doesn’t have a heartbeat, or breathe.

Initially, he was too tired, too out of it to even consider cutting off or dying the white streak. When he wasn’t, he’d soon learn any attempts were futile, dye fading in mere days, cut off hair half regrown in a week. It should bother him more, but he just feels numb.

[yoontopia]

𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗼𝗺𝗲 | 𝗺𝘆𝗴

pairing: min yoongi x reader

genre: anti-soulmate au; light smut (in the form of making out, thigh grinding), angst if you squint, fluff, strangers to lovers, arranged marriage (kind of)

rating: M (for the light smut, swearing)

word count: 5.4k

summary: either you find your soulmate by the time you’re 25 or a partner is chosen for you, that’s the law. (un)fortunately for you, you were just born without a soulmate scar, an anomaly in a world defined by fate, so it seems your decision is made for you. you meet min yoongi the day after your twenty-fifth birthday and its everything but what you were brought up to believe. there are no sparks, no bells, and definitely no love.

author’s note: unedited because I wrote it pretty much in a sitting. will be editing later!

You are happy for Solhee. She’s twenty four-and a half and manages to find her soulmate by literally running into her outside the twenty-four-seven grocery store on the corner of the block. Solhee barely had six months to go before it would have been too late for her. The system assures you that you will find your soulmate, your other half, before the age of 25. If this doesn’t happen, the government intervenes and matches you with someone they see fit.

 It wasn’t always like this. Your parents met when they were in their thirties, and are very much soulmates, if the matching marks on their wrists are any indication. But the government insists that anything after 25 is too late, especially to further the population. Society literally dictates that you’re married off by the time you’re 25.

 You don’t want to know what happens if you don’t follow the law. And you’re happy Solhee doesn’t need to find out either. Solhee’s soulmate scar shines in the sunlight as the two of you sit out in the park, sipping on juice boxes and eating home-baked cookies. She tells you of her meeting with her soulmate, and the rush to get married so they can make it in time before the deadline. A plain, white gold band glitters on on her left ring finger.

 “It felt like coming home,” she tells you, sighing and staring up at the blue sky. “Finding my soulmate, I mean. You know me, I never believed in this stuff. I figured if I didn’t find them, Big Brother would just hitch me off with someone and that would be okay. But I’m glad I found her in time. I can’t imagine it now if I hadn’t.”

 You nod along, taking a sip of your pineapple juice. It’s sour, but you like it. Your eyes wander over to Solhee’s wrist — her mark is a small crescent-shaped moon — it matches the one on her fiancee’s wrist, and it stands out on her pale skin. You squeeze at your juice box to get the last remaining drop out, trying to ignore your empty, unmarked wrists.

 Your soulmate mark never appeared. The latest you should’ve been able to see it would have been your 18th birthday. You remember, hiding away from your own party, rubbing your wrists raw, begging it to show up. Looking back, you aren’t sure who it was you were begging to.

 Of course, you aren’t alone. There are several cases like yours. Marks that fail to show up, or even individuals who have the mark but don’t manage to find their soulmate on time. There is a solution for that — the matching program ensures you don’t end up alone.

 After seeing your friends and coworkers find their soulmates though, you’re not sure you want someone to be arranged for you. It feels artificial and feels like you’re missing out on something incredible. What if the person they match with you doesn’t love you? What if you don’t love them?

 It’s been a while since you’ve entertained such childish thoughts. You’re an adult now, almost 25, and this is a reality. In the next two months, on your 25th birthday, you’ll wait for the government to contact you. They’ll send you a name and then check in on the two of you consistently to make sure the match is happening. It’s not like you have a choice and you suppose its better than being completely alone and soulmate-less for the rest of your life. In a way, you’re almost grateful, as someone who doesn’t have the mark. You just wish things could be different.

 You watch Solhee marry the love of her life exactly on her twenty fifth birthday. She glows in her dress, and as her best friend and maid of honour, you’re busy making sure the wedding goes by without a hitch. You’re the last of your friends to turn 25, meaning you’re the only one in the group currently single. Taehyung and Jimin, also friends from your college days, laugh and tell you to enjoy the last of your bachelorette days, but their entwined hands are all you can focus on. You know they’re just trying to make light of a rather depressing situation, and you’re grateful

 You meet Min Yoongi on a snowy evening, the day after you’ve turned 25. He’s got curling dark hair, ears adorned by various earrings that dangle in the light. A delicate nose, and strong hands. He looks at you like he’s looking at a stranger, which for all intents and purposes, you are. You clutch at the letter in your hands with his name on it. You smile tentatively at him. He doesn’t smile back.

 It doesn’t feel like coming home at all.

 You move in with Yoongi as soon as the new year starts. He has a roomy apartment in the centre of town and lives by himself so its easier. He helps you move your boxes into his place. He never says much, but he’s never rude, or mean to you. In fact, he’s been polite, respectful — even caring, in a way you are to a coworker or an acquaintance. He shows you around his small flat. It’s two bedrooms, one of which he’s turned into a small studio. You know he works in the music industry, but aren’t sure what his exact job entails.

 “I can move my work stuff to my actual studio at the company,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “If you don’t want to sleep in the same bedroom, that is. I don’t want to force you.”

You smile slightly, scratching your cheek.

 “No it’s fine,” you say. “I don’t want to encroach. I promise I’ll stick to my side of the bed.” He nods.

 “I usually work odd hours,” he says. “I DJ at the club down the street some nights, so I don’t come home until early morning hours. Usually I work from home during the day. There’s a schedule on the fridge.”

 “Um, I work a regular 9-5,” you tell him and he nods again. “I’m home on the weekends and evenings.” It feels a little like drawing up a schedule with a roommate. You don’t really mind. It could’ve been so much worse.

 Yoongi’s running a hand through his hair. You notice he wears a lot a jewelry, and file away this fact for later. His ears are adorned again with several earrings, pierced in multiple places. Bracelets clink on his wrists of various materials and colours. A single, silver necklace hangs around his neck, two fish swimming in a circle. He’s a Pisces, you realize. He’s been twenty five nine months longer than you have.

 “Make yourself comfortable,” he says, waving a hand towards his small, but cozy living room. A small couch and an armchair sit pointed towards the TV. A guitar sits in the corner of his studio, next to an old brown piano. Hints of music adorn the place, photos of Yoongi with his friends at various concerts and gigs. He looks different when he smiles. He has yet to smile at you.

 You spend the rest of the day moving in, and its evening before you emerge from your now-shared bedroom with Yoongi. He’s nowhere to be found and the taped schedule to the fridge tells you tonight he DJs.

 There’s containers full of food on the counter with your name on them, and you assume he’s left you some of his own meal. You eat alone, and do the dishes. You go to sleep that night, feeling no different from your usual self.

Months pass by quickly once you’re settled in with Yoongi. The two of you fall into an easy routine. You cook breakfast, and he cooks dinners and lunches are usually eaten at work. You split your grocery costs.

 Honestly speaking, he’s a really easy roommate to live with. As time goes by, you get to know more things about each other. You learn that he likes meat more than anything else, that he has a tendency to overwork himself when deadlines are near. He has three close friends that he’s grown up with, and an older brother. His family owns a small brown poodle called Holly. His brother is a chef at a Korean restaurant in the city. You’ve met him once and liked him. He’s allergic to seafood, but eats it anyway because he likes it too much.

 You also know he has, or had a soulmate. One time you caught him coming out of the shower wearing nothing but jeans. You were curled up on the living room couch watching TV and you could see him shuffling around shirtless in the bedroom, looking for a shirt to pull on. It’s the first time you see him without his usual bracelets and there is a mark on his wrist. You can’t make out what it is from where you’re sitting, but its there, clear as day against his milky white skin. An uncertain feeling curls in your stomach.

 Until this point, you’d assumed Yoongi was like you — wrists bare. But this changes things — either he’s never met his soulmate, or they aren’t around anymore, and you don’t know what’s worse. He hasn’t spoken about it, and you almost understand why. It’s not like the two of you are close. Everything you know about him, you’ve gleaned from information you’ve received indirectly. You understand now, why he keeps you at an arms length.

 You catch up with Solhee and Jiyeon over brunch. The two are bright eyed, fresh off their honeymoon. Hands entwined under the table, giggling. You laugh along with them, forgetting for a minute about your situation, that is, until Solhee brings it up.

 “So how’s Yoongi?” The question is casual, but you know it’s a loaded one. Solhee isn’t just asking how Yoongi is.

 “Fine,” you pick at your food. “He’s asleep right now — worked till late.”

 “Hey he’s the DJ at Tropical right?” Jiyeon asks, leaning forward. “The popular one.” You’re dazed. Six months of living with him and you don’t even know which club he works at. You nod anyway, not wanting to appear clueless. “I heard he’s really good. Taehyung knows of him through Seokjin.”

 “Kim Seokjin?” You ask, surprised. It’s one of Yoongi’s friends. Jiyeon nods. “He owns the club.”

 “Hey we should go check him out one night!” Jiyeon is excited, and clueless. You smile half-heartedly at her and Solhee sighs. “Tae can get us into Tropical on the day Yoongi works — when does he work?”

 “Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays,” you reply. Jiyeon nods.

 “So… who’s down for it tomorrow?”

 The club is sweaty, and crowded. You’re here without telling Yoongi, a fact that already makes you feel guilty for some reason. The strapless number Solhee had forced onto you clings to your skin as you follow your friends towards the bar. You haven’t been to a club since university and you can’t help but feel a little out of place.

 “There he is!” Jiyeon screams, pointing towards the small stage at the other end of the dance floor. Sure enough, Yoongi stands there, two laptops in front of him. His hair is tucked into a baseball cap, but other than that he’s dressed the way he usually is, in jeans and a silk button up. The music is loud, and your heart thumps in your ears. “Let’s go closer!”

 The three of you make your way closer to the stage, maneuvering past the sweaty, drunk bodies. You can barely make out the music he’s playing, and you know barely anything about music to know what’s good and what’s not. He must be good though, if the crowd is anything to go by.

 Solhee pulls you and Jiyeon into a corner next to the stage with a good view and the three of you stand there bopping along to the music. Even though you barely know him, you have a strange feeling of pride curling up inside you. He’s incredible.

 Your eyes glaze over the crowd until they land on a woman, standing only a few feet away from the three of you, one arm crossed under her chest, the other caressing her chin. She’s also watching the stage, a smile on her face. The world seems to spin for a second because your eye catches the mark on her wrist, and you don’t have to double check to know that it matches the dark haired man on the stage.

 The night goes from bad to worse when Yoongi jumps off the stage after finishing his gig, and she runs up to give him a hug. You feel like throwing up, but nothing compares to what you feel when his eyes find you over her shoulder.

 Things quickly sour after that. The peaceful relationship the two of you shared previously is shattered. You avoid him on the nights he’s home, preferring to crash at Solhee’s, who’s more than happy to accommodate you. Jiyeon apologizes profusely but you cannot blame her, not when none of this is her fault in the first place.

 “Don’t you think you should let him explain?” Solhee asks one day over dinner.

 “There’s nothing to explain,” you say automatically. “Their marks are there — it’s self explanatory.”

 “What a harsh system,” Jiyeon adds softly. You nod. If there was a way for Yoongi and his soulmate to be together, you’d want it to happen. Then maybe you wouldn’t feel like an awkward third wheel. “Do you think they found each other after the deadline?”

 “Definitely,” Solhee nods. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have been matched.”

 “I don’t want to come in between anything,” you say softly.

 “Oh honey you’re not,” Solhee says. “None of this is your fault.” You bite your lip, holding back tears threatening to fall. You haven’t cried in front of people in years. “It’s not Yoongi’s fault either. You should really go home and talk it out. He probably misses you.”

 You choke out a laugh at that. The idea that Yoongi misses you is ludicrous. You were a nuisance to him at best, even though he’d been nothing but respectful of you and your space.

 “What the two of you need is to spend time together,” Jiyeon says, and Solhee nods. “Get to know him, tell him he needs to come clean with you with everything. Maybe then things will see peace.”

 You decide to go home that night. You know it’s a Tuesday and Yoongi should be home. Stomach in your throat, you shakily unlock the door to his—your— apartment. The TV is on, and Yoongi is curled up in the corner of the couch, swaddled up in a blanket. It’s only been a little over a week, but you find you’ve missed him. You find you’re also surprised he’s actually here. A part of you had almost expected him to take off. He turns to look at you and starts, hurrying to turn the TV off. It’s oddly clumsy from someone who you thought was aloof, and it almost makes you giggle. Almost.

 “Hey.” You say lamely.

 “Hey,” he replies back. It’s awkward. This is such a bad idea. Who decided confrontation was healthier than hiding from your feelings? You’d like to prove whoever it was wrong. You sigh, slumping a little, mind wandering again to the pretty girl that is his soulmate. You don’t usually hate how you look, but in this moment you can’t help but draw comparisons. Yoongi’s pretty too after all. Giving him a curt nod, you begin to make your way to the bedroom.

 “I’m sorry.”

 You pause, and turn to look. He’s standing up now, blanket still around his shoulders. A closer look tells you he looks tired. His ears are devoid of earrings for the first time, hair unkempt and greasy. He’s not wearing his usual bracelets — you suspect he only did it to hide his soulmate mark from you. You must be staring at him with a dumbfounded expression because he repeats his hushed apology.

 “For what?” Your voice is just as shaky.

 “Everything.” He says instantly.

 “Do you love her?”

 “No.” his reply is instant again, and you find yourself believing him. There’s no lie in his eyes. “I met her a month after we… moved in together,” A month after the government threw the two of you together against your will.

 “Do you want to try things with her? I promise I won’t come in between that, I know how wonderful it can be to—”

 “No.” He says again, his voice firm. He takes a tentative step towards you.

 “Why not?” You’re genuinely curious. He shrugs, almost as if he doesn’t know the answer himself.

 “Don’t want to.”

 “Why not?” You turn to face him completely now. The two of you glaring at each other. He’s struggling to find the words and stares up at the ceiling in defeat.

 “I don’t wanna leave you alone alright?” He snaps. You scoff

 “Don’t pity me. I can take care of myself just fine. Did it before you came along too.”

 “Don’t act brave when you don’t have to,” his voice is softer now. “You think I don’t hear you cry to yourself at night when you think you’re alone? Or when you hang out with those friends of yours and get suddenly quiet?” You open your mouth, then close it. Yoongi had attended a total of one party with you and your friends. You were surprised he picked up on it at all.

 “But she’s your soulmate,” you say, confused. He shrugs and sits back down on the couch, flicking the TV back on.

 “Yeah, she’s also someone I don’t know, and someone I’m not going to bother to know” he says easily. “I’m not gonna chase after her if it means losing a friend.” You didn’t even know he considered you a friend.

 “B-but that night at the club?”

 “Didn’t know she’d be there,” he says. “I’d told her to never contact me again the day I met her. Just because she thinks its okay to be unfaithful to her partner doesn’t mean I think its okay too. I’m not about to live that kind of life, especially with someone who thinks something like that is okay.”

 “Oh.”

 “Yeah.”

 You take a hesitant step forward.

 “What’re you watching?”

 “Sky Castle.”

 “Can I— can I join you?” He nods, patting at the empty spot on the couch next to him. “What if you regret this down the line?” You ask at last, sitting down on the other end of the couch. It’s your worst fear and you can’t believe you’re voicing it. “What if one day you wake up and wish you’d gone after your soulmate instead of settling for me?”

 He smiles faintly, more to himself than anything. You think this is the first time he’s probably smiled in your presence.

 “I made a choice already 5 months ago. Haven’t regretted it yet,” he says simply. He doesn’t deny that he settled for you, not when it’s the cold hard truth. You settled for him too after all.

 The couch feels like home for the first time since you’d moved in.

 Things change again quickly after that. You and Yoongi fall back into that seamless schedule, but now there’s a little something to it. The two of you are still far from a couple, but you find yourself curling up next to him in front of the TV more often. He waits for you to eat the meals the two of you are able to eat together. The two of you even do activities outside the apartment. You meet more his friends and he meets more of yours. Its progress. You don’t mention his soulmate again, and neither does he.

 You find Yoongi’s actually a really easy person to get along with. He’s funny in his own dry, sarcastic way, often saying jokes with the straightest of faces. He snappish and straightforward and has an incredibly low tolerance for bullshit. His friends baby him, probably because of his smaller stature and childlike features, and although he grumbles, he lets them. You even think he enjoys it. He smiles more in front of you now, gums on display, and you know that his cold persona in the beginning was just a front. In reality Yoongi is a shy, awkward boy that finds it hard to make friends, and so he comes off aloof, but is anything but

 It also makes sense to you why Yoongi had been so firm in staying with you all those months ago. He’s steadfastly loyal, never going back on his word, and even honest to a fault. Sometimes, when you’re in one of your self-deprecating moods, you think he only chose to stay with you because of his principals, and not because he actually cared for you beyond a friend. But you’re glad he’s here nonetheless. With all your friends paired off, you’re glad you have someone to do things with. Someone who, in a way, belongs entirely to you.

 You marry Yoongi exactly one year after the two of you met. Non-soulmate matches don’t have the deadline to wed as soulmates do. As long as Big Brother (as Solhee so lovingly calls the federal government) knows you’ve been matched in their system, you can take things easy and get to know one another. How sweet of them to allow that, you think to yourself sarcastically.

 He looks smart in his plain black suit, hair neatly parted, showing off his forehead and well marked eyebrows. He looks older like this. You wear a simple white dress, and carry a bouquet of lilies down the aisle. Yoongi doesn’t cry with happiness at the sight of you, but his slight grin warms your heart. You know that whatever the case, you’ll be comfortable with him.

 He plants a simple kiss on your lips, a formality more than anything else. You and Yoongi aren’t physical. What you share is a platonic friendship, and you try not to let your mother’s suggestive wink cloud your mind. While you like Yoongi, you’re not sure you think of him in that way, and he definitely has never thought of you as anything more than a friend. Yoongi’s hands are warm and calloused and familiar, and you think you can learn to make a home in them.

“My parents are soulmates,” you tell him on your wedding night as the two of you lie on your shared bed staring up at the ceiling. “They met when my mother was 27, my father 32.” You don’t know why you’re telling him this. You’ve changed into your comfy PJs, but Yoongi is still in his dress shirt and trousers, top buttons undone, tie loose. You want him to know you.

“Mine were too,” he hums. You turn to look at him. You’ve never met his mother. His father and brother were at the wedding, but you weren’t sure if the topic of his mother was a sensitive issue. “Until things didn’t work out and she left him.”

“Oh?” Stories like that were rare. This is your first time hearing one. Yoongi doesn’t elaborate on his mother’s life and you don’t ask, grateful that he’s entrusted you with this information.

“I guess that’s why I don’t really believe in the whole soulmate thing,” he continues, sitting up and pulling his tie off. “There’s no such thing as fate or destiny. It’s all about choices and commitment.”

His soulmate mark is visible to you now as he gets up to take his shirt off and change into something comfier. It almost looks like a tattoo, a small fish, not unlike the one he wears in his necklace. The mark is familiar to you now, but it doesn’t carry the same pain. His words are new to you, having grown up around talks of fate and destiny, but you find comfort in them. Hearing him say it like that makes your heart warm. The two of you fall asleep easily that night, facing each other, but still a few feet apart

 Yoongi’s eyes flash as you enter the bar. You’d gotten dressed at Solhee’s place and she’d sat you down in her chair, eyes devious, and done your makeup. You feel uncomfortable in your skin, face heavy with everything she’d slapped on it and you pull down your skirt.

 “Cheer up, you look hot as fuck,” Solhee hisses beside you as the two of you make your way to the reserved table where the rest of your friends are. “If Yoongi doesn’t get a boner after this, I don’t know anymore.” You shush her hastily, ears going red as you sit down across from your husband. He’s still staring at you, something dark evident in his eyes, and you try to ignore the roaring in your ears.

 Marriage had treated you two well. You still weren’t physical, but sharing pecks before heading off to work, or cuddling and hand holding weren’t foreign concepts anymore. You weren’t sure how far Yoongi wanted to go, and you didn’t know what you yourself wanted.

 Yoongi looks good today. He’s wearing his infamous dark silk button up, with the top three buttons undone so you can see the column of his throat. His hair is parted and in the dim lighting he almost looks like a feline ready to pounce on his prey. You swallow.

 Your husband’s beauty is not foreign to you. You’ve seen him shirtless before after all. You’ve seen his hands as they glide over piano keys or when they pluck at his guitar. Yoongi is beautiful and you can’t deny the attraction you have grown to hold for him. Your insecurities however, prevent you from verbalizing your thoughts. There’s just no way he’d be attracted to you, not in that way. Next to Yoongi, you look painfully average.

 He doesn’t say much, just sits across from you and sips on his whiskey, occasionally leaning forward to snag a nacho from the shared plate the table has ordered. You wonder if he’s angry at you about something.

 Halfway through the night, the several glasses of wine you’ve drunk catch up to you and you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. You’re trying not to stumble and you’re thankful you make it to the bathroom in one piece.

 When you come out of the stall and are washing your hands, you jump when you see Yoongi enter the bathroom.

 “Yoongi!” You hiss. “This is the girl’s bathroom—.” Yoongi raises a well-marked eyebrow, and walks up to you in two quick strides. Before you know it, he’s crushed his lips to yours. You’re taken aback but you melt into the kiss quickly, hands roaming up to grasp onto the front of his shirt. His hands settle on your hips before moving to grab your ass. You gasp and he takes the opportunity to explore your mouth with his tongue.

 Dimly you’re aware that this is technically your first real kiss. He tastes like whiskey as he pulls you closer to him, shoving a leg between your thighs. You let out a whimper, and you can feel him smile against your mouth. He lets go with a pop before latching his lips onto your neck. You throw your head back with a groan, freely grinding on his thigh now as he licks a thick stripe up your neck and nibbles at your ear.

 “Let’s get out of here,” he groans, voice deep. “Before I fuck you in this disgusting bathroom.” You moan at his words and make a voice of complaint when he pulls himself away. You straighten your skirt hastily and eye him, his lips swollen and smeared with your lipstick. He grabs your arm by the wrist and pulls you out of the bathroom, out of the bar and into the crisp night air. The two of you giggle as you walk to your apartment, Yoongi stopping you periodically to steal kisses.

 You unlock the door hastily, and he pushes you in, slamming the door behind him and latching onto you immediately. You moan as his hands reach your skirt and pull it up over your ass.

 “God,” he groans in between kisses. Your shaky hands are unbuttoning his shirt. You push it off him. “Please tell me you want this.” He walks you towards your bedroom, shoving you onto your bed.

 “Yes,” you respond instantly, breathless, looking up at him. “Yes, oh god, of course I do.” He’s climbing on top of you now, leg back between your legs. You grind onto his thigh, wild moans escaping your mouth as he sucks a bruise onto your neck, his rock-hard erection prominent against your core. Your hands find his belt and take it apart, undoing the buttons on his jeans. He sits up to push his pants off him before reaching over to tug your top over your head. You’re left in a bra and underwear, your skirt bunched up at your waist, staring at him expectantly.

 That night is simple, the two of you moving in unison, finding what the other likes. Your hands disappear in his hair and he makes a home in the crook of your neck as you reach your respective highs.

You fall asleep blissful and satisfied, curled up in Yoongi’s arms.

 Your relationship takes yet another turn after that moment. Now its like the two of you can’t keep your hands off of each other. Consequently you do it on every surface in the apartment. It’s funny, you think, you haven’t even said the L word to each other yet, and you’re not even sure if you do. Growing up, you were taught that one came after the other, but your relationship with Yoongi is anything but conventional.

 At night, he holds you, curling his body around you like a child. You can hear his heartbeat this way, and nights soon become the things you look forward to the most.

 It still doesn’t make the relationship easy. You argue, slam doors, ignore texts, but at the end of the day when you crawl into bed, apologies evident on your tongue, he pulls you in and kisses the crown of your head wordlessly.

 You and Yoongi are solid; a team, almost. You think you work well together. Growing up you were taught that finding your soulmate meant ringing bells, and puzzle pieces feeling like they were slotting into place and you spent your entire adolescence craving that. But whatever this is that you share with Yoongi is special, in its own way. There are no sparks, no flashing lights, and definitely no bells. Now you know what Solhee meant all those years ago about the feeling of coming home. There isn’t any other way to describe this feeling.

There are many more turning points in your relationship that you look back on fondly — the day you told him you loved him is one you remember vividly. It was nothing special, just casual conversation over dinner. He’d given you a blinding smile and returned the sentiment.

“Do you regret it?” You ask, out of nowhere. You’re washing dishes and he’s beside you helping you dry them.

“Hm?”

“Choosing me, back then. Do you regret it?” You know the answer already. Gone are the many months you spent belittling yourself. It’s been a few years with Yoongi now and you know exactly where you stand with him.

“I wonder sometimes,” he hums. “How differently things would’ve played out.” Don’t we all, you muse to yourself. You could’ve been matched with anyone but somehow it was Min Yoongi that stood in front of you on that cold, snowy that day, unsmiling and unfamiliar. It feels like a lifetime ago. When you look at him now, he’s heartbreakingly familiar. You know him like the back of your hand. “But there hasn’t been a single day where I’ve regretted you.” You grin and poke his cheek with your soapy hand.

“Go wake Sunhee up,” you laugh. “It’s time to feed her.”

“Yes ma’am,” he tells you dutifully and you watch as he shuffles into the second smaller bedroom. Gone is the studio equipment, replaced with pastel green walls and a small wooden crib Yoongi had crafted himself. Sometimes, when you look in there, you can still see a dark-haired boy with his eyes closed, playing on that old brown piano.

[hankwritten]

Plein Air

Demoman/Soldier, 1k

Part of the DontNeedADiscord Pride Week, Day 7: Pride

“Let’s get this one thing clear, maggot: I am proud of who I am.

I am proud to be an American! I am proud to be BLU! I am proud of my ability to practice law in thirty-eight of the forty-nine states! Never in my life have I bowed to the cowardly condition of self-pity, not when I have so much to feel accomplished about. So then! When I tell you this you will not mistake it for me asking for your blessing, your sympathy, or any of that granny-gumming nonsense that you may want to spit in my direction!”

“I get it Jane,” Tavish insisted. “It’s been eleven minutes. Please just tell me what you wanted to say.”

The sheets, which had somehow gotten tangled around me in my (several minute long) speech, prevented me from kicking him in retaliation. Instead, I tried to take a steadying breath, reminding myself that I didn’t need to gasconade in front of Tavish, that all my posturing was unearned after everything else we’d revealed to each other. But, despite knowing that logically, it did not make this any easier. I didn’t make a habit of talking about it to partners. Not to partners, not to friends, not even to Medic who didn’t care much now that the “fun” part was over.

But Tavish…Tavish was different. Or at least, I wanted what we’d made together to be different.

I cleared my throat. “I…was weird. As a kid. Wanted to play war games, didn’t do well with the other girls.” Immediately, I cringed away from the words I’d been avoiding for decades, and looked to Tavish for the flinch of recognition I was sure was coming. But he still had that mix of concern and confusion muddling his face, so I went on, “was just blissfully unaware of it, until I had to leave home over what was brewing. Joined up.”

At least Tavish already knew that part of the story. “Aye, I remember,” he said. “Don’t get what you mean by ‘unaware’, though?”

“I am getting there, maggot!” I huffed. “I’d get confused. Didn’t even remember why people were calling me a woman in the first place. Just kept roaming through Poland until I ran into Medic, and he dropped all his quack medical terms on me. And then he…fixed me up.”

Cured, was what it always felt like. Like everything in my life up until then had been moving through a fever dream, and after Medic had stepped in, it finally broke.

Tavish raised an eyebrow. “That can mean a lot of things when it comes to Medic.”

“He helped with the body I have.” That I wasn’t ashamed to admit. I’d worked hard on getting to where I was, and I was damn proud of it. “Hormones, surgery, the rest.”

“Oh,” Tavish said, brow furrowing.

“Oh? What does ‘oh’ mean, maggot?” I demanded. “If you’ve got something to say then say it!”

At that moment, I was terrified he would—that after all the time working up the nerve, after deciding I loved him enough to do this, it’d turn out that he didn’t want the truth from me.

He saw my expression flash like steel and immediately reached for my hand. “Not that Jane, nothing like that,” he soothed, squeezing my palm tight. “I love you, and I’m glad you felt good enough to tell me all this.”

My racing heart slowed a few beats, a horse tripping over the finish line and coming to a steady trot. I breathed out, and linked my fingers with his.

“I suppose I am a bit puzzled…” he went on. “Getting Medic involved, surgery…it all sounds like a lot of work. Why didn’t you just ask Merasmus?”

Now, the true answer to that question is I didn’t meet that useless old wizard until years after I’d transitioned, but something about the way Tavish had phrased that question left me flabbergasted.

“Merasmus?” I demanded.

“Aye, he can magic bodies around willy-nilly,” Tavish explained. “That’s what he did for me.”

“…WHAT.”

“Did I never tell you that?” Tavish asked, scratching the back of his head. “Ah, well I met him as a kid, I asked him if he could do that, and he was all ‘DO NOT QUESTION WHAT THE GREAT MERASMUS CAN AND CANNOT DO BLAH BLAH BLAH,’ ‘n long story short, he turned me into a laddie.”

There was a deep pause in the mansion’s master bedroom.

“Tavish DeGroot,” I fumed with mounting indignation. “Did you just let me spout goosey gibberish for nearly twenty minutes just to tell me you are also transgender??”

“Er, sorry,” Tavish said. “I didn’t think it was a big deal? Not that your isn’t, obviously, if you feel it is, but er…I suppose, yeah.”

“You-”

“Keep your voice down, lad,” Tavish hushed. “You know Mum will have our hides if we wake her up fighting again.”

“That was only because we broke the dining room table. Yelling is not nearly as loud as that,” I complained, but lowered my voice anyway. Despite my initial frustration, the wave of anger crested and died, and I was left with a warm sense of relief. Relief, and new camaraderie. “You are full of cheeks, you know that?”

“Are you trying to call me ‘cheeky’?”

“I do not have time for your Britishisms! And stop trying to teach me.”

He smiled, knowing by the playfulness in my voice that I wasn’t truly mad at him, not really. “Fine, on my word, I’ll never try to make you talk properly again.”

“Apology accepted,” I replied.

“If we’re good on confessions for the night, you ready to turn in?”

We slid under the sheets, only halfway into bed when I’d stopped our nightly routine. At the moment, it’d felt like the most important thing in the world, to be authentic with Tavish now that we’d given up so much for each other. Curling against him, I realized I hadn’t even guessed how he’d react—nor known that things could be even better between us.

[masterofmunson]

all i ask of you (1)

Harry Styles x Fem!Reader Broadway AU

Summary: You’re forced to work with your famous ex boyfriend on Broadway.

Word Count: 3.7k+

Warnings: language

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! I’m extremely excited for this mini series. I’m still planning it out right now, but it shouldn’t be longer than 7-8 parts if it goes according to plan. I also know next to nothing about theater/Broadway. I was an athlete in high school and I can’t sing to save my life haha. So I apologize for any discrepancies. I’m trying my best here. Please let me know what you think! Enjoy!

here is the playlist to accompany the series!

“Oh my gosh, Harry!” you shout, holding your face in your hands. You grin into your palms and heat spreads down your neck. 

Harry laughs. You hear him walk towards you. His soft giggles touch the shell of your ear. He gently pulls your hands away from your face. He kisses your knuckles sweetly before pouting at you. 

“Pretty, please, baby,” he begs softly. His hands gently hold yours. 

“No. Absolutely not. I’m too embarrassed!”

He frowns, pulling you up from the chair you’re sat in. He sets your arms over his shoulders and you stand in the middle of his small private studio. 

“You’re going to school for music ‘n you’re too shy to sing f’ me? Me? I’m your crazy talented boyfriend. We should be making duet cover albums right now.”

You whine, shaking your head at him. “Harry, this is different! We’ve been friends for so long and now that we’re dating, it’s different. You want me to sing on the back track of your first single as a solo artist. That’s a big deal. I can’t do that.”

Harry kisses you again and smiles. “Sure you can. ‘M asking you to. It won’t take long. The back track is the only thing missing.”

“I’m only doing one verse,” you argue, “and you’re doing the rest. You can’t watch me record it either. I can’t focus when you’re looking at me like that. Take it or leave it.”

Harry laughs, pulling you into his chest and he kisses you warmly. “If it’s the only way I get to hear you sing, I’ll take it.”

… 

Jane had been acting weird since the moment she woke up. She didn’t return your quiet good morning as the two of you drink your morning coffees together. She wouldn’t look you in the eye when you asked if she was okay. It was weird to say the least. It was out of her character. 

The two of you went to Northwestern’s Drama school and have been friends ever since. She was the voice of reason when you nearly turned down your first Broadway performance. She followed you three months later and you’ve lived together ever since. 

It’s been nearly four years since the two of you moved to New York for Broadway. It was a weird transition at first. You moved from California, to Illinois, and finally to New York within five years and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re doing what you love and you wouldn’t trade it for a second. It was the prime reason you and your ex-boyfriend broke up. 

It was a short relationship. It lasted the summer following your last year of college. You spent your last summer at home knowing you wouldn’t return. You had no idea you would be dating someone at that time. You broke the news that you would not be returning to California. You thought you’d be able to do long distance due to the nature of his job. You thought he would be thrilled for you. You were friends with his manager’s girlfriend and they were all happy for you. They knew how much you wanted to be on Broadway and away from California. You were meant for New York and everyone knew that. 

He didn’t want to do long distance and you didn’t want to give up your dream, so you broke up. It didn’t matter that he was one of your closest friends before you started dating. He knew you dreamed of being on Broadway and now that it was coming true, he wanted you to choose. It broke your heart, but you wouldn’t compromise and he wouldn’t either. It was okay for you to be selfish. You were following your dream. 

The last you heard, he released a second album that is no doubt successful. You have no desire to listen to it. It would open old wounds. You were too stubborn and proud and didn’t care to listen to what you’ve heard is a great album. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, Jane? You’re being weird and not acting like yourself,” you tell her with genuine concern as the two of you walk down the street towards the back lot of the theater.

“Have you heard the news?” Jane asks you, avoiding your question entirely. You swipe your electronic key to the theater on the keypad attached to the back door. You open the door and step inside. Jane follows behind you and shuts the door behind her. 

Your brows crease in confusion and you turn to look at her. “What news? What are you talking about?” 

Jane’s face noticeably falls. Her brown eyes widen and she nervously scratches the back of her neck. You know that reaction like the back of your hand. She just asked you a question about something you knew nothing about. You were in the dark and she shouldn’t have asked you. She lets out a careful breath before speaking again, “They stunt casted Raoul.”

Your heart drops. Why didn’t the director or the casting director tell you? Why didn’t John tell you? You had grown quite close to your on-stage love interest and he didn’t have the courtesy to tell you he was leaving the show. You worked together on the show for nearly a year and now you have to start over entirely with whoever took his place. 

It wasn’t easy getting comfortable with John. You hadn’t had a big lead like Christine before. You were a supporting character in all the shows you were in up until last year. John showed you the ropes. He helped you gain confidence in your ability to play a lead. Now you’re going to have to rebuild the chemistry with whoever took his place.

Now that she mentions it, you’re going to have to work with a pretentious celebrity. You’ve only been in one other show when they’ve stunt casted a character. It didn’t go over well. He was demanding and hard to work with. It was the longest nine weeks of your life. You hate when shows stunt cast. 

You groan, rolling your eyes. “Great. Do you know who it is?”

Jane laughs nervously. She bites the inside of her cheek. She avoids your gaze and fumbles with her phone. “Unfortunately I do.”

You raise a brow at her. It makes you anxious because of her nervous tone. She doesn’t want to tell you. In the eight years you’ve known each other, she hasn’t kept a secret from you. She won’t start now. “Why do you sound like you’re about to break bad news to me? Who is it?” 

You gently reach for her arm and the two of you stop in the narrow hallway backstage and Jane’s brown eyes meet yours. She takes a careful breath in before speaking, “They stunt casted Harry.”

Your eyes widen and you gasp. The wind is knocked out of you. You can barely breathe. You grab on the wall for support. Jane frowns. “I overheard Frank and Nancy talking about it yesterday when I was in the green room grabbing my phone. He must’ve done a video audition since we’ve been here every day this past week. Today’s his first day. I wanted to tell you last night, but I wasn’t sure how. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”

You swallow hard and shake off the shock. You stand up straight and let out a puff of air. You start walking down the hall towards your dressing room. “It’s fine,” you respond. “It’s been years. I’m different and so is he. Besides, he won’t be here very long. Frank will be looking to cast his replacement while he’s here anyway.”

You push open the door to your dressing room and Jane follows closely behind you. Jane nearly steps on your heels when you stop in the middle of the doorway. She peeks around your arm and her eyes widen. 

Your eyes meet Harry’s and it’s clear he’s just as shocked to see you as you are of him. He clearly didn’t anticipate your reunion to be so soon. You swallow hard and step into the room. You drop your bag on your makeup table and turn to face him. You reach for your script and hold it to your chest. Your water bottle dangles from your fingers. Your eyes meet Jane’s quickly as she stands frozen in the middle of the doorway looking between you and Harry. 

You cough uncomfortably and force a smile on to your face as you stare at Harry. “Hi, Harry,” you greet him. “It’s good to see you.”

Harry blinks before standing up from his chair. He takes a small step towards you and you raise a brow at him questionably. He doesn’t take another step. He knows better than to try and hug you. He smiles uncomfortably and rings his fingers together. He fiddles with his rings and you hate that you know that it’s a nervous habit of his. 

“Hey,” he says, biting the inside of his cheek anxiously. “It’s nice to see you. You look good.”

You nod uncomfortably and scratch at your arm. “Well, um, we should go to the stage. They’ll be expecting us and they need to introduce you to the rest of the cast.”

“Right, right,” he nods. His eyes move towards Jane. Her arms are crossed and she’s glaring at him. “Hi, Jane.”

“Harry,” she spat as you tug on her arm and pull her out of the room, leaving Harry behind. 

You let out a careful breath and shake out your shoulders as you make your way to the stage. You ignore Jane’s swears and grumbles as you pull her along with you. You just need to get through today. It will get easier as time goes on. You haven’t seen him in four years. Everything will be fine. 

You sit down on stage and pull Jane down with you. She huffs and Aaron nudges you gently. You turn your attention on him and he nods at Jane. 

“What’s up with Jane?” Aaron asks you, leaning back on his hands. 

“She’s just being Jane,” you answer vaguely, rubbing your hands on your thighs anxiously. Your eyes linger on the side of the stage, anticipating Harry’s inevitable arrival. You hate it. 

Harry walks on stage behind Frank, the director of the show, a few seconds later. The cast murmurs and gasps at the sight of him and all you want to do is shrivel up and die. You avoid his gaze. You stare down into your lap awkwardly. 

Frank claps his hands together and you look up to watch him. “As you may have heard, John has made the decision to leave the show. As sad as it is, it has given us as a company to work with none other than the fabulous Harry Styles in the meantime,” he exclaims. It makes your blood boil and you grit your teeth. “He will be with us for the next six weeks as Raoul. We want him to feel at home while he’s here, so don’t be shy and introduce yourselves. As of right now, however, I want Aaron and Y/n to work with Harry. Everyone else knows what to do.”

You resist the urge to pout and groan. It’s not Frank’s fault. You have to remind yourself of that. No one knows that you used to date Harry. He’s an incredibly private person and it was no exception while you were dating. It’s not like you wanted to broadcast you were an ex of his either. You’re not Kendall Jenner or Taylor Swift, so why would anyone care? You’re nothing compared to the celebrities he’s dated or has been linked to in the past. 

Jane squeezes your hand in silent support before running off to work on her lines. Aaron helps you up from the floor and you walk towards Harry with Aaron at your side. You ignore Harry’s lingering eyes. 

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Aaron introduces himself, shaking Harry’s hand. “Your new album is fantastic. I’m super excited to work with you, and I’m sure Y/n is too.”

“Thank you, I’m excited as well. I’ve never thought I’d be on Broadway. It was always Y/n’s thing, anyway,” Harry replies. 

Your eyes widen and you swallow hard. Shit. Now they know that you know Harry. This is already turning into a disaster. You want nothing more than to strangle Harry. 

“Oh?” Aaron turns to look at you. You wipe your hands against the sides of your jeans nervously. “You never told me you knew Harry, Y/n.”

You laugh uncomfortably. You bite the inside of your cheek and let out an anxious breath. You need to save your ass. You have to for the sake of the show. They don’t need to know that you used to date. They don’t need to know that Harry broke your heart. 

“It’s never come up in conversation,” you respond easily. “I’m friends with his manager’s girlfriend. That’s how we know each other. I haven’t seen him in forever. It’s been four years since we’ve seen each other.”

Your eyes flicker towards Harry. His eyes are trained on you and you can’t decipher the look on his face. You’re not exactly lying, but you’re not telling the full truth either. 

Yes, you are friends with Glenn. Yes, you haven’t seen him in forever. 

No one has to know you used to go to his house and kiss the famous Harry Styles senseless, least of all your co-star and director. 

“Sweet,” Aaron replies. He laughs and turns to Harry again. “You’ll have to give me all the dirt you have on her later. I don’t buy the fact that she doesn’t like New York Style pizza.”

You resist the urge to elbow Aaron in the gut. Harry could potentially air out all your dirty laundry if he wanted to. All Aaron has to do is ask. 

Harry laughs uncomfortably. “Yeah—”

“Not that I don’t enjoy the fact that the three of you are already getting along, but we have a lot to do today,” Frank interrupts, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. It makes you jump. Your nervousness is out of this world. 

“Right, right, sorry,” Harry apologizes. 

You tune out immediately. Your eyes drift up to the ceiling as Frank talks. Blood rushes through your ears and you have to remind yourself that Harry’s only here for six weeks. It’s just six weeks. You can survive six weeks. He’ll be gone soon enough and you’ll go back to never thinking about him. Hopefully you won’t run into him four years from now. He’ll disappear out of your life in six weeks. It’ll be fine. 

“Y/n, I want you to start from the beginning with Harry. We’ll work our way up to blocking next week and have a dress rehearsal before his debut. It’ll be a very long, tiring week, but I have faith in you. Start with the scenes with just the two of you and we’ll work our way up from there. Let me know when you’ve warmed up so I can be there. Julie is waiting for you in rehearsal room two.”

You nod slowly and you walk off stage towards the rehearsal room. Harry follows behind you and you step inside the room. Harry shuts the door and you hug Julie. 

“Hi, Harry. I’m Julie, one of the vocal coaches on staff. I’ll be helping you get acquainted with Y/n’s vocal abilities so you know when to project. I know this is redundant, but Broadway is an art within itself. It’s much different from what you’re used to.”

Harry nods, shaking her hand before opening his script. You take a quick peek and notice that it’s already marked up. At least he’s prepared. 

“I’m excited to learn,” Harry tells her with an eager smile. “I’m a fast learner.”

“Good, now let’s warm up.”

You set your script and water bottle down before shaking out your hands. You let out a nervous breath and ignore Harry’s lingering gaze. 

In the short time you were with Harry, you were too bashful and insecure to sing in front of him. He’s the rockstar. He’s the celebrity with millions of adoring fans. He’s worshiped and you are not. 

Your insecurities always got the better of you. You knew you were talented. You went to one of the best theater schools in the country. However, you actively avoided singing around Harry while you were dating. It didn’t matter that you could sing circles around him. He was the one with the fame and following. You were a broke college graduate. 

You start to warm up and avoid looking over at Harry as you sing. You stop when Julie says your name. Harry approaches you and you start to warm up together. 

You warm up for another five minutes before Julie stops you. You take a drink of water before grabbing your script. The door opens and you turn to look behind you. 

Frank enters with Aaron behind him. 

“Let’s start in the middle of Think of Me, right before Raoul enters,” Julie states. 

You nod and Harry reaches for his script. He flips through the pages and Julie sits down at the piano. Her eyes flicker towards Harry. 

“Remember, this is the first time Raoul sees Christine since they were children. He’s enamored by her, so you need to convey that in your singing.”

Harry nods and Julie starts to play the piano. You start to sing and Harry’s eyes soften as he looks at you. You’re clearly more comfortable than he is. You’re in your element. He is not. 

Harry misses his cue and you turn to look at him. The piano stops and Harry’s face flushes an embarrassing shade of pink. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes. “I’m a bit nervous.”

Your brows crease in disbelief. You don’t believe him. There’s only five of you in the room. He’s performed in front of hundreds of thousands of fans and he’s nervous now? You don’t buy it. 

Julie starts the piano again and you start over. He starts to sing and your eyes meet his. You sing again until Frank cuts you off. 

It’s obvious that he notices how tense you are. You’re staring at Harry like you want to kill him. You’re not looking at him like Christine would be looking at Raoul when they see each other for the first time after so many years apart. You don’t feel an ounce of love or compassion for him, and it’s conveyed on your face. 

“Listen, I know Harry’s taking John’s place and it’s only natural that you miss him, but we don’t have time for an awkward stage. You need to be comfortable with Harry. I know you can do it. Let’s try All of Ask of You.”

You grit your teeth, resisting the urge to snap at your director. You force yourself to relax and shake away your anger. You set your script down on top of the piano and turn towards Harry. He flips through his script again and Julie starts playing the piano. 

Harry’s eyes meet yours and he briefly looks down at his script before he starts to sing. It makes you feel weird. You hadn’t sang together while you were dating and now you’re being forced to as exes. 

You relax your shoulders and your fiery gaze as you sing. It makes your heart race as you look at each other and you hate it. You absolutely hate it. You’re singing about love and always being there for each other, something your relationship with Harry lacked in the first place. 

The song ends and you turn to look over at Frank and Aaron. Frank claps, clearly happy with how the two of you sang. It was definitely better than before. You swallow hard and drink your water. 

“Great start. I’m happy with the progress. I know that it’s only day one, but we have ten days until Harry’s debut and it’ll fly by. These next ten days are going to be very long and very tiring, but it’ll be worth it in the end. I want the two of you to spend some time together outside the theater. Aaron told me that you do know each other, but you need to be comfortable enough to sell that your characters are in love. Keep in mind, you kiss about five or six times throughout the show. It’ll help the character’s chemistry if the two of you get reacquainted off stage.”

You resist the urge to scoff. You don’t need reminding that you have to kiss Harry. The last  thing you want is to kiss your ex boyfriend, but you have to. Now it’s your job. 

You nod and so does Harry. Frank and Aaron leave and you tune out Julie again. 

You do as you’re told. You help Harry when you need to as you get comfortable singing with him. It takes much longer than you anticipated and you try your best not to snap at him. Julie doesn’t need to know that Harry is your ex boyfriend. 

When it’s time for lunch, you disappear to find Jane. You find her in your dressing room waiting for you. You pull your coat on and grab your purse. 

“Ready?” Jane asks you. 

“God, yes. I need a drink,” you tell her. 

Jane laughs, shaking her head at you. “It’s only 11:30.”

You roll your eyes at her. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

“It was that bad?”

“Don’t even get me started,” you roll your eyes. 

You walk out of your dressing room and nearly run into Harry. You stumble back into Jane and Harry reaches for your shoulders to steady you. You glare at him and pull away from his touch. 

You step around Harry and he says your name softly. “Where are you going?”

“Lunch. I’ll be back in an hour.”

You walk out of the theater with Jane at your side. You let out a loud sigh of relief. “Jesus, this is going to be the longest six weeks of my life.”

Jane laughs loudly as the two of you walk down the street to your favorite deli. 

[tagsecretsanta]

From @MissSquidTracy

to @scattergraph

Secret Santa does not own this work, full credit to the author above!

Gordon liked to think of himself as the fashionista of the family.

Sure, his Hawaiian shirts sometimes drew attention of the unwanted kind, but the aquanaut was a firm believer in using clothing as a means of non-verbal communication. John was living proof of this theory.

Unfortunately, all of the freedom associated with self-expression went down the toilet with a resounding ‘flush’ when tradition dictated your attire, even if only for a day.

“Seriously, grandma?” Alan grouched, his bottom lip poking out to form his signature pout when he spied the Tracy matriarch descending the stairs with an armful of colourful sweaters.

“Zip it, kid,” Sally rasped, her tone offering no room for negotiation, “This year marks the tenth anniversary of the Tracy Christmas Album, and I’ll not have your attitude souring the occasion.”

Scott and Virgil shared a look of mutual disgust as Sally handed them two hideously baggy and itchy looking jumpers.

“Don’t you two start as well,” Sally warned, yanking a loose thread off the sleeve of John’s before tossing it towards the redhead, “Anyone caught sulking will be in the kitchen with me for the rest of the afternoon. I’ve just finished a fresh batch of liver and onion stuffing and could use a taste tester.”

Five jumpers were yanked over five heads in perfect unison.

A nod from Sally affirmed her satisfaction with her grandson’s new-found cooperation.

Gordon grimaced and scratched absently as the coarse fibres tickled the soft skin of his neck. Posing for the annual Christmas album photograph was a tradition that stretched right back to their days on the ranch, yet he found himself becoming more disillusioned with it the older he got. Maybe it was the discomfort of wearing an unnecessary extra layer in Tracy Island’s heat. Maybe it was the disappointment of no longer having snow to wake up to on Christmas morning. Maybe it was the absence of his parents, and for the last three years, at least one of his brothers.

“Who’s on the roster for today?” Kayo asked, striding into the room and wordlessly scooping up the one remaining jumper that was equally as ugly as the abominations adorning the torsos of her male colleagues.

In an effort to preserve the family element of the season, Scott had devised a strategy where just one member of International Rescue acted as the primary point of contact for any rescue calls that came through on Christmas Day, be them sea, earth or space based. Last year, Virgil had volunteered and been called to Nigeria to deal with a flash flood. The year before, Kayo had drawn the short straw and ended up assisting with the evacuation of a small town in Chile when a nearby volcano blew it’s top. The year before, Gordon had helped clear away the debris caused by a three-way semi collision on one of Australia’s busiest highways. The aquanaut had been instrumental in ensuring three hundred people made it home in time for Christmas, despite it coming at the expense of his own.

Fairness dictated that Virgil, Kayo and Gordon were exempt from being called upon this Christmas unless absolutely necessary. Accordingly, the honour of being ATD (available to deploy) fell to Scott, John, and Alan to hash out.

One quick round of rock, paper, scissors later, and Scott found himself wondering what brothers three and five would look like with their heads shaved.

“Alright, scoot in!” Sally ordered, returning with Alan’s tablet which she held aloft in an attempt to get a good angle, “Scott and John, you two stand at the back. Gordon and Virgil, you kneel in front of your brothers. Kayo and Alan, I need you both to sit at the front. We’re going for a tiered approach this year.”

A healthy amount of shuffling ensued as each Tracy (plus Kayo) moved into position and tried desperately to make himself/herself look decent. Scott yanked on the hem of his jumper in an attempt to cover up his belt. Virgil tried to hoist his up so that he wasn’t rocking the off the shoulder look. John scrubbed at his nose as the acrylic material began to trigger one of his many allergies. Gordon fanned his face with a hand as sweat began to bead across his forehead. Alan tugged fruitlessly on sleeves that fell woefully short of his wrists, and Kayo demanded that Virgil tell her honestly whether the shape of her jumper made her look fat.

Sally was firmly of the opinion that jumpers had to be vomit-inducingly ugly in order to be ‘festive’. The designs adorning each of the six knitted atrocities in front of her offered indisputable visual evidence of this belief.

Scott was brandishing a bright blue snowman, while Virgil sported a dark green reindeer (complete with light-up antlers). John was the unwilling wearer of an orange gingerbread man, and Gordon was proudly modelling a yellow penguin (complete with a squeezable beak that sang Jingle Bells if you so much as looked at it). Alan appeared indifferent to the red elf plastered across his chest, and Kayo was trying to make the best of her rapidly unravelling black turtledoves.

“Smile!” Sally sang, her finger poised, “On the count of three, everybody say cheese! One…two…three!”

“CHEESE!”

Click.

Flash.

The end result was less than impressive. Scott had blinked at precisely the wrong moment. The grin plastered across Virgil’s face was nothing short of horrifying. John’s eyes were almost as red as his hair. Gordon was shamelessly modelling a chunk of leftover spinach in his right canine. Alan had twisted his head to peer at Virgil at the last second and was a blond and red blur…

Unsurprisingly, Kayo was the only one who’d managed to look straight at the camera and smile like a normal person. 

After reviewing her rather substandard snap and tutting in disapproval, Sally tightened her grip on the tablet and ushered her dispersing grandsons back into formation with a ‘shoo’ motion of her free hand, “Come on you lot, form up. Nobody leaves this room until we have a decent photo. How you boys can look so good in real life but so bad on canvas is beyond me. Your dad always said-“

The sudden departure of an elf wearing Tracy brought all dialogue to an abrupt halt.

“Sorry, grandma!” John yelled as he made a beeline for the stairs, the redness of his nose akin to Rudolph, “But this wool is giving me a nosebleed. You’ll have to take the next shot without me, or just make the one we have work. It might be for the best, as you know how Alan gets unforgivable gas whenever he’s forced to pose.”

The youngest Tracy let loose a honk of outrage, but was dutifully ignored as, one by one, his other brothers began to filter out of the lounge. Excuses of varying degrees of believability bounced off the walls as three more bodies scampered to freedom.

It took all of ten seconds for most of the lounge’s inhabitants to disperse, leaving Kayo and Alan alone with a somewhat disappointed looking Grandma Tracy.

“Oh well,” the Tracy matriarch sighed, reaching to pick up the blue snowman that had been ejected over the first floor bannister, “There’s always next year.”

Kayo smiled thinly and made a mental note to spend next Christmas with her father.

-x-

As well as being the family fashionista, Gordon was also a self-appointed expert in gift giving.

His affinity for making people smile helped tremendously, since it made the process of choosing something his recipient would find meaningful much easier. He wasn’t adverse to buying his brothers practical gifts that they could use in their everyday lives (the tea cosy he’d bought for John the Christmas of fifty four was still in active service), but he knew they had all of the utilitarian gadgets they could ever want or need, courtesy of Brains and their nine figure bank account.

Cue unicorn poo bath bombs, flamingo slippers, and personalised face cushions.

This year however, he’d outdone himself.

Unbeknownst to anyone outside of the family, Gordon was quite the expert on upcycling. He had a knack for seeing potential in things that other people had written off as trash (like Scott, for instance), and took great delight in working with his hands. 

It had taken several days, but he’d finally managed to relocate one of their dad’s old hoverbikes from the ranch to Tracy Island. It had taken up most of the room inside Thunderbird Four’s dry tube station, however he’d managed to offload it in the hanger and perform the desired modifcations in the (relative) privacy of Four’s module. 

Alan had stopped believing in Santa when he was seven. With Lucy dead and Jeff away for three quarters of the year, Scott had taken it upon himself to safeguard whatever remained of his youngest brother’s innocence. Every year on Christmas Eve, without fail, the eldest Tracy donned a red suit and beard and made a big (and often loud) show of depositing presents under the tree. Unfortunately, a rather heated debate one year over Santa’s handwriting (which looked suspiciously similar to Virgil’s), had culminated in the death of Alan’s wide-eyed belief.

Gordon had found the whole debacle rather heart-breaking. Sure, he’d been a year younger than Alan when he himself had stopped believing, but the process had been much gentler. He’d made the innocent mistake of asking John one year to help him with some basic calculations regarding the speed and size of Santa’s sleigh, however had ended up on the receiving end of a lecture from his redheaded brother on reindeer anatomy and wind resistance.

His belief had died peacefully in its sleep nine hours later. 

Still, having a belief squished verbally was a lot less harsh than having it squished visually. Poor Alan.

Gordon smiled to himself as he inspected his handiwork. He’d outfitted the storage compartment on the back of the red hoverbike he’d abducted to look like the back end of a sleigh. He’d toyed with the idea of enlisting the help of a couple of real life reindeer (or ponies) to act as draught animals, but had decided against it after reviewing the vaccination and transport requirements. 

Despite managing to complete the modifications inside Four’s module, Gordon had been forced to relocate his creation elsewhere when he and Virgil had been called away on an impromptu rescue involving a couple of unqualified divers. With his back against the wall, the aquanaut had picked the first alternative hiding place that had come into his head.

The roof.

As ridiculous as it sounded, the glass roof of Tracy Island’s lounge was anchored into numerous rocky outcroppings that, when utilised effectively, provided excellent cover. So long as nobody glanced up, of course.

A sigh of pride bubbled up Gordon’s diaphragm. He might not be able to reverse the damage caused by Virgil’s handwriting gaffe, but he could at least give his youngest brother a laugh and deliver his gifts in style instead.

So preoccupied was the aquanaut with buffing out an imaginary mark from the hoverbike’s bumper, that he failed to notice the Island’s automated weather system bark out the alarm for a storm warning.

Thankfully, John didn’t.

-x-

Scott had checked high and low.

And then high again, just to be sure.

The eldest Tracy was stumped. Gordon had somehow managed to vanish clean off the face of the earth.

Not that such a discovery would usually cause the eldest Tracy any concern (the aquanaut had a knack for evading capture), but Christmas lunch was due to be served any minute and they were one body short at the kitchen table.

“Gordon?” Scott called, shoving his head into the bathroom for what felt like the billionth time that hour. He’d tried calling the aquanaut’s phone, but had been sent to voicemail both times. His biometric tracker showed that he was still on the island, however couldn’t generate an exact location for him. EOS’s heat signature scans weren’t much better, courtesy of the wonky connection brought about by the oncoming storm. 

“I’m stumped,” Scott huffed, admitting defeat with a bemused shrug, “He’s gone. I’ve checked the hanger, the changing rooms, his room, the bathroom, and the gym. Nothing. It’s like he’s poofed into thin air.”

Virgil opened his mouth to reply, however was cut off by the arrival of John, whose expression was an expert blend of concern and flippancy. 

“I’ll give you three guesses as to his location,” the redhead began, “If you win, I’ll do your laundry for a week. If you lose, you have to eat my portion of grandma’s stuffing.”

Scott quickly did the math. It was a risk he was willing to take.

“Is he stuck inside his launch chute?”

“No.”

“Is he swimming in the lagoon?”

“No.”

“Is he hijacking Thunderbird One again?”

“No.”

….

“Well?” the eldest brother demanded, hands on hips. He had no interest in John drawing out his victory for any longer than necessary.

The redhead allowed a small smile to grace his face before gesturing with an index finger towards the ceiling.

Scott blinked as his blue gaze clapped onto a jean-clad butt scrabbling around atop the reinforced glass, oblivious to the small audience he’d amassed as he tried to evade the rapidly intensifying rain.

“The roof?” Scott honked, one hand fisting itself through his hair, “I take my eyes off him for two minutes, and he ends up on the roof?”

“Whoa, whoa!” a new voice piped up, it’s baritone depth failing to bring Scott any relief, “He’s where?!”

The eldest Tracy said nothing, opting instead to stab a finger upwards. Ever the cooperative one, Virgil cast his eyes in the desired direction, a small frown infecting his face as he did so.

“We should probably get him down,” the engineer announced, cringing when Gordon slipped on the now wet glass and starfished on his back, “He’s still wearing his Christmas jumper, and the blasted thing will short-circuit if it gets damp.”

A loud ‘thwack’ echoed around the lounge as Scott’s palm got itself well acquainted with his face.

-x-

John had never been one for big displays of emotion.

A polite smile or, in extreme cases, a shoulder pat were usually the preferred methods his brothers employed whenever they wanted to convey feelings of endearment towards him. 

Christmas was an exception, however, and it was without a shred of his usual awkwardness that the redhead enveloped his fish brother in a tight hug, the scent of singed fabric tickling his nostrils.

Virgil’s extraction of their younger brother hadn’t quite been quick enough, and it was with a suitable amount of humility that Gordon shuffled back into the safety and dryness of the lounge, a thin trail of smoke rising from the beak of his thoroughly soaked penguin jumper.

“How bad was it?” John queried, biting his cheek to keep his humour in check as he took in the static strands of hair atop Gordon’s head. The aquanaut looked as if he’d just stuck his finger inside a plug socket which, on reflection, wasn’t as much of an inaccurate analogy as the redhead had originally thought.

Gordon ignored his space brother in favour of slowly shuffling towards the staircase, an involuntary yelp escaping when his traitorous jumper suddenly gave off a stray spark.

Virgil snorted and flicked a hand through his hair to rid it of the rainwater it had collected, “Nothing to worry about on the health side of things, but man John, you should have seen it. He nearly took off like a firework.”

The redhead quirked an unimpressed brow, “Serves him right for skipping over the electrical safety briefings I sent down last week. You’d think he’d have a better understanding of how water and electricity don’t mix, what with his ‘Bird being the only one kitted out for aquatic reconnaissance.” 

  A shrug was offered by Virgil in lieu of a response, “I’m sure all will be revealed once he’s properly earthed himself. Meanwhile, I’d better get that hoverbike down before it crashes through the roof and lands on someone’s head. Can you send Scott up to help? I could use a couple of his grapples.”

John threw his brother a mock salute before breezing off towards the kitchen, only to stop when he caught sight of a familiar blue outline on one of the sofas.

“Be there in a minute!” Scott mumbled, his cheeks bulging like an oversized hamster as he chomped his way through an indulgent looking doughnut.

John felt his gaze darken as he took stock of the stray sprinkles in the corner of his eldest brother’s mouth, “Where did you get those?”

Scott held a finger up as he swallowed, thumping his chest when a stubborn piece of dough got lodged, “Mainland, to make up for grandma’s sprout and salmon tart. Help yourself, there’s plenty left. I’ve only had three.”

The lack of control Scott had when confronted with unhealthy snacks never failed to amaze his brothers.

“You want to take it easy,” Virgil warned, motioning with one hand to his waistline, “Too many of those could send you to an early grave.”

Scott flicked his hand dismissively and reached for a fourth doughnut.

“Don’t care. I won’t be the one carrying the coffin.”

- FIN -

[isoscele]

Lumberjanes Week Day 1 - First Day of Summer

(This is longer, weirder, and later than I wanted it to be, but isn’t that the spirit of the week?)

                                                        --------- Jo’s last exam is electrical engineering, and she finishes twenty minutes early. Dr. Quispe winks at her as she turns it in, and Jo tries to smile. The constant fog of formulae and diagrams dissipates from her head, replaced by a more all-consuming calculation.

One hour, six minutes to go.

She drops by her room, picks up the single backpack sitting on the bare mattress. On her way out, Gabi pops out of the lounge. “All done?”

Jo’s smile softens, takes on something real. “Yup. You?”

“I still have an essay, but I’ll probably do it at home. Got any big summer plans?”

“Kind of.” She shifts her backpack higher on her shoulders, silently debating how much to say. “I’m going camping with some friends.”

“Oh, cool,” Gabi says. “I wouldn’t’ve pegged you as an outdoorsy type, Jo.”

“Oh, you know.” Something under her skin humming, some outdated circuitry splitting into life. Forty-nine minutes. “In certain circumstances.”

Gabi giggles. As is the case with every one of their sporadic interactions, Jo wonders if they’re flirting. “Have fun! Don’t get eaten by a bear!”

She swans back toward her laptop and empty M&M packet. If she’d looked back for just a moment, she might have wondered what she had said to make Jo look so devastated. 

                                                       ---------

Mal has a pickup truck. It’s disgusting, with a windshield wiper that sounds like a dying macaw and a clutch that, for two heart-stopping seconds at the beginning of each gear shift, refuses to move at all. Mal has always defended it with a vigor previously only saved for her best friends and favorite bands.

Jo slides into the passenger seat. The radio is blasting heavy metal and the interior smells shockingly of mayonnaise; she has to blink hard to hold back her tears. There are some things that are so beautiful, so precious that it’s impossible to look at them head-on. Jo always forgets, when she’s away.

“You’re in the bus lane,” she tells Mal.

Mal obligingly starts the very long process of getting her car to move. “I thought the idea behind going to fancy science school with adults was that bus lanes were no longer necessary. Also, it’s fucking amazing to see you.”

“The buses shuttle students around campus. Also, I’m delighted that you’re here and I want to give you a hug.”

“Motion passed,” Mal says, and they squeeze awkwardly over the two melted Frosties in the cupholders.

The car jolts into first gear hard enough to throw Jo into the seatbelt, and then suddenly she’s laughing so hard she has to hold her sides to keep herself from spilling over. 

“Sorry!” Mal says, “sorry, she’s jumpy around strangers,” which is what she says every summer. It’s a terrible joke laced with an irrefutable affection, and it’s so Mal that it makes Jo laugh even harder.

“We’re not strangers,” Jo says. She pats the center console, feels a little of the polyester flake off on her hand. “Me and this truck go way back.”

“Well, let’s hope you and this truck go way forward, too,” Mal says, “because I’m really not sure the engine’s going to last us to California.”

                                                     ---------

They pull into the trailhead at around six the next morning, and make silent work of the luggage in the back. The sun’s just starting to come up, blinking warily between the table pines. Mal waves her on, and Jo sets off along the winding path.

The first year or two, they mostly stuck to campgrounds and RV parks, warming hot chocolate on the camp stove despite persistent, obnoxious heat. Jo didn’t think much of it at the time, but now she knows that Molly was trying not to inconvenience them, trying to keep them to the shallows of the forests. Trying to keep anyone from going too far, getting too stuck. 

The fact that they were instructed to bring backpacking gear this year doesn’t do much to assuage the constant thread of worry in the back of her mind. This isn’t something they can dip their toes in anymore; the world is always a more dire place than they left it last summer.

The hike is long and treacherous. They go off the trail almost immediately, but neither of them need a map. It sounds cliche to say that they’re following something else, but they are. The anxious chitter of the birds and the sun balking at the edges of the trees and the distant hush of a river form a clear topography in their minds. They walk without discussion, taking each turn as naturally as if they had always lived here. 

Around mile seven, they start to hear voices. Mal breaks into a run, and Jo comes crashing after her. 

They knock straight into April, who catches both of them with practiced ease. For a moment, the air splits with three different calls of incomprehensible joy, and then they’re lowering themselves to the moss as a single, complex organism.

“Holy Felicia Flames, you guys look great!” April hollers.

“I have so much to tell you,” Mal says.

“Are you trying to set the forest on fire?” Jo asks, wandering over to where April has piled an impressive set of branches and old newspaper. She must have packed most of it in herself; the trees around here don’t look like that.

“Might make our job easier,” April says, and then a grim silence falls over the clearing. 

I’m going camping with some friends, Jo had said, as if it was just camping, as if they were just friends. As if Jo’s relationship with these people, the things they had to do together, could be described in such a mundane and immaterial way. As if Jo won’t sit at the fire with them tonight, watching the way the sparks clear the shadows around their eyes, and love them with everything she has in her. As if she won’t hate them, too, for making her come here.

Here they are, in the annual half-second when they don’t know what to say to each other. The moment when the summer teeters, still soft and blameless, on the edge of something sharper. 

But then April asks Mal how the band’s doing, and the moment passes.

“I wish I’d thought to bring pictures,” Mal says. “We played at this amazing venue last January--there was this skylight, and it was pouring rain, and people just kept coming in because it was so miserable outside.”

“Aw, that’s great,” April says. “I’d love to come someday, but y’all sell out so fast!”

Mal scratches the back of her neck, looking embarrassed. “Yeah, sometimes.”

“What are we talking about?” Ripley half-shouts. Jo yelps, and then that turns into more laughter, which turns into an incredible group hug. For someone who carries no fewer than three kazoos on her person at all times, Ripley can be surprisingly stealthy when she wants to. Jo never hears her approaching anymore; first, there’s nothing, and then there’s Ripley.

April hugs Ripley so hard she lifts her off the ground. Ripley immediately starts listing all the weird birds she’s seen this year and asking April to cross-reference them with her encyclopedia of creatures.

And then, of course, there are four.

Jo drifts half a step closer to Mal and extends her hand. Without tearing her gaze from the blot of trees, Mal takes it.

Last year, Molly had been sort of--sick. They’d been camping on a bauld where eagles circled high overhead and the flowers were all this terrible saffron yellow, bent under the shadow of the rocks. Molly had walked with a stick, like the Bear Woman--like Nellie used to use, thick and gnarled. But she said that was temporary, just because of a bad fall, and no one talked about how her freckles had almost overtaken the white of her hands, how her eyes were spotted with yellow and seemed to constantly rove towards the sky.

No one had mentioned much of anything, because the year before that they had buried Nellie in the soft earth beside the lake and they had all tacitly agreed not to talk about it. Maybe that’s what growing up is like--finding more and more things that no one is willing to say. Holding a grief in you that sometimes feels so bright and all-consuming that it can’t possibly be real.

“She’ll be okay,” Jo says, quiet so as not to kill April and Ripley’s buzz. “The forest loves her.”

But that’s a cold comfort, because they have all spent the same six summers learning that the forest’s love can be the most terrifying force in the world.

                                                   ---------

It doesn’t take long at all before a familiar sound comes rolling in from the mountain. It’s a sound like dinosaurs, like goliaths, like the world collapsing in on itself.

It’s a sound that heralds the approach of Bubbles, who these days is about the size of a house. 

I don’t know! Molly had said, laughing, the first time they had seen him again. I guess he was just a baby when we met him. I’ve been feeding him a lot of peanut butter lately, maybe that’s it. 

Bubbles crashes through the trees, chittering so loud that it sounds like the laughter of a god. On his back, perched awkwardly against the scruff of his neck, sits Molly.

She does look okay. Their home hasn’t killed her yet.

There’s a little more white in her hair, a little more curl to her fingernails. But she’s smiling so wide it’s almost like they’re just here to catch up, like just for today they can afford to be a group of friends and nothing else.

Later, of course, will come the campfire, and the birds falling silent, and even the cicadas forgetting to cry, and they will map out another fraction of the world. They’ll find another dozen stone men, sleeping still enough to be dead. They’ll find perhaps hundreds of potential apocalypses, and they’ll spend the month eating little and sleeping less, preventing the end of the world again and again and again until they can’t even remember what they’re saving. 

But right now, Molly slides down Bubbles’ side and yells “Guys!” and the summer bursts into being. 

[heyheydidjaknow]

I’m uploading this Friday at 12:10 am. Or, at least, that’s when I finished writing this. Yes, we’re still on the angst thing. It won’t last forever, but still.

Chapter 9

“How is she?”

Donatello sits down next to his brother on the couch. “Same as yesterday,” he sighs. “Comatose.”

“I still can’t believe it,” Raphael smirks. “That stupid bitch decided to total the fuckin—"

“Raphael,” he promises coolly, “I will personally make it my life’s goal to make sure you can never open your mouth again if you don’t shut up.”

He puts his hands up. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Will you two be quiet for a minute? I’m trying to listen.” Leonardo kneels in front of the television.

There is a new news story.

“They can’t arrest her, can they?” The tallest brother glances at the others.

“Nah.” Michelangelo is sprawled out on his portion of the couch, eyes dully focused on the screen. “They’ll side with her before someone from a street gang, ‘specially with those…” He trails off. “’ Sides,” he clears his throat, “any good public defense lawyer would call it self-defense, and there’s no way the police would convict a teenage girl of any degree of murder with the injuries she has; bad press.”

“Mikey,” Leo asks, “how come you know that and not how to multiply numbers by seven?”

“Because seven is a stupid number that was created just to make us all feel stupid.”

“Leo—”

“He’s right,” Raph agrees. “They won’t put her away for something like that.” He chuckles darkly. “Besides, there’s no more evidence.”

“After what happened with the neurologist?”

“Donnie,” Leo turns to look at him. “She’s going to be fine.”

He opens his mouth to argue, closes it.

” The perpetrator,” the news anchor reads, ” was found this morning after a panicked nine-one-one caller had seen the hand of the assailant hanging over a ledge. The corpse had, presumably, been flung away from the scene of the incident as a consequence of the explosion, miraculously landing on the roof of a nearby restaurant. The body has been identified as Fong Zhao, who was arrested on multiple charges of armed battery earlier this year. The police have refrained from offering Channel Six detailed information, but we have an anonymous source who claims that he and the gang he is supposedly involved in, locally referred to as the Purple Dragons, was also involved in the hijacking of a truck carrying a substance believed to be tear gas. The driver of the truck testified in favor of this statement earlier this evening. An investigation is currently ongoing regarding the involvement of the men in question, and we at Channel Six implore our viewers to come forward with any information you may have on the case or the supposed ringleader, the recently escaped Xever Montes. More on that later tonight. Up next, a local—”

Leonardo shuts off the television. “Well, there you go.” He stands up. “See? Didn’t even mention her name.”

Donatello breathes out a sigh of relief. “Good,” he nods after a moment. “That’s... good.” He cradles his head in his hand, his concerns hardly pacified by the report.

This, he cannot excuse. This is entirely a matter of his own negligence.

‘I should’ve noticed sooner, insisted to come with.’ He zones out, his brother starting a conversation about something he cannot bring himself to pay attention to. ‘How could she be that reckless? It’s Shredder for fuck’s sake; I should’ve at least noticed the body or something, anything.’ His fingers lace together as he stares a hole into the ground. ‘Even if I couldn’t have stopped her, I should’ve been there, if only after the fact.’ He runs his tongue along his teeth absentmindedly. ‘Some ninja I am. Some friend. Some—’

“So, I broke Y/N’s arms, right?”

His head snaps up. “You what?”

“There he is,” Raph chuckles. “Knew that’d get his attention.”

“Don’t make me go over there,” he glares. His face flushes in embarrassment.

Leonardo rolls his eyes at his brother’s antics. “As I was saying, it’s been pretty quiet, hasn’t it? Since the incident?”

“Now that you mention it,” Raph points out, “since the whole Leatherhead fiasco, I don’t think anything’s really happened. Ya know, besides the Kraang thing.” He crosses his arms behind his head, leaning back into the couch. “It’s been getting’ kinda boring If I’m bein’ honest.”

“It’s that desire to fight that’s going to get you killed,” Donatello informs him, staring at the television screen. “Saw what happened to her, right? Weren’t you just saying how stupid she was being?”

“Yeah, but that’s different.” He smiles sharply. “She’s got exactly no training. As much as you guys seem to have a thing for humility all of a sudden,” he waves his hand contemptuously, “the only reason she got hurt is that she was being stupid, so we’re pretty much undefeated, no thanks to Leo.”

He stands up, deciding against fighting him. “If you need me,” he says curtly, “I’ll be in my lab.”

“Watch it, Raph,” the eldest brother snaps.

“Why should I?” He throws his hands up. “Am I wrong?”

Mikey quietly grabs his comic off the floor, retreating to his room, presumably.

Donatello slides the door in between him and his brothers as he sits down at his desk.

You have been stuck in the hospital for about two weeks now.

‘Technically,’ he corrects himself as he pulls his laptop open, ‘it’s been three hundred fifty-seven hours, meaning it’s closer to fifteen days than two weeks. Why do I know that?’ He pulls up an image, uncapping a permanent marker and working on one of the more mindless parts of his latest project: reviving an incredibly battered map. He already has a frame for it once he is finished, but, knowing his brothers, the fading colors would likely be a point of contention if he did not at least make an effort to make it easier to read. Fortunately for him, it is not laminated. Unfortunately—depending on how you look at it— a lot of the finer details—the integral streets names in particular—are all irreparably smudged and, therefore, will have to be all rewritten by hand, turning a once twenty-minute job into at least a two-hour investment.

He tries to tune out the incessant arguing of his two older brothers as he focuses on making his minute handwriting legible despite the infuriatingly fat marker nib.

“You should have taken her offer for a pen when you had the chance,” he mumbles to himself.

His hand stops.

‘Would it be weird to go check on her again? Just to make sure she’s still alright? I mean,’ he goes back to work, ‘even if it were, how would she know?’

He shakes his head to clear it. ‘Stop that. You’re being a creep again.’

Over those two weeks, his distractedness has become more of a problem than it has in the past in reference to his work. He is hardly a stranger to having a thousand thoughts bouncing around his head at once, but where once a rapid stream of information was there is now an aggravatingly slow sludge. The origin of said mind sludge is not at all a mystery to him, which makes the whole thing infinitely more frustrating. ‘Frustrating? Depressing? Does it even matter?’

He rubs his eye absentmindedly with the heel of his palm as he strains to see what he is doing. The smell of the marker is corrosive in his nostrils. His hand shakes. He sets it down, wringing his hands as if to force them back into submission as he stares holes into the map. ‘This is not supposed to be challenging.’ He closes his eyes, the image of you lying on the ground, a bloody, skeletal figure shaking and begging for your life carved into the backs of his eyelids, a hideous scar.

He can not stop thinking about what you said the night before the incident. Something about being able to care for yourself.

What would you say to him now? He imagines that it would be something to remind him of how the accident is your fault, how he should not beat himself up over it, but all that does is convince him that he should have been faster to act or to respond or something. There had to have been something he, in his infinite wisdom, could have done. What else can he reason? That he is powerless? That he had no say in what happened that night of nights?

‘How come I can plan and build a combat vehicle out of alien technology and an old subway car and I can’t—’

He jumps at a loud banging at the door.

“Donnie!” He can hear Raphael’s wicked grin from behind the door. “Bank robbery! Let’s go!”

He sighs, capping the marker. His breakdown will have to wait.

“Comin’!”

--

The ringing in your ears is already annoying.

You have been awake for about five minutes. You have elected against moving for a plethora of reasons, but the ringing is a relatively large determining factor in your decision. You are, admittedly, not sure where you are until you hear the tell-tale incessant beeping you remember from your childhood. You do not open your eyes yet. You are incredibly drowsy for some reason.

‘Hospital?’

You sit up carefully, wincing as a numb pain permeates through your arms. You run your fingers over your face curiously, feeling for any perceived disfigurement as your eyes scan your surroundings. The small room you have been placed in seems standard; there are a couple of chairs under a window that makes up half of the wall, a television screen in a corner of the room, an inoffensive painting, and a small vase filled with some sort of white flowers.

You feel a protruding scar on the right side of your face. It traces from the bridge of your nose to about halfway across your cheekbone. As you bring your hands down to pull the hospital gown away from your body, you catch sight of your hands. Long, jagged cuts run vertically along the front of your hands, and as your eyes travel up your arms, you notice fewer, shorter scars along the insides of your forearms. You swallow, pulling the cloth away from your body to see long scratches running from your thighs to under your ribcage. You pull the blanket off to find that one of your legs is encased in a white cast.

You blink. ‘What stupid thing did I do?’

You lay back down, fingers absentmindedly tracing the scars. ‘I must have been out for a bit.’ You push the hair out of your face, noting how oddly shaky your hands are as you try to focus on what had happened. ‘Why wouldn’t my folks be here? They wouldn’t ditch me in a hospital, would they?’ You hold them out in front of you, palms to the ceiling. ‘I don’t look old or anything. My nails aren’t much longer than they were before, so I can’t have been out for that long.’

Your eyebrows furrow. ‘Parents…’ You swallow. ‘Oh, right. The fire.’ Your eyes go out of focus. ‘Dead. I was, too, until recently.’ You put your arms down. ‘I’m hungry. Where am I?’ You close your eyes. ‘New York. East coast. How far is the East Coast from the West Coast? I should call her so she knows I’m—no, she’s dead.’

“All dead and gone,” you mumble the tune to yourself.

You cover your face. ‘Focus. What happened?’ You recall what you think is a church. ‘Turtles. Turtle. Oh, TMNT. Where are people? Focus.’ You yank at a piece of your hair, mumbling to yourself as you try to run through the memory again.

The image of that man’s body takes your breath away.

You shut your eyes tighter. ‘Right. Car. Glass. Glass would be a good candy. Could you make glass out of sugar? Isn’t that what a lollipop is?’ You hug yourself tightly, careful of the IV as you roll onto your side towards it. ‘I killed someone. Someones. That’s not a word. Gasoline smells bad.’ You feel tears prick at your eyes. ‘I deserve to die for that. There has to have been an easier way to do that. I deserve to burn again. That explosion was so prettily animated in that episode. I can’t breathe.’

You curl your legs up towards you, using the arm not connected to the IV to hook behind your knees. You bury your head in your shoulder as you force your breathing to slow. ‘I miss her. Where is he? They’re dead and you killed them, you heartless bitch.’

You feel a sob rise in your throat. You swallow it back. ‘Stop being a pussy.’ You hear yourself start to count softly. ‘They’re all dead and gone. You’re on your own here, so get a grip.’ You grip the blanket. ‘After all, who are you going to turn to? The guys who already risk their lives every day? Or maybe Splinter, who will probably tell you some bullshit about letting your pain go?’

‘That’s not fair,’ you argue with yourself. ‘You can turn to Murakami. Casey might be willing to help.’

‘Because Casey’s known for his reliability and Murakami would want to deal with your stupid emotional problems.’

“Twenty-three,” you whisper, keeping your voice even. “Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six…’

You pull yourself back up, bringing your knee to your chest as you wipe any tears that may have leaked out with the back of your hand.

You do not have to wait long until someone comes in to check on you, a taller gentleman with sharp features and sunken eyes behind curly black hair. He introduces himself as Nurse McGrath, gives you a run down of the dizzying number of injuries you had suffered in the accident, what they had done to fix the problem, and starts to discuss what would become of you now.

“The doctor predicts that you’ll be able to remove your cast in approximately six weeks, and that you will regain your fine-motor skills fully in eight.” He is obviously half asleep, but you can hardly blame him; the clock on the wall reads that it is about three in the morning. “The symptoms from the whiplash should completely fade in about three months. If you would be open, there are medications we can prescribe to help with the pain.”

You smile. “Thank you, sir, but I’d rather not.” You are sincerely concerned what might happen if you start taking any sort of medication right now, considering your mental health.

“I should probably warn you in advance that the police might ask you to come in to identify the guys who kidnapped you.”

You blink, confused. “How do they know I was kidnapped?”

“Anonymous tip, according to the news.” He scratches something into some form or another. “I dunno the specifics, but nobody thinks they’re gonna charge you with anything, ‘specially since the driver was from that street gang.”

You nod. “Gotcha.” You purse your lips. “What day is it?”

“Twenty-fourth, now.”

You sigh. “Well,” you shrug, ignoring the pain it causes, “at least I’m not dead.”

“At least.” He caps his pen. “Technically, you’re free to leave, but the doc thinks it’s a good idea to stay overnight. Your insurance provider has your medical bills covered, so you’re good for it.”

“Honestly? I’m surprised I don’t feel weaker.” You smile. “I’m more than happy to head home tonight, if that makes most sense.”

“Personally, I wouldn’t stay.” He starts heading out of your room. “Your cellphone is locked up. I’m guessing you want it?”

You nod eagerly, realizing quickly that makes the ringing worse.

“I’ll bring it right back, then.”

You refrain from touching it until he leaves.

It looks as if it was put in a blender, but you find it does still turn on. A problem quickly arises: your hands cannot hold the phone. You set it down on the mattress, each movement taking a ridiculous amount of time to coordinate as you type like someone who has never used a phone before. ‘Fine motor skills. Right.’ You type out a message after approximately too long that tells Donnie that you are out of the hospital and heading home.

You check out of the hospital at approximately four-thirteen. The trip home is a straight line of a walk that takes you approximately twenty minutes. Getting in through the door with a walker is a bit of a challenge, but it works out well enough.

You lock the door and windows when you get home, shutting your phone off as you crawl into bed.

You let out a low groan as your head punishes you for your heinous crime of moving. You had realized ten minutes into your walk that you were not at all physically strong enough to walk that long, and you already hate yourself for it, among other reasons. As you crawl into bed, ignoring your body’s protest, you still stand by your decision to not take any medication, especially now.

You feel as though you are being suffocated as you cling onto your pillow, pressing your face into it as you cry silently, the ringing in your ears only getting louder in the silence of your apartment.

‘I feel sick.’

You remember your first night here. You remember the feeling it had caused you, the numb ache of loss as you submitted to the situation you had found yourself in. It feels like an eternity ago, now. You know, logically, it cannot have been more than two months since you got here.

You had decided against taking a cab back home. You had the cash, and you still do, in your bloodstained pocket. You saw many as you walked home, and you had turned a blind eye to them all.

You feel yourself trembling again. You remember the first night you had slept on your own here, the nightmares you swore were the product of a mind much more sadistic than yours ever was. You remember, too, the nightmares you had after Bradford, the way that, for the first time in your life since you were five years old you woke up drenched in sweat and crying for your mother.

What possible dream could come from this?

You reach a hand to the nightstand, hovering over your cellphone as you consider your next action.

Slowly, you retract it, letting it rest next to you. ‘It’s four. He’s not awake.’ You do not have the energy to get up to grab the bottle of sleeping pills from your bathroom.

‘I don’t want to sleep. I can’t take another nightmare.’ You rest your cheek on the pillow, forcing your eyes shut. ‘Mare. Why is it called a nightmare? Are mares truly that terrifying?’

“One,” you whisper. “Two. Three.”

Table of Contents

Chapter 8

Chapter 10

[jojo-reader-hell]

We’re not getting off this Poly Train until y’all realize we can have Erina x Reader x Jonathan: Modern AU

The muffled whisper of the pilot wakes you from a deep sleep where you’re ninety nine percent sure you had your mouth open. Fifteen minutes to landing, weather is rainy, he spouts off the temperature but you don’t really pay attention because there’s a very intense pair of blue eyes trained on you, chubby hands patting your chest in a demand.

“I’m sorry honey... you been awake long?”

Tiny fingers pluck at your top, far too chubby and uncoordinated to work the small buttons but his intellect is startling. Your baby is too smart for his own good, at two months he responds to certain words in unique ways, he knows that you unbutton your shirt to give him milk, and he responds to your smile with an even bigger toothless grin. Call you a brainless mother, but you can’t help but be one of those mothers that just thinks everything her child does is genius.

“We’re almost there.” You coo down at the little head of blue black hair as he eats. You heard that nursing helps calm babies down when the plane lands or takes off, and so far your son has been a good little traveler.

One tiny hand presses against your heart as you talk earnestly to the baby, telling him about the new country he’s going to make his home for the rest of his life and the new house he’s going to live in.

“Daddy is there,” you tell him, “And so is Mama and big brother. They’ve made a nice little room just for you in their big house, and your new doggie and kitty are waiting very patiently to cuddle you and give you so many kissies.”

Giorno watches you, his face impassive, lips turned outward like a fish as you tell him so many wonderful things. You wonder sometimes if he understands you when you talk to him, or does it all sound the same whether in English or Italian? You’re not really sure, but you speak both to him just as often and each time you speak his eyes focus directly on you no matter what.

“We’ll have all our things, your new crib, and even some toys your big brother got for you two to play with.” You whisper. “We’ll even have a bigger bathtub! So once we get home I’ll give us both a nice, warm bath. Won’t you like that mimmo?”

For some reason Giorno seems to have a little relief on his face, finally relaxing into the feed as his eyes droop. That was a big mood. You both are exhausted. It’s been a little rough living in a bare room this last week, but you made it work with the bare essentials and found it so easy to live with things you only had to pack up in two suitcases and a diaper bag. Your son was such a trooper. He did very well when your girlfriend came and helped you pack up everything so you both could ship it to London in boxes or sell the furniture you didn’t need anymore, but he did fuss sometimes about his toys, or the kitty your lover took with her.

In the long run, living with next to no possessions was a blessing. Erina was smart to take the cat and pack up the house immediately, months in advance she requested all the proper forms to have it transported, and after the last visit she said kitty was adjusting very well to her new house (George, she discovered, was a five year old cat whisperer who constantly made sure your pet was well fed and well loved). The last time you all had a group chat, kitty had even gone up to the screen at the sound of your voice, and meowed sweetly as though you were standing right in front of her.

You were excited and relieved. It felt as though you were going to the UK for the first time instead of possibly the hundredth. Who counted anymore? All you knew is this would be the last time you’d ever feel that familiar overwhelming loneliness being so far away from your loving family.

“Few more minutes Gigi...” you coo to your son. “You take your time and have as much as you want.”

You’re worried he’ll be overwhelmed with all the bustle around the airport this time of night. Customs takes forever, even if you’re arriving a few hours after your baby’s bedtime. There’s always a crowd, normally they never made you nervous before but with a new baby there’s nothing but anxiety and paranoia at the most minuscule of dangers. People stare at him like they want to interact with him and you’ll shift him out of view into your coat. Some other brat kept screaming in its seat and jarred your baby out of a deep sleep when it started coughing, and you’d had to do a lot of breathing techniques to prevent yourself from having an anxiety attack. Being stationary at the airport wasn’t much comfort either... Old women will pick their teeth, stick their hand in their pants, scratch nasty places, or poke their nose, then approach you with outstretched fingers wanting to touch your son’s clean cheek and it’s enough to make you gather your shit and run the opposite direction.

The world is a frightening, disgusting place now that you have a newborn, and you won’t feel safe until you’re surrounded by your impenetrable fortress that is currently parking the car at London Luton.

It takes forever for the plane to land and situate, but finally you’re able to stand and hoist your diaper bag over your shoulder after helping Giorno relax as the plane makes a jarring landing. He’s still latched onto your breast, and you notice with some relief that no one really stares at you when you adjust Giorno’s sling. Everyone is exhausted. Waiting to go home just like you are, and it’s already raining once you exit the craft and onto the tarmac.

Your phone is buzzing, the plan your boyfriend bought you has already activated and it will stay that way for a few days until you’re able to get a new phone here in London. It would be nice to answer the phone and hear a familiar voice, but your hands are full trying to burp the baby and it doesn’t make it any easier that you’re doing it on a shuttle. You grab for the nearest handrail, scrunch tightly in a corner and brace yourself as the bus totters along the tarmac while Giorno makes his tiny burps, his little face smoothing out from the scrunched up anger he had being around so many strangers.

Finally when you disembark the shuttle and hurry into the building out of the rain (it was a mission and a half trying to keep Giorno dry) you’re able to return the frantic calls you’ve been receiving.

“Hello?” Your voice is getting low from exhaustion. The prospect of customs is dauntingly close.

“Mum! Where are you? Are you bringing me my brother?!”

That tiny voice with the most decidedly cutest accent you’ve ever heard makes your heart flutter in your chest and your smile wake up.

“Hiya Georgie!” You coo back into the phone as Giorno watches you with big eyes. “Your brother is here with me. I just have to get us through customs and then we’ll be with you before you know it.”

“Would you please hurry mum? I miss you!” his voice is that typical demanding monotone, but you know he’s probably just tired and cranky from being up past his bedtime.

“I promise I’ll hurry as best I can my love. You don’t worry your pretty little head. I miss you too, but I’m here now topolino. Can I talk to mommy please?”

In the background you hear his father reprimand him gently, but you also hear his very serious “mummy, phone!” and the softest chuckle that makes your heart do backflips.

“I’m sorry darling. He’s been antsy all day and had to get the corner because he got grumpy with daddy.”

That soothing voice makes your heart leap, that familiar pull also turns your face a bright red as you follow the other passengers into a line up in customs.

“Well...” your voice is low, sultry. “I’m a bit antsy too, are you going to have to punish me as well, sweet Eri?”

The way Erina scolds you with a sharp squeak of your name makes you grin even larger. You lean down to kiss your baby’s head as he continues to stare up at you, transfixed on your voice and possibly wondering in his baby way who you’re talking to. Even Erina begins to scold, and you can tell she is over the long wait and ready for you to come home too. All you can do is smile at your baby like a fool as Erina pesters you about propriety. She may look on the outside the very picture of a timid little blonde, but you know better. She’s a spitfire who can take command of a rioting crowd with voice alone, and you can’t wait for her to cover you head to toe in her affection.

“-not be saying that in front of all those people! I swear, you’re both just the same! The nerve, the audacity-...”

“I’m almost there my love. I’m sorry. I just can’t wait any longer to be with my family. Can I talk to Jojo please?”

Erina stops her ranting when you ask so politely. You’ve still got a bit longer to wait to scan both passports, and you’re already fishing them out of the sling pocket where they’ve been resting with Giorno this entire time. She relents with a final “be safe” and an exchange of love before she relinquishes the phone.

“Darling!” A deep voice, so warm and sincere with boyish charm, almost sounds like a squeak at the prospect of hearing your voice.

“I’m home Jojo.” You say. “I just wanted to hear your voice before I go through.”

There’s a few more families ahead of you, and even though you feel a bit bad cutting his time talking to you short, you know you’ll make it up to him later on.

“Quickly, I just wanted to tell you we all love you both! And we’re all here waiting, do you have any bags?” He is breathless, excited, forgetting the plan and just as raring to see his new son as everyone else.

“Yes Jojo, we’ll have to get them once I’m free. It’s my turn now.”

“I love you!”

You have to respond, tell him you love him too before placing the phone in your sling pocket (did you even hang up? Oh well…), and you head up holding both passports at an awkward angle. Luckily you’re not doing this one handed. Jonathan had been the one to suggest the feeding sling for your baby, and it’s so easy to do things when Giorno is just nestled in his little pouch. You could probably juggle chainsaws with him, but right now it’s just needed to get you through this damn line.

As soon as you’re through, and there’s only one direction left to go passed the money exchange, you feel your heart begin to pound rapidly in your chest. Giorno pulls on your shirt, almost like he can read your mind, and you have to kiss his tiny hands with shaky lips. You have to be careful. Prevent yourself from losing your cool and tripping over your own two feet because you were too excited. So many extra things to worry about now that you’re a mother, but that’s ok. As long as you keep grounding yourself with the baby and slowing the hell down.

You hear them calling your name before you see them. Immediately your head snaps towards the sound, and you have to keep it together before you break out into a run. The first one you focus on is George, over excitable as always whenever he sees you. Then you see Erina, her cheeks are pink and eyes shining with those happy tears when she sees you with one hand on Giorno’s sling. And finally, you see Jonathan, trembling and holding tightly to the handle on Danny’s harness while even the gigantic Great Dane senses the excitement. It feels like walking underwater towards them, but George is the first to break free from his mother’s grip and lunges at you. You brace for impact and let him do what he wishes, grabbing your leg tightly and practically screaming for you at the top of his lungs.

“Mummy! Mummy!”

“Shhhh…” you try to calm him from screaming and scaring the baby.

Giorno doesn’t seem to be too frightened however, he turns in the sling to stare at the little boy with wide eyes, unaware that the screaming six year old is his big brother. George only stops when you shower him with kisses, his chubby cheeks peppered as you take his hand and lead him with you to your lovers. It’s all over after that. You’re pulled every which way to be kissed and loved it makes you dizzy, and Jonathan nearly loses balance when Danny tries to prevent him from having an attack because of all the excitement.

“Oh, oh!” Jonathan coos when he sees his newborn son looking soulfully up at him from the sling. “Hello my love. Don’t cry, did I scare you?”

“I think he’s overwhelmed with all this love.” Erina laughs, picking up her son as easily as one would a feather pillow so that George could look at his new baby brother.

“My brother!” It’s all George can seem to say.

You beam at the attention, cradling the baby and pulling back the sling so your lovers can gush about their new son. To Erina, who hadn’t been able to attend your birth, this is the first time Giorno has been seen outside of an ultrasound or touched outside of her beautifully slender hands caressing the taut skin of your tummy. Jonathan attended the birth and stayed a few weeks after, and there’s a wordless struggle for possession of the baby between him and Erina as they lean towards your chest to place kisses on his plump cheeks.

Even more sweet is the tiny hand that reaches out from the sling, groping for something, the three of you are unsure what he wants, until you see Giorno’s tiny hand lightly caress George’s cheek.

“Let’s go, we need to get your bags, and then make our way home.” Erina smiles, kissing your lips ever so gently.

“Home…” Jonathan coos fondly.

The way they say it, it makes you ache. You won’t stop aching until you get home, but the pain begins to dull when Erina takes one hand, and Jonathan the other, leading you to the luggage carousel where you will collect the last few things you own. Your old life is behind you now, the prospect of a new life, a happier one now that you’re home, looms in the distance. At this time of night the airport is slowly being deserted, but there’s still a crowd that looks on, almost perplexed at the family consisting of three adults, a service dog, and two little boys who look at each other as if they have found a treasure.

[blackstonesandtrapnest]

Hello! I'm pretty sure I didn't send this in already (If I did I'm so sorry just ignore this one ^^') But I really really loved your Yugi relationship headcanons! Could we maybe get some of those for Yami/Atem too? SFW and NSFW if you're okay with that, if not that's fine! Thank you in advance, you're awesome! (also side note, I've never heard of the anime Nana before your blog but now I'm kinda interested in it haha)

No this is my first time getting the request ^_^ I was waiting for someone to request this honestly XD You should definitely watch Nana when you get a chance! I swear it’s amazing!

Also I’ll be doing these headcanons as if Atem got his own body to make it easier to do!

~~SFW~~

Unlike Yugi who’s more shy and lacks confidence, Atem is definitely more charming and confident in himself. Approaching a beautiful woman or man (he’s bisexual obviously) is no skin off his nose. Yes he’s helped Yugi get dates before. Such a good friend am I right?

Atem has a reputation for being a player and yes it’s true to some extent. He likes to play the field and just like Yugi, he gets bored easily. You gotta be a special person to keep his attention for long. Atem is a free-spirit and settling down isn’t exactly easy for him because of how hard it is to keep him interested. Atem especially values intelligence and if you’re a duelist, that’s even better. Traveling is also a requirement for being with Atem. He wants to get out and see the world and being with his S/O while doing so is a dream come true for him!

Atem is definitely more open to one-night stands and flings than Yugi is. But he isn’t one of those asshole players who uses people for sex and then ghosts them later. Atem is very upfront and honest about his intentions and wants for any potential suitors to do the same. He doesn’t get why people deceive and lure others to get sex or money from them. Why do that when you can just be honest?

Atem will definitely treat you like the King or Queen you are! Unlike Yugi who’s more frugal and down-to-earth, he’s much more lavish with his dates and gifts. Fancy restaurants, awesome clothes, the works! Atem may not be as rich as Kaiba but he’ll definitely spoil you the best he can! If you do the same in return, Atem will be so touched that he might actually cry. Awwww!

If you actually manage to keep Atem’s interest, congratulations. You’ve already found your way into his heart and you’re gonna stay there. He’s gonna chase you like a jack rabbit chases a carrot and he’s not gonna let you go. If he ever does, you must’ve done something unforgivable and he’s not taking you back. Please don’t take Atem for granted or it’ll be the biggest mistake of your life.

Atem has had his heart broken many times in his 5000+ years of existing and he’s been through pretty much any dating disaster you can imagine so don’t be too nervous and shy when you’re around him. His amount of heartbreaks have caused him to become more reserved and cautious so be patient if you want a long-term relationship with him. He’ll open up to you but you have to gain his trust first.

Pride is gonna be the biggest hurdle in your relationship honestly. Atem puts Vegeta to shame in terms of how prideful he is and ohhh boy are you in for one hell of a fight whenever you two get into an argument. Atem does NOT like to lose and admitting that he’s wrong is like a Kuriboh trying to defeat a Blue-Eyes White Dragon. He’ll argue with you all damn day and he will push your buttons like no man can. If you’re the headstrong type who doesn’t take any bullshit and won’t back down, that’s perfect for Atem because he needs someone like that to bring him down to Earth sometimes. He has thick skin so don’t worry about hurting his feelings. Atem actually gets turned on when you get mad and he likes it when you put him in his place. He’s never really dealt with that kind of person before so it intrigues him. He’s used to people just bowing down to him and honestly he’s tired of it. Sometimes Atem will start arguments for the hell of it. It’s great foreplay according to him.

Atem likes PDA but is subtle about it. Small things like holding hands or wrapping arms around each other’s waist is more of his style. He likes security and when you’re around him, having some kind of physical contact gives him that feeling. A hug here or a kiss there may happen too depending on the situation and how Atem feels.

If you’ve dated any of his friends (especially Yugi), Atem isn’t dating you point blank period. He doesn’t believe in dating his friends’ exes and he and Yugi actually wound up dating the same girl once! The outcome wasn’t pretty either. The player doesn’t like being played. Not. One. Bit.

Unfortunately Atem has had all the major issues that comes with being a player. Fatal attractions, paternity scandals, bitter exes, getting a taste of his own medicine, you name it, it’s happened to him at some point and he’s got stories for days. His past will eventually come back to haunt him and if you can’t handle it, he won’t stop you from leaving and he’ll definitely understand. Loving Atem isn’t easy and it’ll definitely test you in every way possible but he’s definitely worth fighting for and he will spend the next 5000+ years proving it to you if he has to. He’s not gonna lose you without a fight and his love for you is eternal no matter what happens between you two. You’ll always have a special place in Atem’s heart.

~~NSFW~~

Atem has lots of experience which is a given considering how old he is. He knows how to please his partners and he can adapt to his partner’s needs at the drop of a hat. Want slow and steady? You got it. Want rough and hard? Atem’s your guy. Want a threesome? Atem will happily oblige!

He doesn’t care if you’re short, tall, big, or small. Atem’s been with all kinds of people of various sizes so he’s not exactly picky. Does he have a specific type or preferences? Of course he does. But he doesn’t go out of his way to find what he wants physically in a partner as opposed to mentally. Atem knows better than anyone that looks don’t completely matter and that it’s what’s on the inside that truly matters.

Atem is a switch but mostly prefers to be the Dom. He definitely loves to roleplay and he always makes sure to have a safe word in place so no harm is done. Can you guess what his favorite kind of roleplay is? Remember he is a 5000 year old Pharaoh ;)

When Atem is dominating you, sexy doesn’t even begin to describe it! His voice is deep, his words are filthy, and his dick is hard. You’re gonna feel his hands all over your body and he’s definitely gonna make you beg. You’ll be a complete mess when he’s done with you and you can forget about going to work or school the next morning.

Atem’s aftercare is on point! He’ll praise you like no other, take a luxurious hot bath with you, make some delicious food for you (yes he can cook and quite well might I add), and top it all off with a glass of very fine wine. If you have any bruises or scratches, Atem is gonna make sure they’re taken care of so you’re not too sore.

Atem’s pride also extends to the bedroom. If he’s not your first lover, he’s gonna make damn sure that he’s one of the best you’ve ever had if not THE best. If he’s your first, then that’s even better. You’ll want no other man once he’s done with you trust me. You’ll need at least 5 guys to do what he does in bed!

He wants to know everything about you sexually. Your fantasies, your kinks, your dislikes, bad experiences, you name it. Atem likes to know what he’s getting himself into and what he’s up against. He wants to have an open dialogue about sex so if you’re shy or prudish, you’ll have a very rude awakening with Atem.

If you thought Yugi’s secret stash was something to shocked by, just wait until you see Atem’s. Hell he has a secret ROOM instead! Sex dungeon anyone? But he won’t reveal it to you until he’s opened up to you a bit and has settled in with you sexually. Atem doesn’t want to scare you away by revealing everything at once! He’s made that mistake a few times before.

Whenever Atem is the sub, he’s a bratty sub to the fullest! If you wanna dominate him, you’re gonna earn it damn it! He’ll egg you on, challenge you, defy you, the whole nine yards. I hope you have a lot of patience because you’re gonna need it with Atem if you’re the dominant type! But the right to dominate him is well worth fighting for! He’ll obey your every command and will be putty in your hands. You’ll feel on top of the world!

It should go without saying but Atem lives to please and he wants to make you happy both in and out of the bedroom! Not only because of his pride but because of how much he loves you. You see, Atem is simply one hell of a lover and he’ll make sure you don’t forget it either!

[iamtrebleclefstories]

I Believe in Second Chances - Part 5

Things are a little different this time around

Or the story where Alex dies while on his way to stop Jo from reading the letter he sent. Somehow, he gets a second chance

Hi! I am so sorry this took so long to update, but I have started planning the following chapters which will hopefully make it easier to update more frequently.

(i definitely wrote this instead of studying for finals whoops)

If you haven’t read part 4 yet, you can find it here

—Part 5—

The next few weeks played out very differently than they had in his previous life. Since waking up in this timeline, the Alex everyone knew went from a manwhore who couldn’t go more than two days without sleeping around to a caring, attentive guy that had everyone scratching their heads in confusion. There had been multiple moments where Meredith, Jackson, Callie, Cristina and even Bailey had given him strange looks due to changes in behavior. They were especially freaked out when they noticed his newfound friendship with a certain intern. 

“So… are you guys a thing now or what?” Callie asked as they walked into the attendings lounge, mugs of coffee in each of their hands. “I’m just trying to figure it out because I’m not really sure what to say to people when they ask.”

“If people ask, just tell them to stay the hell out of my business,” Alex took another sip of his coffee. “We’re just friends.”

“Oh come,” Callie gave him an unimpressed look. “I know you like her. Why don’t you just make a move already? It’s been a month since you met.”

“Because I want to do this right,” Alex sighed and thought back to the way things unfolded the first time. “There are some things I’m trying to avoid, so I need to show her who I am first. She needs to trust me and like me before I do anything about it.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually trying to impress this girl,” Callie took a long swig of her coffee. “Sure, she’s hot and funny, but what’s so special about her? Because you look at her like she hung the moon and stars.”

“She’s just…” Alex shook his head and vaguely remembered the words he’d said to Cristina over seven years ago. “There have been a lot of girls since Izzie. A lot of nobodies. But this girl isn’t a nobody.”

“Who are you and what have you done to Evil Spawn?” Cristina’s voice startled Callie and Alex as she walked into the attendings lounge. “Are you in love? Is Alex in love?”

“Alex is in love?” Meredith raised her eyebrows as she followed Cristina into the lounge. “Is it that intern he’s been hanging out with? Jo Wilson? If so, Avery owes me twenty bucks.” 

“Why does Avery owe you twenty bucks?” Bailey asked as she joined the rest of them. 

“Alex is in love with his intern,” Callie supplied, ducking as Alex threw a paper ball in her direction. “Hey! What, it’s true. You can’t even deny it.”

“No offense Karev, but don’t you think she might be a little out of your league?” Bailey wondered out loud, an amused expression on her face. 

“She’s definitely out of my league,” Alex replied. Realizing that he wasn’t going to get rid of their prying questions any time soon, Alex decided to give them a straight answer. “Look, she’s different okay? We have a lot of stuff in common and she gets me more than anyone I’ve ever met. I don’t think I’ve ever opened up to someone as much as I have with her. She’s also a bit squirrelly—not that it’s her fault—and she’ll run if I get too serious too fast, so I’m being patient and taking it slow so I don’t freak her out.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Meredith blurted out. “Because I swear you do not sound like Alex Karev right now.” 

“You guys suck,” Alex stuck his tongue out at the women and moved to get up. “I’m going to get ready for rounds.”

He left the lounge and started to make his way down to the intern locker room. As he neared the door, Alex heard some comotion inside.

“Oh my God, you like him!”

“You are so into him. Don’t even try to deny it.”

“Look! She’s blushing!”

“Guys, stop it!” Jo’s hushed the three women who had been interrogating her. “Okay, yes fine. I like him, but I’m not going to go around acting like some crazy, desperate girl like Leah—no offense.”

“None taken,” Leah shook her head. “Seriously though, you like Karev? I mean, I get the attraction. Both Heather and I slept with him and it was fantastic, but you actually like him? As a person?”

“I know you guys probably think I’m crazy, but yeah I do. I know everyone sees him as this jerk who only cares about getting into someone else’s pants, but he’s different from what everyone thinks. When we hang out and drink beer at Joe’s or at his house, he’s different. He’s funny and kind and charming. You know he bought a couch so that I could crash if I’ve had too much to drink and can’t drive home? Douches don’t do that,” Jo released a breath and shrugged. “Also, you should see him with his patients. Kids can see right through people and they love him.”

“Jo Wilson, you are smitten,” Stephanie teased as a wide grin appeared on her face. 

“Why don’t you ask him out?” Heather suggested. “You’re both comfortable being alone together. But instead of it just being two friends hanging out, make it a date.”

“I don’t know,” Jo answered hesitantly. “I’m not even sure if he feels the same way. Besides, he’s my boss.”

“Oh screw it,” Leah rolled her eyes. “He’s so into you.”

“He’s definitely into you. Trust me, I know,” Shane looked over to the girls, shutting his locker and leaning against it.

“How do you know?” Jo raised an eyebrow. 

“I just do,” Shane crossed his arms. “I was sworn to secrecy, but all I’m going to say is that the attendings talk during surgery.”

“He talks about you!” Heather gasped. “As if the way he looks at you isn’t enough proof.”

“Oh yeah, any time you walk into a room his eyes follow you around with this awestruck glint in them,” Stephanie giggled. “Go for it, Jo.”

“I want to, but… I didn’t come here to get into a relationship or be tied down to someone. I have baggage that no one deserves to be burdened with, much less him,” Jo looked down sadly. “I’ve been burned in the past. I don’t want to open that possibility up again.”

Shane rolled his eyes, “That’s not an excuse to keep yourself from being happy.”

Sensing they were done talking—and feeling a hell of a lot of pride hearing that Jo was already interested in him so soon—Alex waited a couple seconds before popping his head into the locker room and scanning it for Jo, “Wilson! We’ve got surgery in 20. Let’s go!”

Jo’s eyes widened as she scrambled to grab her things. She did her best to ignore the stares and winks her friends were giving her as she followed Alex out the door. 

“Hey, how was your day off yesterday?” Alex asked as they stepped into the elevator. 

“It was nice. A little boring, but I slept past ten in the morning,” Jo grinned.

“Ah, you always did love to sleep in,” Alex muttered to himself.

“Huh?” 

“Nothing, just—I figured you’re one of those people who would rather sleep in,” Alex tried to save his little slip up. “I am, too.”

“You see that’s why we get along so well. I’d never be able to work with a morning person before nine in the morning because I think I’d punch them in the face,” Jo tilted her head in thought.

“You and me both,” Alex chuckled. “Pretty sure I yelled at Kepner one too many times during residency.”

“But she’s so nice,” Jo wrinkled her face in confusion.

“Exactly.”

Jo laughed in response, making Alex’s heart pick up a bit. He loved hearing her laugh. It was probably one of his favorite things about her. He remembered their wedding day and the way she laughed so brightly and contagiously when they realized that they had had sex in a shed with a corpse lying there. If there was one thing that Alex was determined to do this time around, was to replace all the times he’d made her cry to laughter. 

“So, what’s the surgery today?” Jo asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. 

“Oh, um we’re performing a splenectomy on eight year old, Jalen Brown. He’s got hemolytic anemia and needs his spleen removed,” Alex informed as they walked into the scrub room. “I’m gonna go talk to him before we start.” 

Alex walked into the OR and up to the operating table, smiling as he looked down at the kid laying on it, “Hey buddy. We’re going to do the surgery now. This doctor over here is going to give you some medicine that is going to help you sleep so that you won’t feel a thing. When you wake up, you’re gonna be a little sore, but that’s normal. You’ve got this, okay?”

“Okay, Dr. Alex,” Jalen nodded timidly. “Can you hold my hand while I go to sleep?”

“Sure, thing kiddo,” Alex grabbed one of Jalen’s hands and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Now, count backwards from ten for me.”

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…”

Nodding at the anesthesiologist, Alex walked back towards the scrub room where Jo was staring at him curiously. Alex raised an eyebrow, “What?”

“Nothing,” Jo shook her head. “It’s just… you’re really great with kids.”

“Well, I’d hope so. My job kind of depends on it,” Alex flashed her a crooked grin. 

“Obviously,” Jo rolled her eyes and began to scrub. “What I mean is that you make them feel comfortable around you. That’s something I’ve noticed since we became friends. You make people feel safe.” 

Alex stared at Jo for a moment, pausing in his scrubbing. He was grateful that he’d already pulled his mask over his face so that she couldn’t see the look he was giving her. Because, that just might’ve been the highest compliment he could’ve received from Jo. He knew how significant it was that Jo already felt safe around him. There were very few people in this world that made her feel safe and secure, and at this point in her life, he was pretty sure that he was the only one on that list. The people on that list wouldn’t expand for a few more years. 

Alex’s face softened and all he could do was smile underneath his mask at the woman standing beside him, “Thanks.” 

They’d been in surgery for a little while already when one of the nurses answered a page, “Dr. Karev, you’re being paged to L&D for a pediatric patient who’s having a high risk baby. It’s urgent.”

“Crap,” Alex mumbled to himself. Today was the day that he and Jo would meet the girl who abandoned her baby in the hospital. Sighing, Alex looked over at Jo. “Can you check that out for me? I’ll be in there as soon as I can.”

“Yes. Of course,” Jo nodded and promptly stepped out away from the operating table and proceeded to scrub out. 

By the time Alex finished up with his surgery, Jo had paged him multiple times to hurry. He met Jo in the hallway as she ran with an incubator towards the NICU, “Newborn with a CDH. I intubated him but the SATs are still low.”

“It could be pulmonary hypertension,” Alex looked up at Jo as they continued to rush towards the NICU. “Have you ever hooked a baby up to ECMO before?”

“I never intubated a baby before five minutes ago,” Jo replied, eyes wide.

“Okay, we hook up catheters into his neck, pump his blood into the ECMO machine, which puts in oxygen and takes out carbon dioxide. Then it cycles it all back in,” Alex explained as they finally entered a procedure room. 

They set up everything quickly and Alex coached Jo through how to hook up with catheters and get the machine going, “You’re doing great. You isolated that jugular and carotid, avoided the vagus nerve, and now you need to put in a venous drainage cannula.”

Suddenly the machines started beeping. Jo looked up at them before frantically turning back to Alex, “I didn’t even—“

“Switch with me,” Alex traded places with Jo swiftly. “He’s coding. You need to do CPR while I hook him up to ECMO.”

“At the same time? How will that work?”

“You need to start compressions now,” Alex instructed and proceeded to hook the baby up to the machines. “Stop… Go… Stop… Go… Stop… Keep going…”

Some time passed when Jo finally spoke again, “How long have we been going?”

“Twenty minutes.”

Seconds later, Arizona walked into the procedure room, “Hey. I heard you had a crash ECMO. You need my help? You want me to take over?”

Alex smiled to himself slightly. He kept forgetting that he was only supposed to be a fellow that was still learning certain surgical procedures, “No. I’m just connecting the circuit… okay. Initiate bypass.” Alex held his breath for a moment and then released it. “We did it. Son of a bitch.”

“It seems like only yesterday I was showing you how to do your first pulmonary hypoplasia,” Arizona smiled. “I hope you’re taking notes, Wilson. He’s one of the good ones.” 

Jo looked back and forth between Arizona and Alex before letting out a breath, “So, what’s next?”

“Well, now that he’s hooked up to ECMO, the baby has to be monitored 24/7. We have a long day and a long night,” Alex looked up from what he was doing to make eye contact with Jo. “You might want to go grab a power nap, princess.” 

“Ugh, really Alex? Again with the whole princess thing?” Jo rolled her eyes. “I thought we agreed to forget about that.”

“Hey, I wasn’t the one who said it. It was little Briana Ewell who said you looked exactly like Belle from Beauty and the Beast. I just so happened to agree,” Alex shook his head. “I don’t know why you’re so hung up on it. Most people would take that as a compliment.”

“It’s embarrassing,” Jo explained with wide eyes. “I don’t need people thinking I got to where I am today because I’m pretty and it was handed to me or that I slept my way to the top. I worked hard to get here.” 

“No one ever said you didn’t,” Alex paused. “But for the record, if anyone ever does, tell them to come find me and I’ll set the record straight.” 

“Oh, no way,” Jo laughed. “We do not need you doing something stupid like going and ‘protecting my honor’ or whatever.” 

“Just go take a nap.” 

***

“You sure you’re not asleep with your eyes open? You’ve been staring at that kid for an hour.” 

“She didn’t even want to see him. She cared more about her best friend’s stupid pizza party than seeing her child,” Jo’s face wrinkled in disbelief. In the before, Alex had made some insensitive comments about how she couldn’t possibly relate to the young girl’s story. This time instead of interrupting, he allowed her to continue. “I just… I don’t understand how you could care about a party more than the baby you’ve grown to know and love for the past nine months. How could you not want to see that baby and hold it and love it? A baby who has no fault in the decisions you made that led you here. Why bring that baby into the world in the first place if you don’t even care enough to sit by it’s bedside when it needs you the most.” 

Alex stood there in silence, unknowing what to say. This definitely had not happened last time. In the before, Jo hardly ever expressed her feelings about being abandoned by her mother until after she’d met her. These feelings though, made it clear to him that Jo had been contemplating whether she was worthy of existing long before finding out about how she was conceived. 

Sensing Alex’s surprise at her small outburst, Jo reached a hand out to touch the baby’s hand, “I’m sorry. I just can’t imagine what could be more important than your kid. If my baby were in the NICU, I would never leave it’s side. Not for a single moment.” 

“It sounds like there’s a story there,” Alex raised his eyebrows slightly. “If you ever feel like sharing it, you can trust me.” 

Jo took a deep breath, “I had a crappy childhood.”

“Me too,” Alex confided. He didn’t want to push her, but he knew that she might feel more compelled to open up if he shared first. “My dad was an abusive junkie and my mom was schizophrenic. So, when I was a kid, I became the parent to my younger siblings. I got them ready for school and made them food and helped with homework. I ran interference for my parents, I kept everyone safe, I took the beatings my mom and siblings were supposed to get. I even stole cars and food to make sure my siblings were taken care of. Someone must’ve reported it, because one day these people showed up and took us away for a few years. We got separated and I ended up with a whole bunch of foster parents who didn’t give a rat’s ass about me. Then at some point, I ended up in juvie. It’s a miracle I am the man I am today. Sure, I’ve got my flaws, but I never would’ve thought I’d become this.” 

“My mother left me at a fire station when I was two weeks old,” Jo started quietly and watched as the small child wrapped his tiny hand around her finger. “I got bumped around foster homes until I was sixteen when I took matters into my own hands and started living out of a car. I parked it behind the gym of my high school so I could sneak in and use the showers before class. My home ec teacher--Ms. Schmidt--she’d let me do my laundry there for free.” Jo laughed slightly. “Everyone asks me how I got into Princeton and Harvard while living in a car. They’d say mean things and start rumors that I’d slept with the admissions staff to gain entrance into their programs. But I got into good schools because I worked my ass off. And when I walked across that stage at graduation, I didn’t have a cheering section filled with family. I had one person, Ms. Schmidt.” 

Jo felt a tear run down her cheek and swiped at it quickly, “This little guy here just came into the world a few hours ago and he’s sick. All he needs is his mother. But she’s too busy talking to her best friend about pizza and cupcakes to even hold his hand. He didn’t do anything to deserve this. He doesn’t deserve to feel alone.”

“He isn’t alone,” Alex shook his head and reached over to squeeze Jo’s free hand. “He has you and me and the nurses. Who knows? Maybe he’ll be okay. But for now, we just got to make sure he’s strong and well-taken care of, okay?”

“Okay.”

***

It was alright for the most part. The little guy pulled through the night and was doing okay. Not that Alex doubted he would pull through. After all, the kid lived in his past life, so he figured that he’d make it this time around too. What wasn’t alright was that today was the day that this girl would abandon her baby with the help of her mother.

It was happening right now actually. As Alex was walking down the corridor, he could hear Jo’s voice rise in volume, “Woah, woah, hey! Hang on. You can’t just leave. You have a baby. She has a baby upstairs. He’s one day old.”

“Yeah,” the girl replied. “And he’s all messed up.”

“So you’re just gonna... You can’t--you can’t abandon him! No! You can’t! No!” Jo placed herself in between the elevator doors, blocking their exit. “No!”

“Let me on,” the girl’s mother frowned. 

“No!”

“You don’t wanna mess with me,” the woman growled.

“You don’t wanna mess with me,” Jo countered. The woman grabbed Jo by her scrubs, causing Jo to react and push her against the elevator. “No, stop. You can’t abandon that baby! You can’t do that!”

“Get off me!”

“No!” Jo shouted. 

“Let her go,” the teen girl trying to get in between Jo and her mother. 

“No!”

“Hey! Let ‘em go,” Alex came and pulled Jo off of the woman. “Let them go.”

Jo turned and glared at Alex angrily as the elevator doors closed, allowing the two women to escape. Seething with anger, Jo yanked herself out of Alex’s grasp and ran down the hall. 

Knowing that she would need a few minutes to calm down, Alex waited before going to look for her where he knew she’d be. He found her lying on a gurney in the tunnels he’d introduced her to a few weeks ago. It became their spot where they’d go to meet up and talk, hang out, or have lunch together.” 

“Look, I know this hit home for you and it sucks, but you can’t go around assaulting patients.”

Jo let out a sharp breath, “She was abandoning her baby.”

“I know,” Alex jumped up onto the gurney and motioned for her to scoot over so he could lie down next to her. He laid on his back and grabbed one of her hands, making comfortable circles on the back of her hand. 

“I’m just… I’m so angry,” Jo sobbed, the tears finally winning. “How can she not love him? I loved my baby so much even though I only knew about him for a couple weeks.” 

“Wait what?” Alex was confused. In all the time he’d been with Jo (both past and current timeline Jo), he’d never heard anything about a baby. “You had a baby?”

“No, well yes, but no,” Jo shook her head, tears still running down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m not making any sense, right?” Jo paused, unsure if she should share this part of her story. She was nervous. What she was about to tell Alex, she’d never mentioned to a single soul before. “Years ago, I was pregnant. But the father wasn’t a good guy. I wanted to keep the baby, but it became more and more clear that if I did, it would never be safe. My life was too complicated and dangerous to raise a child. So, I went to a clinic all by myself and had an abortion. And I cried the whole time, because I had started picturing all of these wonderful things about what my baby would look like and be like. I fell in love with my baby. I wanted my baby. I loved my baby. But my greatest act of love was ensuring that it would never have to go through what I went through. I was a mom to that baby for less than five weeks and I loved it more than this girl ever loved her baby... I’ve never told anyone that before.”

Alex laid there in silence for a moment. He was surprised that Jo mentioned this experience she had, especially when she still hadn't brought up Paul yet and it was so early on in their friendship. The Jo from the before had always been very reserved when it came to sharing about her experiences with Paul. She continually attempted to pretend like it never happened rather than face it fully. She’d been through hell and it was understandable. So, hearing that Jo had had to have an abortion back while in her abusive marriage made Alex want to cry. 

He reached to wrap his arm around Jo’s shoulder and pulled her close, placing a light kiss on her forehead, “Jo. You have one of the biggest hearts I have ever seen. Despite everything you went through, you became kind and strong and loving. I know this hurts and I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that. But I promise, this baby will not be like you. We will get him into the database and we’ll get a social worker down here and we will make sure this kid gets a good home.” 

“You promise?”

“Yeah I promise.”

***

“Hey Alex!” Jo called out as she made her way to the parking lot. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Alex asked. 

“Nothing’s up… I just, I wanted to say thank you earlier today. That case was extremely difficult for me, but you helped me be okay. So, thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Alex cracked a small smile. “I told you it would work out. Those parents fell in love with him. He’s going to be okay and live a very happy, full life.”

“Yeah,” Jo sighed slightly. “I guess you were right. I’m glad that he’s got people.”

“So do you,” Alex took one of Jo’s hands in his own. “You’ve got to stop acting like you don’t have people. You’ve got people. You’ve got me. Don’t forget that.”

And although she’d been told those words in the past, for the first time in her life, she believed them.