#nubileyoungprodigy

          I want it to be bad.

          The thing was, Leo was too much of a perfectionist to write badly -- or, at the very least, to show his first few drafts to anyone before he’s made it... less bad. Even if it was just some one page, four paragraph, structured essay piece about someone who happened to like his dog, he didn’t want to share SUB-PAR work with anyone. He was expected to share something with someone that he didn’t fine tune, didn’t edit, didn’t fix to the point where it was up to his standards. It was going to be really embarrassing when he actually completed it.

          But that was before he had THE DREAM.

          The dream gave him his muse again, and he barely left his apartment except to take Simian on walks and go to his appointments. He was always just so busy writing. It was almost like a dream, being able to write as much as he was -- he hadn’t written so much in years, and he was actually enjoying it far more than he ever had. While he was writing, Leo felt like he was actually getting close to someone outside of the people he worked with and his therapist, even if she wasn’t real.

          “I think I’m falling in love with her.”           “That’s brilliant!”           “No! I can’t fall in love with someone I write!”           “Why not?”           “Because she’s not REAL!”

          He knew he should probably take a break from writing, or at least, that was the last conscious thought he had before falling asleep at his desk, mid-sentence. And when he woke up, that was exactly what he intended to do. Leo was in a rush, struggling to pull himself together enough to go to his meeting with his editor, and that was the only reason he missed the smell of food in the air. Simian still needed to be let out, and fed, but he didn’t have the time to do any of it, no matter how many times his dog pawed at his legs in an attempt to get his attention. If anything, that only made him more rushed for time, and he was doing his best to explain that into his phone while pulling his shoes on and holding the device between his shoulder and his ear.

          “Yeah, I’m on my way, promise. I’ll just put my dog out and then it’ll be half an hour.”

@nubileyoungprodigy

It was orientation for a new year of students at SHIELD Academy, and the new students were all meeting, with most of them starting to get to know their peers. There was, however, one person there who didn’t exactly fit in with the rest, not having finished high school, let alone gotten the required doctorate.

Jordan had been standing in the corner of the room everyone was in, just watching, when he’d noticed the door to the lecture hall open. Though he figured they weren’t necessarily expecting people to head in right away, he began to make his way there, wanting to get out of the crowd. Working to bury his PTSD so he could focus, he wasn’t paying attention to what was in front of him, accidentally bumping into someone else who was heading the same way.

                                                  .       .       .

                                 “YOU. CAN’T . KILL ME.”

                                                                Kieran Namaak

—

@nubileyoungprodigy

@nubileyoungprodigy

The small Object in the box was humming again. Every few hours it would change, from silence, to the hum, later to a sort of pulsing, and back again. It hadn’t done anything since they’d picked it up from the back end of nowhere, but the cycle of noises had been increasing in speed over the days it had been in their hands, and it made them all antsy. Coulson had had no choice but to make a call, and tell May to make a stop at La Guardia.

Loki sidled into the lab at the Tower, wrists bound behind his back under the watchful eye of a squad of armed agents. When he saw the young woman at the bench, he grinned toothily.