#Feel like there’s three million bees in me

[leieryx]

Im never gonna be normal about this i fucking knew it

[aliyahwritings]

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (01)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 4.2k

Aliyah's Notes: this is my first series on here so go easy on me (#adele) pls + some things are not going to be obx canon ... at least some of yall are warned. anyw im so excited for this cause lord knows the amount of time ive wanted to make a fake dating fic!!!!!!! anyw i hope you all will enjoy this i had so much writing the first chapter

The clatter of high heels against the marble floor echoed in perfect sync with the ticking of your watch. Every step was deliberate, poised—just like your life had to be. Perfection, it seemed, was not a choice but a requirement for survival.

You adjusted your sunglasses, your gaze skimming over the glamorous expanse of the fashion agency's lobby. People buzzed around you like bees in a hive, their worlds spinning, fueled by the weight of names, status, and flawless images. You smiled politely at the receptionist, offering a nod, though your mind was miles away.

To the outside world, your life was golden. The covers of magazines, the invitations to high-society events, the million-dollar deals with luxury brands—it was a fantasy that others could only dream of. It was your dream some time ago, too. 

But today, your reality felt like walking on the edge of a tightrope, the safety net fraying below you.

Your phone vibrated in your purse, interrupting your thoughts. You fished it out, your pulse quickening when you saw the text from your lawyer. Three words that sent a chill through your carefully constructed façade.

"We need to talk."

Your heart sank. The issue of your visa had been hanging over your head like a storm cloud for months now, growing darker by the day. You’d known this was coming, but knowing and confronting it were two different beasts.

Fame didn’t shield you from the cold bureaucracy of citizenship laws, and your time was running out. One misstep, one delay, and your golden empire could crumble. In a matter of months, you could be deported, left behind by the very country that had built you up.

With a deep breath, you silenced your phone and slid it back into your purse. This wasn’t something you could dwell on right now, not in public. Your expression remained serene, even though your mind was anything but. You had a shoot in an hour, a charity gala that evening, and at some point, you had to meet with the lawyer to discuss "options"—a word that had started to feel more like a trap than a solution.

As you exited the building, the cool breeze caught your hair, the city unfolding before you like a glittering stage. New York City. You looked out at the streets, the people, the life you fought so hard to build. The car pulled up to the curb, and you climbed inside. On your way to your lawyer.

You stepped into the law office, the familiar scent of polished wood and stale coffee wrapping around you like a tight band.

"Ms. Y/L/N, good afternoon," Nicolas Ramirez, your lawyer, greeted you, standing behind his desk. His expression was composed, but you knew him well enough by now to spot the unease in his eyes.

"Hi," you softly smiled at him. Your heels clicked softly on the floor as you sat down, crossing your legs tightly, as if holding yourself together. "Let’s just get straight to it, okay? How bad is it?"

Nico sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Your visa expires in less than three months."

You felt your stomach twist, your worst fear inching closer to reality. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. "And what about the appeals? The extensions?"

"We’ve exhausted every possible option—work visas, artist visas, even humanitarian grounds. Immigration laws are tightening, and without a permanent solution like citizenship or residency, you’ll be forced to leave the country."

"Leave?" Your voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the full weight of the nightmare you’d been living with. 

Leave? Go back there?

The country you had fought so hard to escape. The country where your childhood had been marked by suffocating poverty, where your parents had already planned your marriage before you even turned 15. Where your dreams had been a distant, impossible hope until that one person changed your life forever.

You felt your throat tighten. You couldn’t go back.

Nico’s gaze softened slightly, his voice gentle but firm. "I know what this means for you. I know how difficult—"

"You don’t know," you cut him off, your voice sharper than you intended. "You… You don’t know—I can’t go back there, Nico. I just… I can’t."

He nodded, giving you a moment of silence to compose yourself, but the pressure in your chest only grew. You took a deep breath, trying to keep the panic at bay.

"So what now?" you asked, fighting to keep your voice steady. "Is this it? Am I out of options?"

"Well… There’s one option we haven’t explored yet." his tone was cautious, like he knew what he was about to say would open a new can of worms.

You furrowed your brow. "What?"

"Marriage."

The word hung in the air, thick and heavy. You blinked, unable to comprehend at first. "Marriage?" you repeated, as if saying it aloud would make the absurdity of it clear.

"It’s one of the few legal paths left," he explained, leaning forward slightly. "Marriage to a U.S. citizen could secure your green card and, eventually, permanent residency. It’s a legitimate route—many people in similar situations have done it."

You sat back in your chair, the tension in your body coiling tighter. The thought of marriage, of attaching yourself to someone you barely knew for the sake of staying in the country, made your skin crawl. You had already sacrificed so much for your freedom, for your career. And now this?

"You’re telling me the only way to stay here is to marry someone I don’t even love? Just to avoid being sent back to a country I don’t belong in anymore?"

"Not necessarily," Nicolas said, his tone measured. "It wouldn’t have to be a traditional marriage. Think of it as a business arrangement. It’s a legal partnership—nothing more. And it could save your career, your life here."

You crossed your arms tightly, your mind racing. Marriage. It was a word that had haunted you ever since your parents had tried to force you into it as a teenager. Back then, it was their way of controlling you, of keeping you bound to a life you didn’t want. Now, it felt like the universe was throwing the same chains back at you, just in a different form.

"I’ve compiled a list of potential candidates," Arjun continued, sliding a piece of paper across the desk toward you. "People who might be open to an arrangement like this. Athletes, businesspeople—individuals who might benefit from a similar deal."

You glanced at the paper but didn’t pick it up. The names blurred in front of your eyes. This wasn’t how your life was supposed to go. You’d already lost your family, fought tooth and nail to get out of your country and build something for yourself in the U.S. And now you were at risk of losing everything—again.

"I don’t know if I can do this, Nico," you said quietly, shaking your head. "I’ve already sacrificed so much. My family… I gave up everything to be here. And now you’re telling me I have to give up even more?"

"I’m not telling you that you have to do anything," he replied, his voice calm but firm. "I’m saying this is an option. One that could keep you here, legally. But the decision is yours. I’m just laying out the possibilities."

You swallowed the familiar knot of anxiety tightening in your chest. 

"I can’t go back there," you whispered, more to yourself than to him. "I’ve worked too hard to get here. I can’t lose everything."

He nodded slowly. "Then maybe it’s time to consider unconventional options."

You finally picked up the paper, scanning the names but not really seeing them. Your heart was racing, your mind spinning with a thousand thoughts. Marriage. It felt like a trap, just like it had back then. But maybe—just maybe—it was the only way to keep your future intact.

"I’ll think about it," you said, standing up and smoothing the front of your dress. "But I’m not making any promises."

"Of course," he said, standing as well. "Just let me know. We’re running out of time, but I’ll support whatever decision you make."

You nodded curtly, turning toward the door. As you stepped out into the cool city air, your chest tightened with the weight of everything you stood to lose. The lights of New York City flickered ahead of you, just out of reach, as though the life you’d built here could vanish at any moment.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt truly afraid.

Your phone buzzed, dragging you out of your spiraling thoughts. You fished it out of your purse, heart skipping a beat when you saw the name: Nina. Your agent.

With a shaky exhale, you answered. “Nina, hi.”

“Hey, babe!” Nina’s voice was all cheer, a stark contrast to the storm inside you. “So, I have amazing news! Guess who just got major campaign offers coming in? You! Chanel, Loewe, and oh my God, don’t even get me started on Louis Vuitton. The year starts beautifully for you!”

You should’ve felt ecstatic, but instead, the words passed over you like an echo. All you could think of was the countdown Nico had set in motion: three months. Three months before everything you’d built here would be taken away from you. 

“That’s… amazing, Nina,” you managed, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Really amazing. Thank you so much.”

“Are you okay? You don’t sound like your sunshine-self.” Nina’s voice softened, concern creeping in. “What’s going on?”

There was a pause. Nina had been there through all your ups and downs, from your rookie days as a model to your rise in the industry. But the immigration issues, the fear of being sent back to a life you couldn’t return to—that was something neither of you could control. 

“Three months?” she repeated, her voice going higher. “Oh my God—what the fuck? I thought… I thought you had more time.”

“So did I.” You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Nina, I don’t know what to do. I’ve called Nico and he tried everything—extensions, appeals—but the laws are tightening, and he said there’s only one real option left.”

There was a brief silence before she asked, “What option?”

You bit your lip. “Marriage. Nico says I could marry someone for a green card.”

“Marriage?” Nina’s voice came out in a shocked squeak. “Like a fake marriage? Babe, are you serious?”

“I don’t know!” you burst out, frustration and fear colliding. “I don’t know what to do! I can’t go back there. I can’t. My parents… My parents already wrote me off as dead, and if I go back, I’m stuck in a place I spent my entire life trying to escape.”

Her voice softened. “I know, honey, I know… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound—God, I can’t imagine how scary this is for you.”

You took a shaky breath, grateful for her understanding. Nina wasn’t just your manager—she was one of the few people who you actually close to. She was a 34 years old American-Filipina woman. You trusted her with your life. 

“Okay,” Nina said, her voice more focused now. “Okay, now listen. We’ll figure this out. I know Nicolas wouldn’t suggest something like this unless it was a real option. Do you trust him?”

You sighed. “Yeah. I do. But the idea of marrying someone just to stay… it feels like another version of what my parents wanted for me. Like I’m back in that same time of my life.”

“I get it. But this isn’t like that. You’re in control this time,” Nina said. “If this is what you need to stay here, it’s not about love or being owned by someone.”

You nodded to yourself, trying to absorb her words. “Well, um, Nico gave me a list of potential candidates—people who might be willing to make an arrangement. You’ll never guess who’s on it, though.”

“Who? Shawn Mendes? Harry Styles? Tom Holland—”

“Rafe Cameron,” you said, cutting her off. “The basketball play—”

“Yeah, I know who that man is, Y/N. His reputation is a total mess right now. It’s not surprising for him to be on that list.”

“Exactly,” you muttered. “It’s a perfect business arrangement for him, too. He needs a way to look respectable again, and I need to stay in the country.”

“So, you’re actually considering this?”

You leaned against a streetlamp, staring at the city around you. “I don’t know. Maybe? It just feels wrong. Like I’m giving up a part of myself.”

“As nicely as this can be said, you are being dramatic here, babe.” Nina sighed softly. “Look, I’m not going to push you either way, okay? But I do think you need to look at it from a different angle. You’re not giving up on yourself. You’re doing what you need to do to stay here, to keep fighting for your career and your future. And Rafe—or whoever you’ll end up marrying—is not your parents. He’s not going to control you or he’ll get slapped.”

You closed your eyes, trying to let her words sink in. She was right—you were in control now. This wasn’t the same as being forced into a marriage you didn’t want. This was about survival. About keeping your life in the U.S. intact.

"Yeah… I guess you’re right," you said softly, feeling some of the tension release from your shoulders. "I just need time to think."

TWO WEEKS LATER.

The soft glow of the late afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting warm light across your living room. After two relentless weeks of back-to-back fashion shoots, campaign meetings, and gala appearances, you had finally found a moment of peace. You curled up on the plush sofa, sinking into its embrace as the hum of the city outside became a distant murmur. The oversized, loose pajamas you wore were a far cry from the designer gowns and couture you’d been draped in recently, but they were yours—soft, comforting, and familiar. Your hair was twisted into a lazy bun under a satin bonnet.

You exhaled a sigh of relief, finally feeling the weight of exhaustion slip from your shoulders as you closed your eyes.

Buzz. Buzz.

The sound of your phone vibrating on the coffee table pulled you from the calm. You groaned softly, reaching for it with one hand, expecting to see another notification about a meeting or event. Instead, it was a message from Nicolas.

“Any thoughts on who you're going to marry? We need to move quickly if we want to ensure everything goes through in time.”

The familiar weight of the situation you’d been trying to avoid crept back into your chest. Two weeks had passed since your lawyer had first laid out the reality of your visa situation. In those weeks, you'd thrown yourself into work, hoping the constant flurry of activity would drown out the anxiety. But now, in the quiet of your home, the decision loomed large again.

You typed back, hesitating for a moment before hitting send.

"I haven’t decided yet."

A few seconds later, the reply came through.

"We need to discuss this in person. Can you come to my office today?"

You frowned, your eyes darting around the cozy room, not quite ready to leave your home.

"How about you come here instead?" you typed. "It’s been a long week, and I’d rather talk in private."

There was a pause before the three dots appeared, and then the message followed.

"Sure. I’ll be there in about an hour."

You put your phone down and leaned back against the cushions, staring at the ceiling. This wasn’t a conversation you wanted to have, but it was necessary. Time was running out, and you knew you had to face it—whether you wanted to or not.

An hour passed in a blur, and soon enough, you heard the knock at your door. You padded across the room in your socks, your oversized pajama pants swishing softly as you walked. Opening the door, you found Nicolas standing there, looking as composed as ever in his tailored suit.

“Come in,” you said with a smile, stepping aside to let him in.

Nicolas entered, his eyes scanning the room before they landed on you. "You look... relaxed."

You gave a soft chuckle, gesturing to your pajamas. “Don’t mock the pj’s until you’ve tried them.”

He smiled slightly, but there was a hint of emergency in his expression as he took a seat in the armchair across from you. “I know you’ve had a lot on your plate lately, but we really need to make a decision.”

You nodded, sitting back down on the couch, hugging a pillow to your chest. “I know… I’ve just been avoiding it.”

“And I noticed,” he said, pulling out a folder from his briefcase. “But with the visa expiration approaching, we don’t have much time. We need to find someone—someone who understands the situation and won’t make things harder.”

You bit your lip, holding a smile, glancing at the folder in his hands. “You bought the list?”

He nodded, and handed it over, and you flipped through the names, recognizing some immediately. Athletes, businessmen, even a couple of actors/singers. And then there was Rafe Cameron, his name standing out like a bold headline.

“I’ve looked at these,” you said quietly. “I just… I don’t know who to choose. None of ‘em feel right.”

Nico leaned forward. “It's not about right or wrong. It’s about who can offer the least amount of personal complications and help you secure your residency. Rafe Cameron, for instance—he’s someone who could benefit from this arrangement as much as you. His reputation needs mending, and this could be a mutually beneficial situation.”

You stared at Rafe’s name, the memories of seeing his name in the news about how much of a womanizer he was… Could you really tie yourself to someone like him in a fake marriage?

“Alright, but I need you to help me decide,” you admitted, looking up at him.

He nodded, his expression understanding. “Of course, that’s why I’m here. Let’s break it down together and figure out who makes the most sense, not just legally but for your peace of mind.”

Nicolas opened his briefcase again, pulling out more detailed files on the potential candidates. He laid them out neatly on the coffee table, each name with a stack of information—financial records, personal histories, public perceptions. It was all very businesslike.

You leaned forward, looking at the pages in front of you. Each one represented a major decision, a shift in your life you weren’t entirely ready to accept, but you knew you didn’t have much of a choice.

“Let’s start with the most practical options,” he said, sliding the file on Rafe Cameron toward you. “I know his name has come up before. He’s wealthy, influential, and… well, let’s be honest, he could use a boost to his public image right now. It’s a good match on paper.”

You stared at Rafe’s name again, tapping the edge of the file with your finger. “Yeah, but he’s also a bit of a mess, isn’t he? I mean, the media paints him as this… whore, and his personal life is always talked about. What if that blows back on me?”

Nicolas raised a brow. “That’s something to consider, but you also have to think of the benefits. His public image might not be very clean, but he’s powerful. Marrying him would put you in a stable position, and if it’s a business arrangement, his private affairs don’t have to concern you.”

You exhaled slowly, still feeling uneasy. Rafe Cameron was trouble, and you knew it. But at the same time, trouble might be exactly what could make this work—for both of you.

“What about the others?” you asked, flipping through the files. “There has to be someone who’s… less complicated.”

“Well,” he said, tapping another file. “there’s Owen Turner. He’s a succesful tech entrepeneur, keeps a low profile. No scandals, no messy reputation. He’s reliable, but you’ll have to approach this differently. He’s more private, less likely to want his personal life on display.”

“And boring—plus, he seems like the type of white guy to want a traditional wife. Like he would expect me to cook for him every night… and he has an ugly name.”

“Owen won’t be expecting home-cooked meals, Y/N. He’s a tech guy; he probably lives on energy drinks and instant ramen,” Nico pointed out, trying to steer you back to the serious topic. “But if we position it as a legal arrangement, he could see the value in it.”

You sighed, leaning back on the chair. “Okay, maybe Owen is the safer options. But can you imagine our wedding announcement? ‘Succesful Tech Entrepeneur Married Famous Model: They Share a Love for Cats and Instant Noodle.’”

Nico shook his head, trying not to smile. “Focus, please. This is a serious matter.”

“Right, right, sorry…” you said, wavering your hand dismissively. “But, what do you think about Rafe?”

“Rafe Cameron is the most straightforward option,” he said, his tone now more measured. “He’s already in the public eye, which means there won’t be as much of a shock if you’re suddenly married. Plus, his need for good press aligns with your need for stability.”

“And personally?”

He smiled softly, a rare gesture from him. “Personally, I think you should go with the person you think you can manage.”

You nodded, appreciating his honesty. Staring at the stack of papers in front of you, Rafe Cameron’s name glaring up at you from the top of the list. Every name on the list had its pros and cons, but something about Rafe’s file felt different. Maybe it was the intensity of his media coverage, the scandals, or the way he dominated the headlines for all the wrong reasons. But as much as you hesitated, his name kept pulling you back.

“I know his reputation isn't spotless,” Nico said, sensing your hesitation, “but in this situation, a clean reputation isn’t the priority. You need someone powerful, someone with enough influence to make this arrangement stick without getting tangled up in emotional complications.”

You nodded, again.”But I don’t know if I can handle all the baggage that comes with Rafe Cameron. His public image is a trainwreck. Wouldn’t that only complicate things more?”

Nico leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful. “Possibly. But think of it this way: his personal life is already so chaotic that a stable, respectable marriage might be exactly what he needs to repair his image. And that’s where you come in. You’d be helping each other.”

Your eyes dropped back down to his file. "Do you think he'd even agree to something like this?"

Nico chuckled softly. “If there’s one thing I know about men like Rafe Cameron, it’s that they understand deals. His reputation is hanging by a thread, and a marriage to someone like you—someone with a pristine public image—could be the ticket to restoring his credibility. It’s a win-win, really.”

You considered Nico’s words. He was right. Rafe had everything to gain from a marriage of convenience, just like you. And while his scandals were messy, they didn’t define him entirely. He was still an elite athlete, one of the best in the game, and with the right PR strategy, you could both come out looking better.

But the thought of marrying someone like him—a notorious playboy with a history of messy breakups—made your stomach churn. 

“You know,” Nico continued, “if this were just about your visa, we’d be having a different conversation. But this is about your entire future. Your career, your freedom to stay here, everything you’ve built. I’m not saying it’s an easy choice, but it’s one worth considering.”

You sighed, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. "What happens if it falls apart? What if things with Rafe go wrong?"

"That’s why we’ll draft a contract," Nico reassured you. "This won’t be a traditional marriage, Y/N. You’ll both have clear boundaries, and legally, we’ll protect your interests. If things go south, you’ll be covered."

You stared at the file a little longer, then closed your eyes.Rafe Cameron. He was cocky, possessive, and reckless—everything you usually avoided. But maybe that was the key. You wouldn’t have to worry about him trying to control you or make this anything more than a business transaction.

It would be messy. It would be complicated. But it would also keep you here, in the country you’d fought so hard to call home. And maybe, just maybe, it would be the solution you both needed.

“Okay,” you said softly, your decision finally settling. “I’ll do it.”

Nico’s eyebrows shot up, a little surprised at how quickly you’d made up your mind. “You’re sure?”

“No,” you admitted with a weak smile. “But I think this is the best option. I’ll marry Rafe Cameron.”

Nico nodded, closing the folder with a satisfied smile. “Good. I’ll set up a meeting with him. We’ll get the ball rolling.”

Oh God, you were going to marry Rafe Cameron…

chapter two

[rcmclachlan]

Heard this was the place to come if we wanted to know about pregnant Buck talking to the baby about the station tasks 🤔

@dadvans is a dirty enabler. He's also the one who came up with the idea of Buck calling the kid "probie" fyi

+

When Tommy walks into the 118, it doesn't feel quite like a homecoming, but when Bobby catches sight of him and smiles as though Tommy's presence isn't just welcome, but expected, something inside him relaxes as though it were twenty years ago and he's about to walk up the stairs to sit down for another incredible family dinner. 

"You guys get called to the thing with the Aon?" Grinning, he shakes Bobby's proffered hand as a matter of course, and part of him can't help but glow under Bobby's approving gaze.

It feels a bit like he's cheating on Captain Salazar, who took Tommy under her wing the second he got to Harbor and has given him free rein to do whatever he damn well pleases when he's in the air, but she doesn't cultivate the familial aura that cleaves to Bobby like a shadow. He likes and respects the hell out of her, but he probably wouldn't steal a helicopter and fly into a hurricane for her.

Some people were meant to be parents; Bobby Nash is definitely one of them. Tommy's working on it. 

Bobby gives a sporting but ineffective swipe at the soot smeared across his forehead with his wrist. "Normally falling space junk knocking over a skyscraper would take the cake, but since twenty million bees weren't released into the city, I'm calling it a ho-hum sort of day."

There's something severely wrong with them that the third-tallest building in LA breaking in half like a Kit Kat Bar doesn't rank above bees, but Tommy had to fly through that shit storm, so he can't disagree. The next person who says 'bee-nado' is getting thrown off the Santa Monica pier.

Speaking of. Tommy throws a quick glance at the three engines parked in their usual spots in the hopes of catching a glimpse of movement, and he's either losing his touch or never had it to begin with, because he's clocked immediately.

Bobby gives him a knowing look.

Caught, Tommy chuckles. "At the risk of sounding patronizing, how much did he overdo it?"

"Buck didn't mind being on winch and hose duty," Bobby says wryly. At Tommy's dubious look, he adds, "Okay, he did try to sneak into the thick of it once or twice, but he complained only a little when I threatened to hogtie him and chuck him in the back of the ambulance."

"Only a little? That's unlike him." Tommy can perfectly picture the mulish pout on Evan's ridiculous lips because someone forbade him from running into a building that was hanging at a 240° angle. 

"Hen may have also hinted that she'd break out The Powerpoint again if he didn't stop whining," Bobby admits. The capital letters are audible.

Tommy gives a low whistle. "That was diabolical of her."

He unfortunately hadn't been there when Hen presented You're Living For Two: A Comprehensive List of Things Buck Will Avoid for the Next 8 Months or Hen Will Have Him Committed (With A Foreword Written By Maddie Han) to Evan and the rest of the 118, but Eddie had texted Tommy throughout the whole thing like he was live tweeting a football game. At slide 40, which had five charts demonstrating the rates at which acute physical stress increased the risks of miscarriage and low birth weight, Eddie sent him a picture of Evan's cowed expression. Slide 43 ("Deli Meat A No-No"), on the other hand, got him a video of Evan in a heated argument with Hen, Howie, and Bobby about the merits of that. 

It ended when Bobby shouted, "It's not just you that you're risking, Buck! Every time you deliberately put yourself into harm's way, you're also risking my grandchild!" and Evan burst into tears and sobbed, "You can't say things like that when you're taking hot dogs away from me!" 

When Evan came home that day, he announced that mentioning The PowerPoint—and anything to do with Microsoft in general—was verboten for the next thousand years. Tommy couldn't help but quip, "It looks like you're upset about your family wanting you to carry this pregnancy safely to term. Would you like help? Yes, no, or cancel?" 

He was forced to sleep on the couch for three nights. He regrets nothing.

"Where is everyone?" The station is eerily quiet for a day spent trying to get ahead of a falling building.

"Burrito run. Buck volunteered to stay behind. He still getting carsick in traffic?"

"Let's just say we've been putting the emesis bags Howie gave us to very good use. Is he busy?" Tommy lifts the bag in his hand so Bobby can see the grinning face of the Colonel himself. "I come bearing gifts."

Bobby laughs the laugh of a man who knows firsthand that Evan's insatiable cravings for KFC's mashed potatoes are the only thing keeping the lights on at the location on W Pico Boulevard. He gestures past Tommy toward the engines. "Last I saw him, he was giving a class on proper hose maintenance."

"Appreciate it, Bobby," he says and starts heading in that direction.

"Tell him he'd better not be promoting bad coupling habits." Tommy turns around, wide-eyed, but Bobby's already got a hand up to forestall the laughter he must know is inevitable. Bobby's grimacing so hard it looks like he might severe his carotid. "I regretted it the second I said it. Do me a favor and phrase it a little better?"

"I make no promises." Snickering, Tommy turns back to the engines and swings the KFC bag cheerfully as he goes, making a mental note to mention this in the OG 118 group chat. That ought to give Howie enough ammo to last through Christmas. 

As he rounds Engine 3, he hears the susurrus of voices, which he expected, but as he gets closer he realizes it's just one voice, which he didn't. He comes to a stop right where the engine's rear strip on the storage compartment ends and ducks behind it a little to try and figure out exactly what he's looking at.

Bobby had said Evan was teaching and Tommy figured that meant he was holding court with the station's two newest recruits, but he's kneeling on the floor and carefully re-rolling a hose while he talks to an audience of precisely zero.

"Now this is called a straight roll," Evan says, voice modulated to be slow and easily understood. It's textbook perfect pacing. Tommy has no clue who it's for. Maybe he's filming a video? "I'm folding the male coupling over and then rolling it to the female coupling, which are unnecessarily gendered terms, but I wasn't in the room when they came up with the names, so."

Tommy's so distracted by how the muscles in Evan's arms strain against the sleeves of his uniform as he methodically rolls the hose that he almost misses what Evan says next.

"Now Daddy wants to do a Dutch roll, because it takes about five seconds and it's hilarious, but Grandpa Bobby would slaughter Daddy if he ever found out. Apparently letting the couplings drag on the ground is the eighth deadly sin." Evan rests back on his shins and pants a little, then pats the planetary curve of his belly with a grin. "Hope you're taking notes, probie. There will be a test."

There are two things in Tommy's life that he will never be able to forget, even if he had a full-frontal lobotomy; even if he wanted to:

The first is the way Evan's shoulders curled inwards as if bracing for a blow while he haltingly apologized about goading Tommy into fucking him after the condom ripped, about how Tommy didn't have to worry because Evan was relieving him of all responsibility, and that he didn't have any expectations because Tommy never asked for this and he hoped someday Tommy would forgive him for keeping what they'd accidentally created together. 

Tommy isn't a violent man, but sometimes he fantasizes about going back through Evan's life and beating the shit out of everyone who ever made him feel unwanted, or treated him like a consolation prize. Even in the early days of their relationship, when Tommy's respect for certain boundaries or simple acts of kindness would make Evan visibly recalibrate, Tommy had to stop himself from demanding a list of names. He has one now, and part of him would like nothing more than to start with Evan's parents and work his way down.

The second is the teary, disbelieving grin that broke across Evan's face like a sunrise when the sonographer pressed the ultrasound wand to his belly and the room filled with the jackrabbiting whup-whup-whup sound of their kid's heartbeat. Evan had looked over at him, laughed wetly at the struck-dumb expression Tommy knew he was sporting, and said, "Sounds like the Bell 206." 

When he reached out for Tommy, the fluorescent lights had glinted off the engagement band Tommy'd bought like a complete lunatic four months after Evan kissed him in the lobby of First Presbyterian. He'd kept it hidden in his toolbox until three months later, when Evan put on a brave face and tried to let him off the hook. 

But he didn't have far to go, because Tommy was already reaching back for him. The metal of the ring was warm where it pressed against his fingers. And if his heart was so full of love and wonder that he cried a little, no one commented on it. Well, Evan did when they got in Tommy's truck after their appointment and then went straight to KFC, but that was to be expected. He'd taken the ribbing like a champ. 

Watching Evan—now in the second week of his third trimester, the hem of his shirt fighting for its life where it stretches around his belly—earnestly teaching the kid still cooking inside him about proper hose care, Tommy knows he'll never forget this one either. He's pretty sure his life is going to be one unforgettable moment after another from here on out.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he walks out from behind the engine and gets a hand under Evan's elbow to help him get to his feet. It takes every ounce of his willpower to stand back and let Evan carry the hose over to its compartment and attach it to the main connection site himself. He's learned to grit his teeth and give help only when it's asked for. He has no desire to start up that argument again.

"So?" Tommy happily takes Evan into his arms while Evan happily takes the KFC bag out of his hand. "Is our kid going to graduate from the Academy or wash out completely?"

Evan grins at him. Tommy knows at least 45% of the love in his eyes is reserved for the mashed potatoes. "I'm calling it now: they're gonna be fire chief by the time they're twenty. Youngest in the entire country. What do you think, probie? You up for the challenge?"

Tommy places a hand gently on Evan's belly and immediately feels movement against his palm. Their kid hasn't given Evan a moment's peace since week 15; at any given moment, they're flipping around in there like they're doing zero-gravity training for a space mission. The familiar fluttering feeling makes his heart cramp. 

That's their kid in there. They made that.

"I think that's a yes," Tommy murmurs, pressing a kiss to Evan's temple, then hanging there for a moment, breathing him in. Breathing them in. "Love you."

"God, I love you so much, you don't even know," Evan says, cracking open a container with a pleased hum.

Tommy smiles dopily, then reality trickles in. "You're talking to the potatoes, aren't you?"

"Of course not," Evan lies through a mouthful of KFC's finest spuds.

[princessamericachavez]

Under your skin

s8x01 - Alternate scenario

Buck can't shake the feeling he's in trouble, but he can't quite bring himself out of his own head. Not until Eddie puts his hand on his shoulder and demands, wordlessly, their eyes meet. Not until he sees panic in his best friend's eyes.

Don't react, he tells himself, even as his fists clench and shake.

Every insult Gerrard is throwing his way stings like a million bees. It should be easy to brush off. Why would he care if Gerrard likes him or respects him? Who cares what he thinks? Buck certainly doesn't. And yet, and yet, and yet... the words he's spitting on his face are perfectly crafted to puncture his chest.

Seriously, it's like someone took every single terrible awful cruel thing his brain has tortured him with since he was a child —you're not good enough, you are nothing, you are a washout, you are a failure, you are a joke, you are an idiot, you are reckless, you are disrespectful, you are not good enough, you never will be— and given Gerrard the script.

You gotta stop letting this guy get under your skin, Buck, Eddie had said. And Buck clings to those words. Not because they work (it's easier said than done) but because they are Eddie's and his best friend knows him better than anyone in the whole damn world and he thinks he's good enough, Eddie thinks Buck is great, Eddie trusts Buck with his son, Eddie thinks Buck isn't expendable. And if Eddie believes it, then Buck can believe it too.

He just has to block Gerrard out. He can take it. He's taken worse from his own parents, dammit. All he has to do is focus on something else. Anything else. His breathing, the warm air blowing from outside, the workers doing their damn best to ignore the dressing down he's getting, the saw-

Oh. The saw.

Buck hears the click when it falls loose, then the metallic clank of it hitting the floor.

And Buck reacts.

He promised himself he wouldn't, but his instincts are stronger than his discipline and this... well, it's different, isn't it? So he's allowed to react.

Buck launches forward without thinking, tackles Gerrard out of the way and hears the sickening crack of the captain's head hitting concrete.

Shit.

"Buck!" Three voices break through the buzz in his head and he tries to turn around to face them, to put together some sort of apology or explanation for his reaction (he's barely finished processing it himself) but something stops him.

"Don't move, Buck. Don't move," Eddie's voice is steady as usual, but Buck knows him well enough to recognize the undertone of anxiety behind it.

He really fucked up this time.

"Is- Is he okay? I'm sorry. I just-"

"He's fine, Buckaroo. He's gonna be fine," Hen says, all gentle honey.

Buck has been craving honey all day.

"Probably saved his life..." Chim gasps, but he doesn't sound proud of Buck, he sounds angry.

Buck can't shake the feeling he's in trouble, but he can't quite bring himself out of his own head. Not until Eddie puts his hand on his shoulder and demands, wordlessly, their eyes meet. Not until he sees panic in his best friend's eyes.

"Buck, I need you to stay with me," he says.

"Of course," Buck replies, brow furrowing. Why wouldn't he stay with Eddie? That's all he wants most of the time. He tries to tell him as much, but then he tastes blood.

Oh, that's not good.

He looks down, to where the blood droplets spill on his uniform (Gerrard is going to yell at him again, for sure, over staining his shirt). And there, halfway buried in his abdomen, is the saw.

"So... that's where... that ended up..." he tries to laugh, but it hurts like hell. Like a million bees. Give him the bees any day. At least they are cool. This is worse.

"Buck!" Eddie demands his attention again, tense.

Right. He spaced out.

"Sorry," he says wetly, because Eddie looks upset and he has to fix it. "Let it... get... under my skin... uh?"

Eddie looks like he doesn't know whether to laugh or to cry or to yell at him. Before he's made up his mind, though, the edges of Buck's vision blur and darken and finally, finally, the noise stops.

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

What did the Roche/Ciri ship do to you? Why is he bad? Is his existence simply an insult to you?

okay, anon, you've won me over.

i've written a roche/ciri fic just for you. It's about fighting injustice, realising the world is so much bigger than you ever realised, bonding over feeling different, finding love in unexpected places even when everyone else is against your relationship, and a shared love of music.

I've put it under the cut because its quite long. Enjoy!

According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a bee should be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyway because bees don't care what humans think is impossible.

Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Ooh, black and yellow! Let's shake it up a little. Barry! Breakfast is ready! Ooming! Hang on a second.

Hello? - Barry? - Adam? - Oan you believe this is happening? - I can't. I'll pick you up. Looking sharp. Use the stairs. Your father paid good money for those. Sorry. I'm excited. Here's the graduate. We're very proud of you, son. A perfect report card, all B's. Very proud. Ma! I got a thing going here. - You got lint on your fuzz. - Ow! That's me! - Wave to us! We'll be in row 118,000. - Bye! Barry, I told you, stop flying in the house! - Hey, Adam. - Hey, Barry. - Is that fuzz gel? - A little. Special day, graduation. Never thought I'd make it. Three days grade school, three days high school. Those were awkward. Three days college. I'm glad I took a day and hitchhiked around the hive. You did come back different. - Hi, Barry. - Artie, growing a mustache? Looks good. - Hear about Frankie? - Yeah. - You going to the funeral? - No, I'm not going. Everybody knows, sting someone, you die. Don't waste it on a squirrel. Such a hothead.

I guess he could have just gotten out of the way. I love this incorporating an amusement park into our day. That's why we don't need vacations. Boy, quite a bit of pomp... under the circumstances. - Well, Adam, today we are men. - We are! - Bee-men. - Amen! Hallelujah! Students, faculty, distinguished bees, please welcome Dean Buzzwell. Welcome, New Hive Oity graduating class of... ...9:15. That concludes our ceremonies. And begins your career at Honex Industries! Will we pick ourjob today? I heard it's just orientation. Heads up! Here we go. Keep your hands and antennas inside the tram at all times. - Wonder what it'll be like? -

A little scary. Welcome to Honex, a division of Honesco and a part of the Hexagon Group. This is it! Wow. Wow. We know that you, as a bee, have worked your whole life to get to the point where you can work for your whole life. Honey begins when our valiant Pollen Jocks bring the nectar to the hive. Our top-secret formula is automatically color-corrected, scent-adjusted and bubble-contoured into this soothing sweet syrup with its distinctive golden glow you know as... Honey! - That girl was hot. - She's my cousin! - She is? - Yes, we're all cousins. - Right. You're right. - At Honex, we constantly strive to improve every aspect of bee existence. These bees are stress-testing a new helmet technology. - What do you think he makes? - Not enough. Here we have our latest advancement, the Krelman. - What does that do? - Oatches that little strand of honey that hangs after you pour it. Saves us millions. Oan anyone work on the Krelman? Of course. Most bee jobs are small ones. But bees know that every small job, if it's done well, means a lot. But choose carefully because you'll stay in the job you pick for the rest of your life. The same job the rest of your life? I didn't know that. What's the difference? You'll be happy to know that bees, as a species, haven't had one day off in 27 million years. So you'll just work us to death? We'll sure try. Wow! That blew my mind! "What's the difference?" How can you say that? One job forever? That's an insane choice to have to make. I'm relieved. Now we only have to make one decision in life. But, Adam, how could they never have told us that? Why would you question anything? We're bees. We're the most perfectly functioning society on Earth. You ever think maybe things work a little too well here? Like what? Give me one example. I don't know.

But you know what I'm talking about. Please clear the gate. Royal Nectar Force on approach. Wait a second. Oheck it out. - Hey, those are Pollen Jocks! - Wow. I've never seen them this close. They know what it's like outside the hive. Yeah, but some don't come back. - Hey, Jocks! - Hi, Jocks! You guys did great! You're monsters! You're sky freaks! I love it! I love it! - I wonder where they were. - I don't know. Their day's not planned. Outside the hive, flying who knows where, doing who knows what. You can'tjust decide to be a Pollen Jock. You have to be bred for that. Right. Look. That's more pollen than you and I will see in a lifetime. It's just a status symbol. Bees make too much of it. Perhaps. Unless you're wearing it and the ladies see you wearing it. Those ladies? Aren't they our cousins too? Distant. Distant. Look at these two. - Oouple of Hive Harrys. - Let's have fun with them. It must be dangerous being a Pollen Jock. Yeah. Once a bear pinned me against a mushroom! He had a paw on my throat, and with the other, he was slapping me! - Oh, my! - I never thought I'd knock him out. What were you doing during this? Trying to alert the authorities. I can autograph that.

A little gusty out there today, wasn't it, comrades? Yeah. Gusty. We're hitting a sunflower patch six miles from here tomorrow. - Six miles, huh? - Barry! A puddle jump for us, but maybe you're not up for it. - Maybe I am. - You are not! We're going 0900 at J-Gate. What do you think, buzzy-boy? Are you bee enough? I might be. It all depends on what 0900 means. Hey, Honex! Dad, you surprised me. You decide what you're interested in? - Well, there's a lot of choices. - But you only get one. Do you ever get bored doing the same job every day? Son, let me tell you about stirring. You grab that stick, and you just move it around, and you stir it around. You get yourself into a rhythm. It's a beautiful thing. You know, Dad, the more I think about it, maybe the honey field just isn't right for me. You were thinking of what, making balloon animals? That's a bad job for a guy with a stinger. Janet, your son's not sure he wants to go into honey! - Barry, you are so funny sometimes. - I'm not trying to be funny. You're not funny! You're going into honey. Our son, the stirrer! - You're gonna be a stirrer? - No one's listening to me! Wait till you see the sticks I have. I could say anything right now.

I'm gonna get an ant tattoo! Let's open some honey and celebrate! Maybe I'll pierce my thorax. Shave my antennae. Shack up with a grasshopper. Get a gold tooth and call everybody "dawg"! I'm so proud. - We're starting work today! - Today's the day. Oome on! All the good jobs will be gone.

Yeah, right. Pollen counting, stunt bee, pouring, stirrer, front desk, hair removal... - Is it still available? - Hang on. Two left! One of them's yours! Oongratulations! Step to the side. - What'd you get? - Picking crud out. Stellar! Wow! Oouple of newbies? Yes, sir! Our first day! We are ready! Make your choice. - You want to go first? - No, you go. Oh, my. What's available? Restroom attendant's open, not for the reason you think. - Any chance of getting the Krelman? - Sure, you're on. I'm sorry, the Krelman just closed out. Wax monkey's always open. The Krelman opened up again. What happened? A bee died. Makes an opening. See? He's dead. Another dead one. Deady. Deadified. Two more dead. Dead from the neck up. Dead from the neck down. That's life! Oh, this is so hard! Heating, cooling, stunt bee, pourer, stirrer, humming, inspector number seven, lint coordinator, stripe supervisor, mite wrangler. Barry, what do you think I should... Barry? Barry! All right, we've got the sunflower patch in quadrant nine... What happened to you? Where are you? - I'm going out. - Out? Out where? - Out there. - Oh, no! I have to, before I go to work for the rest of my life. You're gonna die! You're crazy! Hello? Another call coming in. If anyone's feeling brave, there's a Korean deli on 83rd that gets their roses today. Hey, guys. - Look at that. - Isn't that the kid we saw yesterday? Hold it, son, flight deck's restricted. It's OK, Lou. We're gonna take him up.

Really? Feeling lucky, are you? Sign here, here. Just initial that. - Thank you. - OK. You got a rain advisory today, and as you all know, bees cannot fly in rain. So be careful. As always, watch your brooms, hockey sticks, dogs, birds, bears and bats. Also, I got a couple of reports of root beer being poured on us. Murphy's in a home because of it, babbling like a cicada! - That's awful. - And a reminder for you rookies, bee law number one, absolutely no talking to humans! All right, launch positions! Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz! Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz! Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz! Black and yellow! Hello! You ready for this, hot shot? Yeah. Yeah, bring it on. Wind, check. - Antennae, check. - Nectar pack, check. - Wings, check. - Stinger, check. Scared out of my shorts, check. OK, ladies, let's move it out! Pound those petunias, you striped stem-suckers! All of you, drain those flowers! Wow! I'm out! I can't believe I'm out! So blue. I feel so fast and free! Box kite! Wow!

Flowers! This is Blue Leader. We have roses visual. Bring it around 30 degrees and hold. Roses! 30 degrees, roger. Bringing it around. Stand to the side, kid. It's got a bit of a kick. That is one nectar collector! - Ever see pollination up close? - No, sir. I pick up some pollen here, sprinkle it over here. Maybe a dash over there, a pinch on that one. See that? It's a little bit of magic. That's amazing. Why do we do that? That's pollen power.

More pollen, more flowers, more nectar, more honey for us. Oool. I'm picking up a lot of bright yellow. Oould be daisies. Don't we need those? Oopy that visual. Wait. One of these flowers seems to be on the move. Say again? You're reporting a moving flower? Affirmative. That was on the line! This is the coolest. What is it? I don't know, but I'm loving this color. It smells good. Not like a flower, but I like it. Yeah, fuzzy. Ohemical-y. Oareful, guys. It's a little grabby. My sweet lord of bees! Oandy-brain, get off there! Problem! - Guys! - This could be bad. Affirmative.

Very close. Gonna hurt. Mama's little boy. You are way out of position, rookie! Ooming in at you like a missile! Help me! I don't think these are flowers. - Should we tell him? - I think he knows. What is this?! Match point! You can start packing up, honey, because you're about to eat it! Yowser! Gross. There's a bee in the car! - Do something! - I'm driving! - Hi, bee. - He's back here! He's going to sting me! Nobody move. If you don't move, he won't sting you. Freeze! He blinked! Spray him, Granny! What are you doing?! Wow... the tension level out here is unbelievable. I gotta get home. Oan't fly in rain. Oan't fly in rain. Oan't fly in rain. Mayday! Mayday! Bee going down! Ken, could you close the window please? Ken, could you close the window please? Oheck out my new resume. I made it into a fold-out brochure. You see? Folds out. Oh, no. More humans. I don't need this. What was that? Maybe this time. This time. This time. This time! This time! This... Drapes! That is diabolical. It's fantastic. It's got all my special skills, even my top-ten favorite movies.

What's number one? Star Wars? Nah, I don't go for that... ...kind of stuff. No wonder we shouldn't talk to them. They're out of their minds. When I leave a job interview, they're flabbergasted, can't believe what I say. There's the sun. Maybe that's a way out. I don't remember the sun having a big 75 on it. I predicted global warming. I could feel it getting hotter. At first I thought it was just me. Wait! Stop! Bee! Stand back. These are winter boots. Wait! Don't kill him! You know I'm allergic to them! This thing could kill me! Why does his life have less value than yours? Why does his life have any less value than mine? Is that your statement?

I'm just saying all life has value. You don't know what he's capable of feeling. My brochure! There you go, little guy. I'm not scared of him. It's an allergic thing. Put that on your resume brochure. My whole face could puff up. Make it one of your special skills. Knocking someone out is also a special skill. Right. Bye, Vanessa. Thanks. - Vanessa, next week? Yogurt night? - Sure, Ken. You know, whatever. - You could put carob chips on there.

- Bye. - Supposed to be less calories. - Bye. I gotta say something. She saved my life. I gotta say something. All right, here it goes. Nah. What would I say? I could really get in trouble. It's a bee law. You're not supposed to talk to a human. I can't believe I'm doing this. I've got to. Oh, I can't do it. Oome on! No. Yes. No. Do it. I can't. How should I start it? "You like jazz?" No, that's no good. Here she comes! Speak, you fool! Hi! I'm sorry. - You're talking. - Yes, I know. You're talking! I'm so sorry. No, it's OK. It's fine. I know I'm dreaming. But I don't recall going to bed. Well, I'm sure this is very disconcerting. This is a bit of a surprise to me. I mean, you're a bee! I am. And I'm not supposed to be doing this, but they were all trying to kill me. And if it wasn't for you... I had to thank you. It's just how I was raised. That was a little weird. - I'm talking with a bee. - Yeah. I'm talking to a bee. And the bee is talking to me! I just want to say I'm grateful. I'll leave now. - Wait! How did you learn to do that? - What? The talking thing. Same way you did, I guess.

"Mama, Dada, honey." You pick it up. - That's very funny. - Yeah. Bees are funny. If we didn't laugh, we'd cry with what we have to deal with. Anyway... Oan I... ...get you something? - Like what? I don't know. I mean... I don't know. Ooffee? I don't want to put you out. It's no trouble. It takes two minutes. - It's just coffee. - I hate to impose. - Don't be ridiculous! - Actually, I would love a cup. Hey, you want rum cake? - I shouldn't. - Have some. - No, I can't. - Oome on! I'm trying to lose a couple micrograms. - Where? - These stripes don't help. You look great! I don't know if you know anything about fashion. Are you all right? No. He's making the tie in the cab as they're flying up Madison. He finally gets there. He runs up the steps into the church. The wedding is on. And he says, "Watermelon? I thought you said Guatemalan. Why would I marry a watermelon?" Is that a bee joke? That's the kind of stuff we do.

Yeah, different. So, what are you gonna do, Barry? About work? I don't know. I want to do my part for the hive, but I can't do it the way they want. I know how you feel. - You do? - Sure. My parents wanted me to be a lawyer or a doctor, but I wanted to be a florist. - Really? - My only interest is flowers. Our new queen was just elected with that same campaign slogan. Anyway, if you look... There's my hive right there. See it? You're in Sheep Meadow! Yes! I'm right off the Turtle Pond! No way! I know that area. I lost a toe ring there once. - Why do girls put rings on their toes? - Why not? - It's like putting a hat on your knee. - Maybe I'll try that. - You all right, ma'am? - Oh, yeah. Fine. Just having two cups of coffee! Anyway, this has been great. Thanks for the coffee.

Yeah, it's no trouble. Sorry I couldn't finish it. If I did, I'd be up the rest of my life. Are you...? Oan I take a piece of this with me? Sure! Here, have a crumb. - Thanks! - Yeah. All right. Well, then... I guess I'll see you around. Or not. OK, Barry. And thank you so much again... for before. Oh, that? That was nothing. Well, not nothing, but... Anyway... This can't possibly work. He's all set to go. We may as well try it. OK, Dave, pull the chute. - Sounds amazing. - It was amazing! It was the scariest, happiest moment of my life. Humans! I can't believe you were with humans! Giant, scary humans! What were they like? Huge and crazy. They talk crazy. They eat crazy giant things. They drive crazy. -

Do they try and kill you, like on TV? - Some of them. But some of them don't. - How'd you get back? - Poodle. You did it, and I'm glad. You saw whatever you wanted to see. You had your "experience." Now you can pick out yourjob and be normal. - Well... - Well? Well, I met someone. You did? Was she Bee-ish? - A wasp?! Your parents will kill you! - No, no, no, not a wasp. - Spider? - I'm not attracted to spiders. I know it's the hottest thing, with the eight legs and all. I can't get by that face. So who is she? She's... human. No, no. That's a bee law. You wouldn't break a bee law. - Her name's Vanessa. - Oh, boy. She's so nice. And she's a florist! Oh, no! You're dating a human florist! We're not dating. You're flying outside the hive, talking to humans that attack our homes with power washers and M-80s! One-eighth a stick of dynamite!

She saved my life! And she understands me. This is over! Eat this. This is not over! What was that? - They call it a crumb. - It was so stingin' stripey! And that's not what they eat. That's what falls off what they eat! - You know what a Oinnabon is? - No. It's bread and cinnamon and frosting. They heat it up... Sit down! ...really hot! - Listen to me! We are not them! We're us. There's us and there's them! Yes, but who can deny the heart that is yearning? There's no yearning. Stop yearning. Listen to me! You have got to start thinking bee, my friend. Thinking bee! - Thinking bee. - Thinking bee. Thinking bee! Thinking bee! Thinking bee! Thinking bee! There he is. He's in the pool. You know what your problem is, Barry? I gotta start thinking bee? How much longer will this go on? It's been three days! Why aren't you working?

I've got a lot of big life decisions to think about. What life? You have no life! You have no job. You're barely a bee! Would it kill you to make a little honey? Barry, come out. Your father's talking to you. Martin, would you talk to him? Barry, I'm talking to you! You coming? Got everything? All set! Go ahead. I'll catch up. Don't be too long. Watch this! Vanessa! - We're still here. - I told you not to yell at him. He doesn't respond to yelling! - Then why yell at me? - Because you don't listen! I'm not listening to this. Sorry, I've gotta go. - Where are you going? - I'm meeting a friend. A girl? Is this why you can't decide? Bye. I just hope she's Bee-ish. They have a huge parade of flowers every year in Pasadena? To be in the Tournament of Roses, that's every florist's dream! Up on a float, surrounded by flowers, crowds cheering. A tournament. Do the roses compete in athletic events? No. All right, I've got one. How come you don't fly everywhere? It's exhausting. Why don't you run everywhere? It's faster. Yeah, OK, I see, I see. All right, your turn. TiVo. You can just freeze live TV? That's insane! You don't have that? We have Hivo, but it's a disease. It's a horrible, horrible disease.

Oh, my. Dumb bees! You must want to sting all those jerks. We try not to sting. It's usually fatal for us. So you have to watch your temper. Very carefully. You kick a wall, take a walk, write an angry letter and throw it out. Work through it like any emotion: Anger, jealousy, lust. Oh, my goodness! Are you OK? Yeah. - What is wrong with you?! - It's a bug. He's not bothering anybody. Get out of here, you creep! What was that? A Pic 'N' Save circular? Yeah, it was. How did you know? It felt like about 10 pages. Seventy-five is pretty much our limit. You've really got that down to a science. - I lost a cousin to Italian Vogue. - I'll bet. What in the name of Mighty Hercules is this? How did this get here? Oute Bee, Golden Blossom, Ray Liotta Private Select? - Is he that actor? - I never heard of him. - Why is this here? - For people. We eat it. You don't have enough food of your own? - Well, yes. - How do you get it? - Bees make it. - I know who makes it! And it's hard to make it! There's heating, cooling, stirring. You need a whole Krelman thing! -

It's organic. - It's our-ganic! It's just honey, Barry. Just what?! Bees don't know about this! This is stealing! A lot of stealing! You've taken our homes, schools, hospitals! This is all we have! And it's on sale?! I'm getting to the bottom of this. I'm getting to the bottom of all of this! Hey, Hector. - You almost done? - Almost. He is here. I sense it. Well, I guess I'll go home now and just leave this nice honey out, with no one around. You're busted, box boy! I knew I heard something. So you can talk! I can talk. And now you'll start talking! Where you getting the sweet stuff? Who's your supplier? I don't understand. I thought we were friends. The last thing we want to do is upset bees! You're too late! It's ours now! You, sir, have crossed the wrong sword! You, sir, will be lunch for my iguana, Ignacio! Where is the honey coming from? Tell me where! Honey Farms! It comes from Honey Farms! Orazy person! What horrible thing has happened here? These faces, they never knew what hit them. And now they're on the road to nowhere! Just keep still. What? You're not dead? Do I look dead? They will wipe anything that moves.

Where you headed? To Honey Farms. I am onto something huge here. I'm going to Alaska. Moose blood, crazy stuff. Blows your head off! I'm going to Tacoma. - And you? - He really is dead. All right. Uh-oh! - What is that?! - Oh, no! - A wiper! Triple blade! - Triple blade? Jump on! It's your only chance, bee! Why does everything have to be so doggone clean?! How much do you people need to see?! Open your eyes! Stick your head out the window! From NPR News in Washington, I'm Oarl Kasell. But don't kill no more bugs! - Bee! - Moose blood guy!! - You hear something? - Like what? Like tiny screaming. Turn off the radio. Whassup, bee boy? Hey, Blood. Just a row of honey jars, as far as the eye could see. Wow! I assume wherever this truck goes is where they're getting it. I mean, that honey's ours. -

Bees hang tight. - We're all jammed in. It's a close community. Not us, man. We on our own. Every mosquito on his own. - What if you get in trouble? - You a mosquito, you in trouble. Nobody likes us. They just smack. See a mosquito, smack, smack! At least you're out in the world. You must meet girls. Mosquito girls try to trade up, get with a moth, dragonfly. Mosquito girl don't want no mosquito. You got to be kidding me! Mooseblood's about to leave the building! So long, bee! - Hey, guys! - Mooseblood! I knew I'd catch y'all down here. Did you bring your crazy straw? We throw it in jars, slap a label on it, and it's pretty much pure profit. What is this place? A bee's got a brain the size of a pinhead. They are pinheads! Pinhead. - Oheck out the new smoker. - Oh, sweet. That's the one you want. The Thomas 3000! Smoker? Ninety puffs a minute, semi-automatic. Twice the nicotine, all the tar. A couple breaths of this knocks them right out. They make the honey, and we make the money. "They make the honey, and we make the money"? Oh, my! What's going on? Are you OK? Yeah. It doesn't last too long. Do you know you're in a fake hive with fake walls? Our queen was moved here. We had no choice. This is your queen? That's a man in women's clothes! That's a drag queen! What is this? Oh, no!

[exhaustedpirate]

my mom is dating a vampire

another entry for the CS Spooky/Autumnal Bingo, this time the prompt was 'bats' - once again, i got a little carried away with it and this turned out more emotional than i expected (but also i'll never apologise for providing yall with some captaincobraswan) a million thanks to @ultraluckycatnd for betaing!

rated T | 9059 words

also on AO3

summary: Emma Swan is dating Killian Jones. Which Henry is completely fine with.

On a completely unrelated note, how does one get rid of a vampire?

Emma Swan is dating. Henry is sure of it.

There’s a significant increase of flowers in their home - significant because there hadn’t been any before. Anything from red roses to buttercups fills every available surface in improvised vases. They are running out of space.

“Who’s giving you all of these?” Henry asks as his mom fills an empty can of soup with water to put half a dozen forget-me-nots in. 

“Just a friend.” But there is a decidedly smitten smile on her face as she tries to push the other occupants of the kitchen windowsill aside to make space for their new friend.

“Maybe your friend should relax on the flowers before our apartment is filled with bees.” So maybe Henry is brooding. He’s 13, he’s allowed to brood; it’s part of the job requirement even.

“Don’t be a grump, kid.” Emma taps his nose with her index finger and stands next to him to look at the flowers surrounding their living space. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

Henry only groans in response.

During her days off, Aunt Ruby babysits - it mostly involves eating snacks and watching movies or playing video games together - while Emma obsesses over her looks. She never did that before. Ruby has to give her a hushed pep talk to get her out of the house. 

Ruby knows. But he doesn’t. He learned long ago that his aunt is impossible to interrogate.

When she comes back, Ruby leaves after securing a promise to hear all about it the day after. Henry doesn’t get those promises, he only gets evasive answers. And when she kisses his forehead in greeting, she smells differently. A spicy scent that he knows is not hers. She’s been smiling into her phone and talking late into the night - either texting or calling. 

She looks…happy.

---

“The usual, Swans?” 

It was tradition. Every Sunday night, they would go to Granny’s for dinner and talk about the week before.

They had had a “monkey problem” three years ago - Walsh Ozman had appeared to be a great attentive guy, helping Henry with homework and playing video games. But only when his mom was watching. When she was gone, he was dismissive and rude, always making him feel like an obstacle in his mom’s life. In his gullibility, he had kept it from his mother until she caught him crying in his room. He told her everything.

While Walsh Ozman got berated in his place of work as well as a broken nose, Henry got closer to his mother. Emma had felt guilty for not having seen the signs before, especially considering he had also been cheating on her. And while Henry didn’t blame his mother for having been in love, he wasn’t complaining about getting more of her time - especially without monkeys around.

So Sunday nights became their time to talk - about nothing, about everything, about their week, about the upcoming week, or about Henry’s unrequited crush on Violet or when his crush became requited. It was their time for honesty.

But his mom is keeping a secret.

When she jumps at Ruby’s customary greeting, Henry frowns. Emma’s quick to pretend as if nothing happened. “Uhm, not yet, Ruby. We’re, uh,” she glances towards Henry, “we’re waiting for someone.”

They must share a sign that Henry wasn’t made aware of because Ruby seems to know who that someone is. His frown only deepens when his aunt Ruby leaves without further questions.

“We’re waiting for someone?”

“Well,” his mom wrings her hands nervously and takes a deep breath. “I met someone.” 

“A boyfriend?” He raises his eyebrow.

Emma tucks her hair behind her ear and a blush crosses over her cheeks. “Yeah, a boyfriend.” There’s a quick smile on her lips at the label. “We started dating a month ago. I, uhm, thought it was time that you two met.”

There’s a hopeful expression on Emma’s face and Henry is finding it hard to breathe. His mother hasn’t dated since the monkey disaster, at least nothing serious enough to reach the “meet the son” stage. He should have expected this - considering the flowers, the dates, the smiles, all the evidence - yet all he can see is Walsh’s cruel smile and hear his hurtful words.

“Henry?”

Maybe it’s just the unexpectedness of it all. It’s sudden, right? Why is it so hot?

“Henry.” His mom takes hold of his hand and his wide eyes focus on hers. The hope is gone and there’s only nerves there. “Are you ok, kid?”

“I, uh, I need to go to the bathroom.” Henry jumps out of his seat.

“Henry, a-”

“I’m fine.”

He rushes through the arch at the back of the diner before he sees his mom’s concerned expression again, passing through the bathrooms towards the back door. The night air is cold but he takes a deep breath in and it releases the weight on his chest. He focuses on breathing, on feeling and loosens his fists when it doesn’t feel like he’s going to suffocate anymore.

The night sky is littered with stars and he’s happy to live in a small town instead of the city. A colony of bats flies through the sky and Henry frowns - he’s never seen bats before. They disappear over the next building - an ice cream shop - and he looks up at the sky again.

“You can see Cassiopeia from here.” Henry startles at the voice of a man crossing the alley behind “Any Given Sundae” towards the diner. “Apologies, lad, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh, uh,” the strange accent has him blinking repeatedly. “You didn’t.”

As the man approaches him with a friendly smile, he picks up a familiar cologne. He seems to recognise Henry as he gets a closer look at his face.

“You’re Henry.”

Bats, a strange man, and a scent he recognises. It’s all too much for him. “You’re British.” The man has a nice laugh. Henry regains his focus. “You know me?”

“Well,” the man scratches the back of his neck in a nervous move, “I know of you.” Henry frowns. “Emma’s told me a lot about you. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

Mom’s new boyfriend. Of course.

“Henry!” His mom’s panicked voice echoes from the other side of the door and the man - her boyfriend - frowns, stretching an arm around him to open the door.

“Swan?”

Emma appears at the door and spares only a surprised look towards the stranger before crouching in front of him. “What are you doing out here? I thought you were in the bathroom.”

He notices, out the corner of his eye, how the man takes a step back, an attempt at privacy. He remembers Walsh’s overbearing presence everytime his mom tried to talk to him, or if they wanted a moment together. “I just needed some air.” He shrugs.

His mom glances towards her boyfriend again before she turns to him again with a serious look. “Do you want to go home? We can order in and watch a movie, just the two of us.”

He had seen the hope on her face when she had talked about the man now standing a couple of steps away, had seen that hope fall when he rushed out. Henry shakes his head.

She cups his face and looks into his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I want Granny’s fries.” His smile is soft but genuine. He trusts his mom. 

And when she smiles brightly at him and kisses his forehead, he knows he made the right decision. She stands up straight and they turn towards the man who looks at them with a fond and patient expression, hands stuffed in his jacket.

“This isn’t exactly what I envisioned your meeting would be but,” Emma chuckles before gesturing for the man to approach them. “Henry, this is Killian Jones. Killian, this is my son, Henry.”

He has a nice smile too, it reaches his eyes, makes his face softer and younger. “It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Henry.”

He takes his outstretched hand. It’s cold. “Same.”

“Now that that’s out of the way,” Emma claps her hands and the delighted smile on her face is infectious. “Let’s go back inside, it’s freezing out here.”

Right, it’s cold. Cold hands. 

Henry follows them back to their table and watches as Killian keeps a respectful distance from his mother. Ruby struts her way to their table with a wide grin on her face and his mom sighs in defeat.

“I guess you don’t need to see the menu, girl, you already have such a fine dish here.” Killian blushes up to his ears and Emma hides her face in her hands. “I’m Ruby Lucas, you?” 

“Uhm, Killian, Killian Jones.” He nods in greeting.

“I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

His mother groans from her hideout and he smirks, he’s never seen his mother acting so childishly. “Didn’t Granny warn you about being professional once before?” Henry sasses towards his aunt.

Ruby leans towards him as she keeps her eyes on the bashful couple on the opposite side. “She makes an exception for you guys, especially when it makes your mother act like a teenager.”

“Alright, alright,” Emma gestures with her hands as she glares at the other woman whose grin only widens in response. “We’ll have the usual. Killian?”

“I’ll take whatever you recommend, lass,” he answers towards Ruby. “Just nothing with garlic.”

“Hope you like surprises,” Ruby sweeps up all the menus in a fluid move. “Be right back.”

“That was my best friend,” Emma explains. “I’m sorry, she can be a bit much.” 

Walsh hadn’t liked Ruby, and went so far as to manufacture an argument between the two in order to pull them apart, as they learned later. He remembered the string of muffled curses - that he had not meant to hear, of course - coming from the living room the day Emma told Ruby everything. He imagined that his aunt had wanted to rip Walsh apart limb from limb. But, just like with his mom, it brought them all closer.

“Nonsense,” Killian waves away Emma’s excuse with an amused smile. “She’s delightful.”

His mom’s shoulders deflate and he wonders if she had the same thought as him. The movement has Henry noticing the scars on Killian’s left hand. 

“Wow, what happened to your hand?” 

“Henry!” his mom scolds but Killian just keeps smiling.

“It’s alright, Swan.” She bites her lip and Killian’s smile softens. “It’s natural for the boy to be curious.” He turns to Henry, pulling up his sleeve so that Henry can see how the scars continue up to his forearm. “It was an accident in the navy.”

“You were in the navy?”

“Aye.” His grin is proud and Henry finds himself smiling back. “We were attacked and I got caught in an explosion.”

“Cool,” Henry breathes out and the man chuckles. “I mean, it’s not cool that you got into trouble but cool that you survived an explosion.”

There’s a shadow that crosses Killian’s face and Henry’s chest tightens at the thought of having put that expression on his face. “I didn’t lose my arm but,” he clenches his fist, a slow movement that has his hand shaking until it finally closes and Killian winces in pain, “it’s little consolation.” 

“Okay,” Emma takes hold of his mangled hand and Killian’s face clears as he looks at her. The pain seems to leave his body at her touch. Interesting. “I can’t believe we’re starting with tragic backstories.”

Henry and Killian share a laugh. He does have a nice laugh. “What? Did you plan the whole dinner, Mom? Did we go off script?”

Emma covers his face with her hand and pushes on it until his back hits the back of the chair and his laughter intensifies. “No,” she scoffs in faux indignation. “I just thought we’d start with the basics.”

“Apologies, Swan.” Huh, they have nicknames. “We’ll follow the rules.” He winks and she rolls her eyes and it looks like he’s used to it.

And that’s how, with some delicious food in front of them, he learns that Killian is 32 to his mother’s 30, has been in Storybrooke for a year after travelling the world all his life, loves the sea and has a boat. 

“Ship, my boy,” he corrects.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Henry mockingly salutes and Killian narrows his eyes at him even as he is fighting a smile. “Maybe we can go out on your ship together sometime?” He looks hopeful between his mom and Killian. “It’s your birthday soon, Mom, we could celebrate on Killian’s ship!”

Emma bites her lip and Killian smiles. 

“You’re always welcome aboard my ship, love.”

She nudges his shoulder with a smile. “It’s still two weeks away, we’ll see.”

“I’m counting that as a ‘yes’,” Henry grins victoriously. “What about your birthday, Killian?”

“Oh.” The man frowns and scratches behind his ear. “Well, I don’t know the exact day but it’s sometime in Summer. Late July?”

Henry frowns. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

He chuckles nervously. “I lost my birth certificate when my house burned up when I was young. The foster family I was with for years after that didn’t care much for birthdays so all I have to go with is a vague memory of a hot day, a picnic in a garden and a delicious strawberry cake.”

“Wow,” Henry breathes out. “That’s crazy. Why haven’t you tried to get another copy?”

“He says he forgot,” Emma answers instead. “Can you believe it?”

Killian shrugs, even as his cheeks turn crimson. “I kept putting it off and I haven’t needed it yet.” He puts on a charming smile that doesn’t affect his mom the way he intended.

“If someone comes along to arrest you over that, I’m not bailing you out.” She crosses her arms and raises her eyebrow at him.

Killian winks surreptitiously at Henry before draping an arm over the back of the booth inching closer to Emma. “If my punishment is being parted from you, I shall fix it.”

His mom rolls her eyes but he can see how charmed she is by his words and the way he plays with a strand of her hair. Henry had never seen her act this way with anyone. “Yeah, yeah, you think you’re so charming with your blue eyes, your smile and your antiquated vocabulary.”

“I mean, it’s working.” Henry smirks and it grows into a grin when Killian turns to him with a conspiratorial smile. And there’s something to the fact that he’s not restricted from their moments, to how he doesn’t feel like he’s intruding.

They laugh together when Emma huffs. “If I knew the two of you would get along so well, I would have thought twice about introducing you.”

Killian raises his left hand to high-five Henry which he does gladly. And he gets some satisfaction from the fact that the man isn’t hiding his injury from him. Even more when Emma rolls her eyes once more.

“Any desserts, Swans?”

Ruby stands next to their table with a self-satisfied smile and he thinks she likes to see them together. Henry doesn’t hate it.

“What do you say, kid?”

“We could go for ice cream…” Henry puts his best puppy-dog eyes and isn’t distracted by the way Killian chuckles at it.

Emma fumbles. “It’s October…”

“And we could take a walk to the docks,” Killian supplies.

“It’s October.”

“You can always huddle for warmth,” Ruby smirks.

“Guess we’re eating ice cream and walking close to the cold sea air,” Emma sighs in defeat and Henry shares a grin with his partners in crime. “How much do we owe you, Rubes?”

“My treat, Swan.” Killian hands over his credit card to Ruby before she can reply. His aunt winks at Emma and struts back behind the counter.

“Killian, y-”

“No use arguing, Swan.” He leans back with a self-satisfied smirk. “This is a special occasion and I want to treat my girlfriend and her son to dinner.”

Emma blushes even if she tries to hide it, crossing her arms and looking into his eyes. “I’m paying for ice cream then.”

Killian shares a wink with Henry. “We’ll see.”

Emma huffs but there is a smile on her face.

Henry remembers when they went to the zoo 3 years ago. He had missed the class trip because of the flu and had cried for a whole day. His mom then planned a zoo trip for the weekend, just the two of them. Walsh had weaselled his way into coming with them, claiming that it was supposed to be their weekend together. So it became the three of them.

He had refused to pay for his ticket since it wasn’t his initial plan and Henry still remembered the way Walsh had accused him of ruining their weekend on purpose, of being spoiled, when his mom wasn’t around. Henry didn’t let his mother see him cry when they got home. He felt a little vindicated when, at the monkey exhibit, one of the monkeys threw their poop at the exhibit glass, aiming towards Walsh’s head - and caused a teenager to throw up in his shoes. 

And if he paid for anything, there was an expectation of retribution. 

Unlike Walsh, Killian looks genuine with his offer. No ulterior motives in sight.

It is in fact cold when they leave the diner. Emma tightens the scarf around his neck to protect him and digs into her coat for their gloves. She fusses over Killian’s unseasonal outfit choice - from the couple of buttons he left open on his shirt, to his flimsy leather jacket, to his exposed ears - over the few steps it takes to reach “Any Given Sundae”.

Killian’s smile is wide as she argues with him over his choices. He enjoys the way she expresses her care for him, her concern, and allows her to button his shirt and hold his hands in order to warm them with her own. And Henry knows that, for all that Emma has been happier and free with her feelings, she still hides it through her fussing. He thinks Killian knows too.

Emma abandons all concern when they reach the door to the ice cream shop. She all but locks the business’ door in both their faces to keep him from paying for them. It’s a good thing they know the owner and that his mom is the Sheriff.

“Get me some red berries ice cream?” Killian pouts as he speaks through the glass and laughs when his mother blows him a kiss from the other side. He chuckles when she turns to the counter. “She’s stubborn.”

“You say that like you’re surprised,” Henry chuckles.

“I’m just always amazed by your mother,” Killian shrugs with a smile as he leans against the wall. “And very thankful to have met her.”

“She looks happy.”

“She makes me happy too. And I’m very happy to have met you too.”

Henry blushes and can’t help but wonder if he’s just putting up a front for him, despite the fact that Killian hasn’t shown to be prone to that sort of behaviour. Then again, neither did Walsh. “I didn’t thank you for paying for dinner, you didn’t have to-”

“Nonsense,” Killian interrupts with a disarming smile. “I already said that I wanted to do it.”

“Yeah, but-”

“No buts.” Killian smiles as he places a hand on Henry’s shoulder and it feels less heavy and more comforting than it felt before from a man who had claimed to want to join their family. “You deserve to be cared for, my boy, and I’ll aim to remind you of that. You and your mother.” 

The door to the ice cream shop opens and Henry is glad for the distraction. He feels tears prickling the corners of his eyes and he knows that these are happy tears. That his coat isn’t responsible for the warmth in his chest and that he doesn’t have to look into the face of a man who looks and feels too good to be true.

A bird flies overhead as Killian helps Emma balance the small cups. Henry is reminded of the bats. Of the cold hands. Of the unknown date of birth. 

“Here you go, kid, rocky road.” His mom hands him the small cup, distracting him.

They walk in a line, thankful that there aren’t many people around to be annoyed by them taking over the whole sidewalk. Henry walks between Killian and Emma as they all chat about their weeks. He learns Killian works as a bartender at the Rabbit Hole and that Sundays and Mondays are his nights off.

“That means you can join our weekly dinners.” Henry exclaims.

Emma whips her head towards him and her mouth is parted in surprise. Killian is suspiciously quiet on the other side. “A-are you sure, kid? I mean, these dinners-”

“I mean, you don’t have to,” Henry backtracks as he glances between the two adults before focusing on his half-eaten ice cream and shrugs. “I-I just thought that you might like to join our traditions or something.”

There’s his hand again. And when it goes from his shoulder to his back and back up in a revering and comforting move, Henry has to swallow through the lump in his throat before looking up at Killian, who waits until he does to nod. “I would be honoured, my boy.”

Is it too early to have a favourite word from a man you just met?

His mother sniffs from his other side and clears her throat. “That damn sea air,” she grumbles when they turn to look at her. 

The tension vanishes as they share a conspiratorial smirk before they change subjects. Henry tries not to mourn the loss of that damn hand on his shoulder as they return to their ice creams. 

He learns that Killian doesn’t have any family left alive, the fire taking his brother and mother from him, and they tell him that they only had each other for years until they moved to town 4 years ago. Henry thinks that maybe they can be a family together before quickly pushing down the thought. Too soon.

They walk slowly along the docks, the sea at their left dropping the temperature around them but Henry can barely feel the cold as he walks between the two adults. He tells Killian about how Star Wars is his favourite movie franchise and clutches his imaginary pearls when the man tells him he hasn’t watched any of the movies. Emma joins the teasing over him not having watched “Princess Bride” either - Henry guesses her lie detector doesn’t work on omissions because there’s a glint in Killian’s face that reveals the truth. But it’s not his secret to tell.

“It’s definitely time for a movie night.”

And if the adults share a hopeful look over his head, Henry is distracted by thoughts of a movie night where they share popcorn and hot cocoa in the warmth of their living room. Where the Swans share a part of themselves through the movies they love and hope to be accepted.

They stop at the end of the docks, the presence of the enormous ship looking straight out of a pirate movie effectively putting all thoughts and fantasies to the back of his mind. 

“Wow…” Henry breathes out, looking from one side to the other, inspecting every inch.

“Behold,” Killian holds out his arm in a grand gesture as he takes a couple of steps to stand in front of the gangplank. “The Jolly Roger.”

Henry looks back towards the man, mouth parted. “This is your ship?”

“Aye, since we were here, I thought you might like to see it.” Killian reaches up to scratch the back of his ear.

Emma leans towards Henry and pretends to whisper in his ear. “I think he is trying to win you over, kid.”

Despite it being dark, he can see the way Killian’s cheeks darken at being caught. The man stammers a response and Emma exchanges a conspiratorial look with Henry.

“Is that why you named your ship that?” Henry looks at him with a searching look, the one that Uncle David called his “detective look”. He watches as Killian fumbles before sending a mock glare towards Emma who is trying very hard not to laugh.

“It’s a pirate ship,” Killian holds out his arms as if it made his point. “It should have a pirate name.”

“There it is,” Emma nudges his side and Henry presses his lips together to avoid laughing. “We found the reason for the old-timey speech, kid. Killian is actually a time travelling pirate.”

They both lose their battle against laughter when Killian huffs and crosses his arms at them. “I’m revoking your rights to board my ship, both of you. And I was even going to let you have a try at the wheel.” He raises his eyebrow and Henry sees it as a challenge. 

If Killian wants to be dramatic, so can he.

“Please, Killian,” Henry grabs onto his crossed arms and looks up with an exaggerated pout. “We were just kidding.” There’s an uptick at the corner of his lips and Henry is ready to admit victory. “Your ship is so cool and the name is so original and you should let us aboard.” He is really laying it on thick and both adults know it by the looks on their faces.

“Come on, how can you say no to that face?” Emma points out, her voice wobbly from laughter.

“Fine, fine,” Killian sighs and uncrosses his arms. “That is a dangerous face.” Henry is ready to whoop in excitement when Killian touches the tip of his nose. “Stay close to me.”

Henry shares a grin with his mother who holds his hand before he takes Killian’s left hand. There’s a stumbling pause in the man’s steps before he starts walking. They are ordered to wait at the centre of the deck while Killian’s boots echo across the deck while he lights up lanterns around them. The faint light makes the ship look even more out of this world and Henry feels like they are about to set sail on an adventure to fantastical realms.

Henry looks around with a parted mouth and when he finally finds his mother’s eyes, he sees her smile at him, a soft smile that he knows is a reflection of her love for him. “It is very cool, huh, kid?” 

He nods and her arm wraps around his shoulders as they watch the deck light up in the warm colour of the lanterns. “This would be a good spot to do some star gazing.” 

“With a picnic,” his mom supplies.

“I could teach you about the stars,” Killian finishes, standing to his mom’s side as they look around. Henry sighs. 

He can imagine cosy nights learning all about the position of the stars and their stories while they lie in comfy blankets and drink hot cocoa. And in the warm months, after a day of swimming, they could see how different the sky looks in summer. He realises he’s expecting Killian to stay until the coming year and it brings him out of his fantasies. 

Despite the man’s promises and assurances, Henry can’t help but feel like there’s something more. Something about Killian Jones that feels…wrong. That’s not the right word…

“Would you like a tour below deck?”

Killian’s offer startles him out of his spiralling thoughts. He pushes them away - let’s himself believe that he’s not as deeply screwed as he actually is. Henry nods quickly, what is he gonna say? No? It’s a pirate ship!

They follow Killian as he lights the way below deck. They see the galley - retrofitted to look modern and with a large table in the middle of the room - the storage room with shelves full of food and other non-perishables, and the officers’ and crew’s quarters.

“Or it would have been had I any crew or officers,” Killian chuckles, gesturing towards the doors. “Maybe you can choose one of them for yourself?” There was a hopeful look on his face and Henry felt his mother’s hand tighten its hold on his shoulder. 

The fast beating of his heart is dangerously fast and he wonders if she can feel it in her palm. 

So much for putting away those thoughts. 

“Maybe we can talk about that another time,” his mother suggests, sparing him an answer.

“Of course, of course,” Killian is quick to dismiss his idea. 

Henry is glad for it and even more glad when the adults act as if the question was never posed in the first place. They all ignore the hint of tension below the decks of the ship as Killian shows them where the pirates used to store their guns and where the crew would row the ship if the sails didn’t work. 

“And last but certainly, not least,” Killian’s bright grin is back and Henry tries to ignore the warmth in his chest at seeing it. “The Captain’s quarters.”

He opens the door to a large room, helping them down the few steps before hooking the lantern on an overhead hook. A large bed takes up the back wall, perfectly placed under the rectangular window. There are trinkets strewn about in a precise way in the window sill. A book shelf takes over the left side of the room while a table and a high-winged chair take over the right side. It’s all meticulously clean and tidy, so much like its Captain.

“Do you live here?”

“Aye,” Killian leans on his desk with a proud smile. ”A home fit for a pirate Captain.”

Emma chuckles before she crosses her arms to look at him. “Don’t know how well you’ll do when winter comes along, Captain.”

“Yeah, but at least he’ll be sleeping on a pirate ship,” Henry points out and beams when Killian smiles proudly at him as well as pointing a finger in his direction. He takes another look around. “Why is it so dark in here?”

Henry notes the drawn curtains just like he’d noticed it in the other rooms. Despite the bright full moon outside, none of its natural light made its way inside the ship. 

“Oh,” Killian immediately stands upright to open the curtains, letting the moonlight filter in.

“Our Captain is a bit of a nocturnal creature,” Emma teases and Killian scratches behind his ear.

“I sleep during the day,” he explains. “I can’t have that pesky sun ruin my plans.”

Henry chuckles with them even as a thought tries to worm its way into his mind. The moonlight reflects on a globe with a strange town inside it and he takes a closer look at it.

“Are these from all the places you’ve been?”

“Aye.” Killian stands at his side as he carefully straightens a ceramic bowl. “Some of my prized possessions.”

A small frame stands between a colourful seashell and a cross made of a soft light brown grass. There’s a young boy with curly hair next to what he thinks is a person. The being is blurry and burned, the only thing visible is an arm wrapped around the man’s shoulders.

“Who’s this?”

Killian clears his throat next to him and when he looks, a muscle is popping on his cheek due to the clenching of his jaw. “That was my brother, Liam.”  

“Oh.” Henry looks back at the picture, giving Killian some privacy with his emotions. Emma’s presence is silent behind them but, from the corner of his eye, he sees her place her hand on Killian’s shoulder. “You have the same eyes. Who’s next to him?”

“That’s me.” Henry frowns and leans forward to look at the picture better. Killian chuckles at the movement and the weight on Henry’s chest lightens at the sound. “Well, it was me. Water damage.”

“You don’t have any more pictures?”

“None that depict my devilishly handsome looks.” The smirk on his lips is softer than it had been before but it still brings a lightness to his bearing. 

“Not that this one does you much justice.” Emma grins and there’s a heat to Killian’s eyes when he looks back at her.

“I’ve never gotten complaints before.”

“You never forget your first.” She winks and Henry marvels at how light she looks. No matter how happy his mother has always looked when it’s just the two of them, this is a side of her he hasn’t seen before. It’s good.

They stay for another hour. They talk about music - he discovers Killian knows how to waltz and watches while his mother is being led around the cabin to the sounds of “A Thousand Years” from his phone - about sweets and how Killian has never tried a Pop-Tart much to Emma’s shock. Henry even secures some sword fighting lessons for himself, under the assurance that no actual blades will be used. 

“Not for now, at least,” Killian adds with a wink that is covered by a cough when he notices Emma’s narrowed eyes and hands on her hips. “No actual blades, Swan, deal.”

Henry giggles at his mother’s exasperated huff. “I made a big mistake,” she mumbles with no real heat behind it.

They say goodbye to Killian after they descend the gangplank. His mom shares a quick kiss with him - in a way that shows their affection but without making him feel like he wants to disappear. Killian ruffles his hair and promises that they’ll start their lessons soon. Before they leave, Emma invites him for dinner at their place the next day. The other two try to hide their surprise, Killian’s morphs into delight whereas Henry tries to simply express his approval.

His mother wraps an arm around his shoulders as they walk away from the ship, feeling Killian’s eyes on them as they do. She smiles down at him when he looks up at her.

“So, kid,” She starts, trying to hide the concern he can see in her green eyes. “What did you think of Killian?”

“He’s cool,” Henry shrugs even as he smiles at Emma’s beaming grin. “He’s good.” 

Too good.

---

Henry enters the bus to school after a kiss to his head from his mother and a wave. Just like every morning he has to go to school, Emma will head to the station for her shift while he goes to school and then takes himself home at the end of the day and waits for Emma to get back.

Despite the opinions of most 13-year-olds, Henry likes school. He likes learning, likes the friends he’s made since they’ve moved to town and he especially loves to have Violet around. 

But he is, for the lack of better word, distracted. 

His teachers call his attention more times than they ever had to - which is significant when they have never had to - and his notebooks are littered with nonsensical scribbles or doodles as opposed to his usual meticulous notes. Violet’s exasperated huff in the middle of her retelling of her weekend of horse riding with her father finally brings everything to a halt.

“I think my mom’s new boyfriend is a vampire.”

Henry tells Violet his Sunday activities - promising to listen to hers afterwards - and he begs for her to use her all-knowing vampire knowledge to prove him right or wrong. He doesn’t tell her that he hopes he’s wrong, he really wants to be wrong.

But Violet presses her lips together when he’s done and his heart feels like it’s going to burst out of his chest, like that alien from that movie he promised his mom he didn’t watch during a sleepover at Ava and Nicholas’ for their birthday - their dad is new at this but after Nicholas almost puked from fear, he got better at it. But that’s not the fear that’s making him almost puke all over the lunch table.

“What?”

“You need to be careful,” Violet bites her lip and he sucks in a breath. “Your mom must already be in his thrall, did you know vampires can hypnotise people? But you are not.”

“She needs my help.” Henry’s eyes are wide and panicked and Violet takes hold of his hands. “What do I do?”

“Take a deep breath, you can’t panic.” Henry does as she says and she rubs her thumbs over his knuckles. “If he hasn’t done anything until now, you’re probably in luck, he’s taking his time.” Violet’s shoulders set in determination and he sees the awesome girl that impressed him when they first met. “I have a plan.”

---

After school, safely at home, Henry is prepared and waiting.

He didn’t dare distract himself with video games or books, simply rehearsing what he wanted to tell his mother as soon as she arrived. There was probably a dip in the carpet due to his pacing route back and forth in the living room. 

The door opens and he startles despite the fact that it’s exactly the time his mom usually gets home. Come on, Henry, get your head in the game.

“Okay, I-Shit!” his mom huffs from the door as she stumbles. There are two thumps against the hall before the door closes from taking her boots off. “I got us food from Bella Notte for dinner, it’s too late to cook anything and you know how I love their-”

Emma startles when she sees him standing in the middle of the living room, hair probably a mess from how much he ran his fingers through it and pulled. His mouth is parted and his eyes are wide and he must look like he’s seen a ghost.

“H-hey,” she says carefully, putting the bags down on the kitchen counter without taking her eyes off him. “Are you okay?”

Henry takes a deep breath and she looks even more worried. “No.” He shakes his head when she tries to put her hands on his shoulders and points to the couch in front of him. “You need to sit down.”

She does so in a worried daze, putting her hands on her knees and he sees the panic in her eyes that he saw the day she caught him crying in his room. “Okay, I’m sitting. What’s going on?”

He takes another deep breath, letting it fill his chest before letting it out. “Killian is a vampire.”

That wasn’t what Emma was expecting, clearly, and she shakes her head with her brow pulled low in a frown. “What?”

“Killian is a vampire,” Henry repeats and resumes his pacing back and forth on the living room floor. “You probably don’t realise it because he has you in his thrall, probably because you kissed,” His nose scrunches up in displeasure now. “But he is dangerous and I need to keep you safe.”

“Henry,” Emma sighs and starts to stand from the couch. “Kid-”

“No.” Henry carefully pushes her back down to sitting, his eyes wider as they look into hers and she is taken aback by the resolve in his eyes. “I need you to come out of it, Mom.” He sighs and takes a step back putting his hands on his hips. “You’re a cop so you care about proof; I’m going to give you proof.”

“Henry-”

“First, he doesn’t eat garlic.” Henry ignores her and starts ticking off fingers. “Vampires don’t eat garlic either. Second, he doesn’t know his birthday. Yeah, he has an answer for it but it’s still suspicious.” Emma frowns and opens her mouth but he carries on. “Because now he can’t prove he’s not from, like, the 18th century! You even noticed the way he talks, he was clearly turned like centuries ago.

“Then we have the dark room. He didn’t even notice until I pointed it out because he’s so used to avoiding the sun!”

“He has a tan.”

Henry continues, not noticing her mumble, focusing only on her concerned eyes and parted mouth. “And then, and then his hands! They were cold when we shook them, and yeah, it was cold, but they were really, really cold. There was also the picture, Mom,” His voice grows desperate without him noticing, high pitched and he isn’t sure when he took a proper breath. “How is it possible that only his part of the picture got ruined? And he doesn’t have more? He clearly can’t be photographed, Mom!”

“Henry!” He sucks in a breath, effectively shutting up, when Emma stands in front of him, hands heavy on his shoulder and frightened eyes on his. “Do you hear what you’re saying, kid?”

“I’m right, Mom, I promise.” His voice is quiet, the desperation in his making his mother’s eyes grow more panicked. “There were bats!”

“What?”

“Before he showed up at Granny’s, I saw bats! They flew behind the ice cream shop and not a second later, Killian appeared!” Her hands cup his cheeks and he grabs her wrists tightly. “It’s true, you need to get out of his spell.”

Emma sighs and he clenches his fists over her wrists. “Henry-”

A knock on the door startles the two of them and they both look towards the door.

“That’s him, Mom,” Henry whisper-yells, tightening his grip when her hands slacken. “You didn’t invite him in already, right?”

“He’s been here before, kid.” She sighs and cups his cheeks again before turning to the door. “It’s open!” The door opens.

“No, no!” Careful shuffling at the entrance masks his quiet begging he feels for his back pocket.

“Shh, kid, it’s okay,” she soothes, thumbs caressing his cheeks.

“I hope I’m not too early, I got-” Killian quiets himself as he finds the two of them in the living room. “Is everything alright?” His eyes go from Emma to Henry and his frown grows.

“Yeah,” Emma nods, glancing back at Killian before returning to Henry. “I just need to talk to my son. Think you can go to my room and-” 

But Henry doesn’t let her finish and pulls out the wooden stake Violet helped him make after school. He couldn’t let Killian get out of his sight. He ignores Emma’s calls of his name and focuses only on Killian’s wide eyes. He needs to stop this!

He takes a few steps towards the vampire before a crash and a curse behind him diverts both his and Killian’s attention to Emma. There are flowers on the floor and his mom’s hand is quickly pulled back from the broken glass of a tall cup she’d used as a vase - she ran into the table in her efforts to get to him. Emma is holding her wrist and he sees the red blood in her palm.

“Mom! A-Are you bleeding?” His eyes are wide in panic and he holds up the stake even higher when Killian takes a step towards them, eyes on her hand.

“Yeah, kid,” she sighs. “But it’s going to be okay, I promise.”

Killian starts walking around Henry. “Swan, let me-” 

“No!” His frightened yell causes them both to stop and look at him. “You’re not getting close to my mom. If you hurt her, I’ll-I’ll stake you!” His hand shakes as it grips the wooden stake. 

“Henry, please.” Emma takes a couple of steps towards him and Henry sees how Killian can’t keep his eyes on him, looking instead at Emma’s wound. “Killian is not a vampire.” There’s a startled expression on the man’s face, looking between Emma and Henry now. “He is just trying to help me.”

“A-aye, lad, I have a first aid certification,” he explains in a dazed tone, surprised at being caught, he’s sure. “That’s all.” He raises his hands in defence.

“No.” His voice wobbles and his vision gets blurry. He feels a tear run down his cheek. “There’s something wrong with him, Mom, there has to be!”

Emma sucks in a breath and Killian’s eyes widen impossibly more. He can’t look away from the understanding in the eyes of the man in front of him, the way his shoulders tense in a different way and Henry feels something loosen inside him. As his mom moves in front of him, Killian takes a couple of steps back, almost like a coordinated move. She easily takes the stake from his trembling hand with her uninjured one and drops it to the ground.

“Henry,” she breathes out and that’s all it takes for him to bury his face in her chest, sobbing as his arms wrap around her waist.

They move to the couch between his loud hiccuping sobs and when they calm down into sniffles. Emma’s hand moves slowly, reassuringly, up and down his back and she speaks low in his ear, comforting, patient words. His arms tighten around her and he hides his face on her neck when his breathing calms but none of them move beside that.

“Henry,” Emma tries again, speaking calmly, and when he doesn’t interrupt, she pulls away so she can look into his eyes. “Do you think we can have a conversation now?”

He nods and feels his chest tighten in shame when he notices how Killian sits patiently in a chair parallel to the couch, his right hand slowly caressing through his short beard. He is giving them a sense of privacy, not reacting to Emma’s voice and not looking at them, lost in thought. He needs to apologise.

His mom’s hand on his cheek brings his attention back to her and he notices how there’s a bandage around her previously injured hand. He guesses Killian must have taken care of it during his tantrum and he feels the weight in his chest grow heavier. 

“Kid,” Emma’s voice is quiet as she urges him to look back at her, her eyes are understanding and calm despite the pain beneath them. “We could not have known that Walsh was such a horrible guy. You could not have known and it wasn’t your job to protect me.” Her words are final, without a chance for debate, and he can only nod. “He hurt us, he was a horrible guy but he is gone. Not everyone is going to hurt us like he did.” Henry nods again, he remembers his mother saying how she was going to be more careful with the people she brought around them.

“I-I’m sorry,” he whispers and closes his eyes in shame.

“You’re forgiven, kid,” Her fingers rub against his cheek and he leans into it unconsciously. “I thought we could just leave all the shit he did to us in the past but I forgot to talk to you about it. To make sure you were ready.”

“I kept comparing them,” he confesses and his mother’s brow furrows in sorrow even as she nods. “I think I liked the time we spent together so much that I remembered when we first met him. How it was all too good to be true, how Killian was too good to be true.”

Emma glances towards the man in the chair and Henry feels his eyes on him but he can’t look back. Can’t bring himself to face how much he screwed up their relationship. 

“Actually, kid?” His mom lets out a small, ironic chuckle and Henry looks up at her in surprise. “I know exactly how you feel. I actually put my gun to Killian’s head when we first met.” There’s a soft chuckle from the couch and Emma’s cheeks turn pink. “That’s why it took me so long to introduce you two, because he was too good to be true. Even if I knew by, like, the third day, that I was in love with him.”

A sharp intake of breath comes from the couch this time and his mom’s cheeks turn a deep shade of red. But mother and son keep looking at each other. “You did? Weren’t you scared?”

“Terrified,” Emma confesses, a soft smile on her face. “But sometimes we have to put fear behind us and let people in. We have to allow ourselves the chance to love and be loved.”

Henry’s nose scrunches up. “That sounds like something Aunt Mary Margaret would say.”

Emma laughs and his chest doesn’t feel as tight or heavy. “Yeah, I might have asked for her help on this.”

Henry sighs. “I’m really sorry, Mom, I didn’t mean-”

“I think you’ve apologised enough to me, kid.” She stops him gently with an encouraging smile before gesturing with her head towards the man still quietly sitting on the chair.

He takes a deep breath before turning on the couch, wringing his hands on his lap. Killian looks at him with a patient look on his face. “I’m sorry, Killian.” He is looking so kindly at him that he feels his eyes watering, how can he deserve this? His mom resumes her caresses on his back. “This didn’t have anything to do with you but I hurt you and that was wrong of me, I’m really sorry.”

Killian stands from the chair and crouches in front of him. His hands are holding each other with his elbows on his knees. “A long time ago,” Killian starts in a calm tone before chuckling and correcting. “20 years ago, not centuries.” Emma snorts next to him and Henry feels his cheeks burning. “My father abandoned both me and my brother in the middle of the night. There was a short circuit in the fuse and it caused our house to burn down.”

“I lost my brother and my father on the same day.” His tone is quiet, mournful and he can’t look away from the pain reflected in the blue of his eyes. “I had the chance to reunite with my father a few years ago and I let my hurt stop me from trying. I know how it is to sabotage your relationships because of your wounds.

“But,” Killian’s lips curve up in a small smile and he takes hold of Henry’s hands. His hands are so warm. That remaining weight on his chest vanishes. “I can promise you that it’s going to take a lot more to push me away.”

“I’m sorry that I tried,” Henry whispers and Killian nods. 

“You’re forgiven, my boy.” Henry feels his eyes water and his shoulders relax at his words. “I know what that man did to the two of you and, while I never thought to be compared to a vampire, I knew I had to take that into account when I met you.” Killian’s cheeks turn red and he scratches at the back of his ear. “I just think I got too ahead of myself yesterday. Truth is, I’ve always wanted a family,” he confesses, his eyes glancing between his and Emma’s. “Meeting you two made it all too real and I think I got too desperate so if I-”

Henry doesn’t let him finish what he thinks is going to be an apology to his own apology and lunges at him for a hug. Killian stumbles and ends up falling on his butt. But he doesn’t care, he simply tightens his arms around his neck and relaxes when he feels Killian’s arms just as tight around him. “I want you to be part of our family too,” he confesses and hears a sniffle from behind him. “Especially now that I know you’re not a vampire.���

His words make them all chuckle, like he hoped they would, even as there are tears gathering at their eyes. “It’s an honour to be a part of this family, my boy.” His hand running up and down his back feels just as good as his mother’s and he grins.

“Okay,” His mother’s voice is watery and they separate to watch as she wipes under her eyes with the back of her hand. “Now that it’s all solved, we should eat.”

“Aye, I’m starving,” Killian grins. “There’s not that many people in Storybrooke who let me drink their blood.”

Emma rolls her eyes with a smirk while Henry laughs embarrassedly. “I’m never leaving this down, am I?”

“Not likely, lad.” Killian ruffles his hair and even though he huffs and puffs, Henry thinks he might like the idea of being teased by the man, especially if it means he’ll stick around for a long time.

“Come on,” Emma helps them both up from the floor and while Henry lets go of her hand as soon as he’s standing, Killian doesn’t. “Let’s eat.”

“Actually,” Killian glances towards Henry asking for permission and for some reason, Henry thinks he just might know what he wants. He nods. “There’s something I need to do first.”

Emma frowns confused. “Huh?”

Before she can get an answer, Killian pulls her to him for a kiss. He keeps it soft but it’s clearly full of love and his mom lets out a hum. Henry thinks he should look away but he basks in the sight of their love.

“What was that for?” she mumbles when they separate.

“I love you too,” Killian confesses in a quiet tone, eyes on hers, and Henry feels that last piece of the puzzle slot into place.

Her smile is wide and she kisses him again, a press of lips due to how wide both of them smile. His phone buzzes on the table, no longer full of glass shards, and it catches all of their attention.

“Your phone keeps buzzing, kid, what’s that about?”

Henry frowns in confusion before a metaphorical lightbulb flashes above his head and his eyes widen. “Oh crap!” He dives for his phone and starts tapping at it frantically. 

“What is it?”

“That was Violet,” he answers, pressing his lips together to stop from saying more. His mother raises an eyebrow to incentivize him. “She was my second line of defence.” 

Killian seems to understand before his mother and he can see how he is seconds away from bursting into laughter. “What do you mean?” his mother asks. 

“Well, she was going to bring holy water…”

There’s a moment of silence before they all succumb to hysterical laughter. 

Maybe Killian is too good to be true. But as Henry laughs with his family, he thinks his aunt is right - he’ll put the fear behind him and allow himself to be loved.

[the-knucklesverse]

Stronger Together

something something the Shatter triplets were yoinked into the Sanctuary somewhere between season two and three of Sonic Prime, and know each other going into the last season. This is playing a little with the actual timeline of things, as our current theory is the ME pulled Dread in after season 1, either immediately before or immediately after getting the shard. But for this piece, they got pulled in after season 2.

This takes place in New Yoke, after everyone begrudgingly came together. ~~ Qwerty

~~~~~

"Ren!"

The voice called out over the noise of the others arguing, and the battle-scarred echidna turned to find his jungle 'brother' hurrying closer. The boy wore an expression of worry, which wasn't all that strange considering his typical nervous demeanor. "Yeah? What's up?"

"It's Dread," the boy said, his voice higher pitched in his worry. "He's . . . something's wrong."

"There's always somethin' wrong with him," Ren scoffed, crossing his arms. "Guy's got a screw loose somewhere."

Gnarly's expression intensified. "Ren. This is serious. He's losing it."

The boy's expression sobered Ren, and he nodded. "Show me."

Gnarly grabbed Ren's hand and pulled, dragging him to where Dread had hidden himself away in a corner. The pirate stood hunched over slightly, hands to his head and muttering to himself under his breath.

"Me Beauty, I must have me Beauty . . . grr . . . no . . . no . . . I be better than that . . . me Beauty be mine, all mine . . ."

"Dread?" Ren's voice was firm but soft. "Talk to me."

Dread shook his head, keeping his back to them. "Get away."

Ren tried again. "Dread, c'mon. You don't need that rock. Look at me."

The pirate shook his head again, curling tighter on himself. "Leave me be. I . . . don't want t' hurt you. I don't want t' hurt anyone."

"Dread, you need to—"

Ren was stopped when Gnarly put a hand on his arm. He shook his head, before moving closer to their eldest 'brother'.

"I know what it feels like," he said, speaking softly as he approached. "That noise in your head. Like a buzzing. A million bees stuck in there, making you feel like you're going crazy."

The trembling in Dread's shoulders stopped, and he turned to look at Gnarly. His eyes were wide, haunted, and his lip curled in a fearful snarl. "Ye . . . h-how do ye know that?"

"I've heard it all my life," Gnarly said with a shrug. "Back in Boscage Maze, I hear the trees. Cyber said it was something about something called chaos energy? I dunno. But I heard it when no one else could. And some days it makes me feel like I'd rip my own skin off just to have some quiet."

Dread straightened very slightly, turning more to face the youngest of their trio. "How do ye stop it? I hear me Beauty call me, even now, and I feel its pull. I want to go and get it, feel the power as it flows through me. But it makes me lose meself. I . . . I don't want to do that. How do I stop it?"

Gnarly shook his head with a sigh. "You can't stop it. You just have to learn to tune it out."

Dread grimaced as though that was the most painful thing he could hear. "How??"

"Focus on the things that are more important. I focus on my tribe. On Mangey and Hangry. My urge to keep them safe is more important than letting that buzzing get to me. That's what you need to do. Focus on what's more important than that rock."

"Nothing be more important than me Beauty!" Dread snapped, his face twisting in anger as he leaned toward the boy. A second later his eyes went wide and he drew back. "I . . . no, that's . . ." He grunted, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. "Get outta me head, you bloody rock."

"Focus on your crew," Ren said, moving closer. He wanted to be nearby in case Dread snapped and went after Gnarly. "They're your family, right?"

Dread shook his head, his hands still to his eyes. "I betrayed them. They . . . they'd never forgive me."

"Then what about us?" Gnarly said, trying to side-step around Ren, but his urban brother kept himself between them no matter how Gnarly moved. "We're your brothers. We want to see you beat this."

Dread slowly dropped his hands to look at the two echidna before him, a crease in his brow. "Ye . . . ye do?"

The other two nodded. "We do," Ren said, relaxing his stance a bit. "Dread, you're stronger than this. C'mon. Focus on helping us kick that fox's butt and making everything right again."

"That should be easy, for a legendary captain such as yourself, right?" Gnarly asked with a smile.

Dread looked between them for a long moment, before lowering his hands completely. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly before a familiar smirk spread across his face.

"Aye," he said, and he sounded stronger. "Plenty easy for the likes of meself. We'll go and show that fox that there ain't nothing that can stop an echidna tribe from saving that which they hold dear."

He moved closer to the other two, and held his fist out.

"Thank ye, lads. I may need yer strength once we get there. But I trust ye completely t' help pull me head outta me own arse should I start t' lose meself."

"Oh, you can bet on that," Ren said with a smirk, joining his fist to Dread's. "It'll be fun to kick your butt. Again."

Dread's eyes narrowed, but his smirk remained. "Oh, is that how you think our last fight ended, aye?"

Ren narrowed his eyes right back. "I know that's how our last fight ended, yeah."

"Okay, let's keep focused here," Gnarly said, adding his fist to the group. "Dread, we'll keep you from going crazy. Ren, you can kick his butt when all this is done."

Dread gasped. "Lad, ye can't believe this lubber's tales?!"

"Kid knows the truth when he hears it."

"LIES!"

Ren and Dread continued to argue as Gnarly walked off, shaking his head with a smile.

[shebben]

Shrinkydink earrings :) there are two of each of these. I traced them tho so idk if it really counts as my own stuff.

I got my ears pierced in November and they’re still healing (I swear I’ve done everything right 😭). I’m very excited to be able to wear earrings. Tbh I’m glad my mom didn’t let me get my ears pierced when I was really young bc that would have been a giant hassle.

Also I had my first full cup of coffee today. We’ve been a coffee free household until a few months ago since drinking coffee is heavily frowned upon in Mormonism. My dad and sister really like it but I think it tastes like absolute ass. They say it’s an squires taste but boy idk how I’ll get used to it. I’m all jittery and nervous now so idk if I’ll have any positive affects from the coffee anyways.

My sister got a job interview at Deseret Industries and it seems like she’s gonna get it. I may want to apply there since they usually look for neurodivergent people to hire since they’re cool like that. And there’s a lady that works there who we know from church and she’s pretty nice. She still talks to my mom when she sees her in the grocery store so I guess she isn’t too bothered by how my mom is pretty upfront about sexism in the church. Idk if the lady knows we don’t go anymore tho lmao based on how chill she’s been I doubt that will upset her but idk.

Thank you for reading this. Have a good day.

Update:

Holy fuckijg shit I feel restless like in a bad way. I have to move around or it will feel really weird. It’s not the normal fidget it is almost uncontrollable. Bro this feeling is ass. I feel like there are bees in my legs lmao. I’m also having trouble breathing. Safe to say I’m never having coffee again. This is horrible. Idk how I’m gonna take a shower with my legs feeling sturdy but floppy at the same time. My sister says it makes her feel calm. I am jealous of her lol. I am not enjoying this experience.

Update 2:

The shower wasn’t bad at all and it didn’t take a million years to get in (or at least it didn’t feel like it). I washed my hair three times and my face in 20 minutes and usually it takes me 20 minutes to wash my hair twice. This is actually really nice. I am not a snail anymore, I’m a turtle. It still feels like there are bees in my legs and I’m still restless.

Bye

[flowery-laser-blasts]

All I've ever wanted... (a dark fanfic)

"I did it, I actually did it!"

Dr. Drakken felt his heart pound inside of his chest as he stepped onto the stage. He couldn't help but grin as he watched the faces of the world leaders; fright, disbelief, and shock were smeared all over their ugly mugs. And most importantly, all their eyes were locked on the mad scientist. Flashing cameras from news reporters, each in attendance from places all across the world, were transfixed on him. Drakken was about to make a speech, addressing his next course of action now that the world belonged to him and him only.

Drakken cleared his throat and leaned towards one of the dozen microphones in front of him. As he was about to speak, he suddenly felt something was off about this whole scenario. Something, no rather, someone was missing as he glanced towards his right side.

"Shego?" he mouthed. He turned back to face the crowd and startled when met with silence. The once buzzing and stuffed conference room was now vacant and deserted, as if something had whisked everyone away. 

The man quickly climbed off the stage and headed towards the exit door. When he opened it up, gone was the conference room hallway and in its place he was met with a dark, endless void.

Drakken called out to no one in particular, hoping to hear a response, but once again he heard nothing. As he turned around, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye; a dim green light was flickering in the distance as if it fought to stay connected to the dark silhouette sprawled out on the floor. 

"She— Shego!" Drakken felt panic rush in as there came no response from the figure. He forced himself to move closer, but with each step he took, his legs became twice as heavy. "Shego, is that you? Answer me!" he cried out. 

After what felt like ages, he managed to get near enough to confirm his worst fear. Drakken fell to his knees in defeat, letting out a guttural scream as he tried with all of his strength to reach out to the woman he loved. Millions of questions raced through his head all at once: How could this happen? When did this happen? Who was responsible for this atrocity!?

"No— No, no, NO!" He choked back tears as he watched the remnants of green light die at his lover's fingertips.

"What's wrong?" 

Drakken froze as he heard his own voice coming from behind him. 

"Why do you care so much about a mere sidekick? She's as replaceable as your henchmen," the voice taunted him. "Just take a strand of her hair and clone her; maybe even replace that snarky personality of hers with a more obedient one." 

The voice was getting closer. 

Flee, now!

Drakken's instincts kicked in. A sharp pain shot through his body as he got back on his feet. He ran through the dark as hard as he could, feeling the gaze of the doppelganger burn into his skull. If he could keep enough distance, then maybe he could find a way out of this place. Drakken clenched his teeth as a deafening ringing filled his ears until... 'Beep, beep, bee-beep.'

"Possible!" The scientist searched haphazardly in the dim light for the source of the sound until his eyes fell upon his arch-nemesis. "KI-KIM! KIM POSSIBLE, OVER HERE! HELP ME!" 

Drakken waved his arms frantically as he began running in her direction. A newfound hope dulled out all the pain in his aching body. 

This teen can do anything! She's forgiving, strong, resilient! Surely she'll help me get out of this mess. 

Drakken's thoughts were disrupted as he felt his feet slip from underneath him and he hit the ground with a thud. The man stayed down a moment as he held his head in pain and checked his stinging hands for signs of blood; thankfully there were none. He looked at the spot where he slipped. 

"Ice?" he questioned out loud. A small patch of ice was on the floor and it formed a trail underneath him. Curiously he followed it with his eyes, to find that it led to the teen superhero not three meters in front of him. Kim looked up at the blackened sky above them, her hands above her head as if she were carrying a big invisible tray or surrendering herself. Drakken noted other things: her skin, hair, and clothes were drenched with water, her focused eyes were dark and sunken in, her lips were rough, burst and bleeding but most frightening of all…her entire face was blue.

"Oh yeah, that's right... We locked her up in a basin with water and then topped it off with a thick layer of solid ice... The brat froze to death or drowned. Either way, it doesn't matter. That poor thing thought she could belt herself to freedom. We both know that the human voice can't crack a dent in layers upon layers of solid ice!" The voice started cackling loudly. "We finally defeated that little meddling pest. You should be happy!" The voice sounded closer than before.

I'm done for.

"No there's gotta be— There's gotta be a way out of here!" Drakken cursed under his breath. 

He focused on getting up. But the second his foot touched the ground, instead of a hard surface he was met with a goopy, black ooze. The earth underneath him started to shift into a sticky, pitch-black pool that clung to his clothes. With every movement he made, he felt himself sink further into it.  

Drakken tried clawing at the parts that seemed still intact, only for it to flow through his fingers until he felt a shoe. His gaze shot upwards to see Kim Possible's sidekick staring back at him. His face was somber with no hint of empathy or remorse for the man as he slowly became more and more engulfed in tar.  

Drakken tried getting a hold of the boy's leg, opened his mouth to plead with him for help. But when he tried to speak, nothing came from his lips.

"Oh, that's right. We never bothered to remember him, uhm— What’s his name again? Perhaps ‘buffoon’ works..."  

But I know his name, it's Stoppable! Ron Stoppable! Drakken protested back in his mind. But the more he tried to force the name out, the more gulps of sticky, suffocating tar gushed into his throat.

“Look at you. You’ve got all the power in the world, and still you are weak.” 

Drakken could see his mirror image hovering, staring right at him now mere centimeters above his own face. Finally he dared to look at the figure’s features.  

His face was sharp and slightly sunken in, his ears seemed pointier than his own, and bloodshot eyes were fixed on his, observing him like a predator watching its prey die. 

“I gave you this power! This is all you’ve ever wanted and yet you are not satisfied?” 

“I never wanted—” 

“LIAR!” 

The roaring of the doppelganger’s voice sounded like thunder shaking the earth. The tar pit morphed into a maelstrom, trying to drag Drakken down with violent waves. 

“The way to the top is paved with blood. You and I both knew that from the very start.” 

“That’s… That’s not what I—” 

“You pushed Shego to put her life at risk countless times, just to steal something you could’ve easily made yourself.” 

“But I—” 

“You were enjoying commanding her. She’s nothing but a powerful tool to you. Why else would you put a neuro-compliance chip on her? What else were you thinking of making her do?” 

“NO, I’D NEVER—!”  

“Never what, Drew?” his voice spat out his name like venom. “Must I remind you that you let a child drown? You just walked away as she was panicking, gasping for air in that freezing water. You don’t have any regard for others in the slightest, so what makes you think that you’re ‘holier than thou’?” 

Drakken felt his body becoming numb as the tar further condensed into a heavy emulsion, the power of the waves and the thickness of the ooze forcing his body to give up.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he sobbed with the last of his strength.

“You’re not sorry,” Ron finally spoke up. “You’re saying this because you hope that someone will somehow save you. But no one will, Drakken. You’ve got no one but yourself to blame.”    Drakken watched in horror as his doppelganger joined him in the pit, burying his finger-like claws against his face, forcing Drakken’s jaws open as he began pulling him deep underneath the surface of the suffocating darkness. His final sight was the apathetic face of the boy as he felt his last desperate breaths escape from his lungs...

Drakken's eyes shot open as he jolted upright, sucking in air against the choking sensation that still had him in its dark grasp. His eyes darted around as he took a moment to process his surroundings, noting familiarity.

The small moat was dimly glowing, illuminating the room just enough to remind him that he was in his bedroom. He felt the mattress shifting slightly as Shego turned and cuddled up to his arm, still fast asleep but thankfully…very much alive. 

A wave of relief washed over Drakken as he slowly lie back down. He lifted his still trembling hand and brought it to Shego’s head, brushing his fingers through her dark locks as he watched her sleep. He felt his breaths calm as reality began to supplant the horrors. A content sigh coming from the woman next to him gave him reassurance that the nightmare was finally over. For now.

•─────────────•°•❀•°•─────────────• I hope you liked my little angsty Dr Drakken fanfiction! Massive thanks to @bcbdrums for test reading and helping me with grammar, and spelling checking, and additional suggestions to flesh it out more! ♡(◕ᗜ◕✿) This started out as an idea for a small comic to process and sort out my own nightmares (write it out of mind out so it's of sight am I right?). But then I noticed that it became a bit too big for a small comic as I added more and more things into it, oopsies. I also thought of adding parts from the show into it to keep it in universe. I honestly find the death trap in 'Hidden Talent' to be one of the most diabolical things in the show. Also a small fun note, I based Drakken's nightmare version on one of the unused concept designs for Drakken but I uh, slapped some hair on it :') I unfortunately don't have time to actually make this into a comic at this moment, so that's why I decided to just write it out and perhaps in the future I might adapt it!

[nova--spark]

I imagine Jack and Optimus would have a pretty rocky relationship when Jack is first turned into a sparkling.

Firstly Jack has gone without a father figure for so long he doesn’t really know what to do now that he has one. Sure Optimus was a father figure to everyone on Team Prime but there’s a HUGE difference between being a father figure and actually being someone’s legal guardian. Besides when on earth 99% of Optimus’s attention was on the war and ending it as soon as possible nor would he want to step on June’s toes as a parent.

Now he was actually in charge of the Jasper trio. And he wanted to make up for the three having to grow up so fast during the war. He wants them to have the opportunity to be kids again. To have no worries or responsibility (outside of chores maybe. That big ass house has to get cleaned somehow)

But to Jack this just sends mixed messages. One moment he’s mature enough to put his LIFE on the line for Optimus, the Autobots, and ALL OF FUCKING HUMANITY. And now suddenly he’s a sparkling and needs to act like it?! Fuck that!!!

It’s resulted in a lot of heated arguments. Optimus has the patience of a saint and never so much as raises his voice at Jack. He understands where his frustrations are coming from. But it’s hard to make Jack understand why he wants him to be a kid again.

Elita tries her best to mediate but she’s not going to let Jack blatantly disrespect Optimus and sometimes just needs to tell him to go to his room and come back when he can have a civil conversation with them. Which only pisses Jack off even more.

So clearly, yall want me to SOB TONIGHT—

God yes.

This is absolutely what Jack struggled with and…Ironically or fittingly, it was Bumblebee who helped Jack go through these feelings, because he grew up IN war.

He didn’t get many years as a child, but now that it was all over…sometimes he got the chance to be, even if he was by Cybertronian standards, in his early 20s, supposedly an adult.

Sometimes you had to learn to just…remember what it’s like, to not be burdened by something.

So, Bee and Smokescreen took over, on those days where Jack was lashing out.

Took him to races, movies, all kinds of things to remind him:

You don’t have a need to be responsible yet.

Just be a kid.

It took a while, and sometimes Jack still did lash out…but, he learned to let go.

And apologized a million times to Optimus, to make it clear he was so very sorry about everything that he would do, lash out. After all, his caretaker only meant well.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

[the-boy-meets-evil]

I saw the post about accepting Yoongi drabble requests, can you combine "please come back" with "I haven't moved on"?

I hope that's not too sad!

title: begin again pairing: yoongi x gn!reader genre: writer/producer!yoongi, non-idol!au, exes to (possibly) lovers, some angst with a hopeful ending warnings: mentions of drinking/being at a bar, yoongi and reader are exes, but i promise this is not sad throughout word count: ~1.7k rating: teen and up note: happy birthday @hot-soop ily so so much! thank you to the anon who sent this in. i don't *think* it came out too sad, but i'll see how much bee yells at me for it and then judge.

You’re a little nervous, to say the least. Have been since you got the invitation to this party. Excited too, because if there’s anyone in this world that deserves this kind of happiness, it’s your friend, Namjoon. You’re thrilled that he found his person and so appreciative that he wants you at his engagement celebration. So, of course, you accepted immediately. 

It’s just…well you haven’t seen Yoongi in over three years. Not since the final argument that ended your relationship. Not since you promised that walking away was best for both of you and that there genuinely weren’t going to be any hard feelings. No, you would be mature about this, stay in touch and support each other as you chased your respective dreams. A nice idea, in theory, but not so much in actual practice. There were the occasional texts in the month or so after and then those faded and neither one of you made the effort to keep it up. Like you both knew it would go this way. 

It wasn’t like you were in some kind of black hole, though, where you avoided ever hearing about what he was up to. You still had several mutual friends, like Namjoon, who would post pictures from trips or nights out. Then there was the fact that Yoongi had gained traction, like he always wanted, and was writing and producing for some very big names. Even without seeing the credits, you always know when he’s worked on something. You’ve spent enough time listening to his work to be able to hear him in anything he touches. Like a signature even if he doesn’t realize he’s leaving it. It hurts, how could it not? But you’re also proud, so proud, that he’s doing exactly what he always wanted. 

At the same time, part of you wonders. Would he have gotten this successful if you’d stayed together? He’s talented, unbelievably so, and yet there are a lot of talented people who never get the kinds of breaks Yoongi did. Maybe it’s best for your own mental well-being to assume that the decision you both made three years ago was for the best. 

Your eyes are on the door, have been since you got here. Every time it opens, your breath catches, only to come rushing out when it’s not Yoongi. Part of you wonders if he’ll show up at all before remembering that this is his best friend’s engagement party. Of course, he’ll be here. This is a big night and he’s always been there for Namjoon. 

It’s kind of funny, actually, how everything works. You’re stuck in your own head, brain going a million miles a minute thinking of Yoongi and all the things you used to know. Wondering if they’re all still true. So caught up in your thoughts that you miss the door opening. Miss Yoongi showing up. Miss the way his eyes land on you almost immediately. Miss the slight frown as he works out if he should approach you immediately or get a drink first. 

By the time he’s gotten a drink, you finally notice him approaching you and wonder, for a second, how he managed to blend in so well. But then, he’s never been one for drawing attention, never been one for loud scenes. You find yourself absently smoothing down the fabric of your dress. At least it gives you a second to catch your breath and prepare. 

“Hey,” he says, far too softly given that you’re in a bar. Though you hear him anyway. 

“Hey, it’s good to see you,” you say. He smiles and you do too. Your voice sounds more even than you expect. 

“Joon-ah said you’d be here,” Yoongi says. 

“Yeah, well, it was nice of him to invite me,” you say and grimace. The words feel all wrong coming out of you. 

“This is a little awkward,” Yoongi admits with that same smile he gets when he’s unsure of something. 

“I knew you’d be here and part of me wanted to talk to you,” you begin.

“And the other part?” Yoongi prompts.

“Scared out of my mind,” you finish. 

Yoongi is thoughtful as he gazes at you. “Me too.” 

Seeing Yoongi before you is both weird and also the most normal thing in the world all at the same time. He’s both a stranger and the person you know best in the world. You know that he’s changed, you both have, but how different can someone like Yoongi, so averse to big changes, really be? 

So you do what you said you’d do all along. You catch up on each other’s lives, make small talk, start to fill in the missing pieces of the last three years. Yoongi tells you a little about the music he’s making, smiles that gummy smile when you say you think you’ve probably heard it all. Smiles again when you say that you can hear him in everything he’s worked on. He can’t believe how happy you are for him and for everything he’s done, after all this time. But you are, how could you not be? It hasn’t all been easy, he says. Sometimes the artists are difficult or his songs don’t get selected and that’s a hard pill to swallow. It’s still everything he wanted from his career, though. He’s almost careful the way he emphasizes career. 

When he gets tired of the attention, all too soon in your opinion, he turns to you. There’s a softness in his eyes when he says that he wants to know what you’ve been up to as well. It’s so genuine, so entirely Yoongi. And you hear the truth of what he’s asking: did you get to chase your dreams? You did. You went back to school, chasing that perfect job, and managed to work while you were doing it. When things felt a little overwhelming, you traveled to visit friends you’d lost touch with and new friends you’d picked up along the way. Got to see beautiful things in the world both by yourself and with people you cared about. You realize you’re also being careful with where you put the emphasis. It’s on traveling more than the people. 

There’s a lightness to talking like this, a lightness that you’re not sure you felt in the aftermath of the breakup. Where it should feel awkward to see him now, to talk like nothing bad ever happened, it only felt easy. Mostly it just feels like sitting across from the person who always knew you best in the world. Who could always tell how you were feeling without words. Maybe not so much had changed after all. Sure, you were older, wiser, a little more sure of yourself. But fundamentally, you weren’t really that different from the person who fell in love with the boy with big dreams and an impossible way with words. 

You and Yoongi find yourselves sitting together through the toasts, except for when Yoongi stands to make his, on behalf of his best friend. The two of you stick together when going to the bar, stick together when you sit to have some of the passed hors d’oeuvers, just generally don’t seem to want to part. 

It’s not until things start winding down that you realize you’ve barely spoken to anyone else. Of course, you congratulated Namjoon and his partner, told them for the millionth time what a beautiful couple they make and thanked them for the invite. You greet all the people you know since most of them are just casual acquaintances. But you don’t linger anywhere with anyone, except for Yoongi.

Now that it’s time to leave, you’re not really sure how to end things with Yoongi. Your heart feels lighter and you’re not really sure what any of that means. 

“I really should be heading out,” you say, feeling awkward for the first time since Yoongi greeted you. 

Yoongi doesn’t say anything for a second, so you turn to grab your jacket. That’s when you feel his hand on your arm, gentle enough that you could pull away. Instead, your eyes find his. “Please come back,” he says softly, too soft again for this environment.

“Yoon,” you plead. 

“I don’t know if we made the right decision three years ago. Sometimes it feels like we did, like we both needed the space. Other times, I really fucking hated not having someone there to celebrate the milestones with me. My first song, first album, first hit, hell, even my birthdays,” he fires off. 

“You could have had that,” you reason and ignore the way his face falls.

“I couldn’t have,” he disagrees.

“Why not?” You think you know the emotions on his face. But it’s been three years, so how can you really be sure?

“Because I haven’t moved on,” he says. “Not really, I couldn’t. I knew as soon as you left that I wouldn’t be able to.”

“I don’t…” you start and fumble to find the words.

“It’s okay,” Yoongi says. “I’ve known since I heard you were coming that I was going to find a way to tell you that. I’ve been able to plan.”

“Were you the reason that Namjoon invited me?” you ask. 

“No, he asked if it was okay and I just agreed,” Yoongi says. 

“I know I need to say…something,” you say, more to yourself than to him. 

“Not right now. When we were together…” Yoongi trails off, searching for the words. “Well, I wasn’t always the best at letting you inside my head. It was always easier for me to put it to writing. It still is.”

You both chuckle a little at that because it’s so true, at least it was. Yoongi always needed to sort his feelings out by writing, but sometimes you still weren’t sure what he meant. 

“I’m better at it now, though. So I’d like a chance to see you again, to say all the things we left unsaid and all the things I wish I could’ve said back then,” Yoongi says and you go to interject. “I’m not expecting anything, I just really would like the chance.”

“Okay,” is all you can say. But his whole face lights up and your heart constricts. 

“Okay?” he repeats.

“Yeah, okay. I’m not promising anything either, but there’s a lot to talk about and it’s been really nice seeing you tonight,” you admit.

Yoongi smiles again, big and genuine, eyes sparkling. “Okay.”

[twodiamondhoes]

There's No Kind of Atmosphere (WIP)

A Scarian Red Dwarf AU

The door to their bunk slid open, the pneumatics swishing in a way that was familiar to Scar the same way that his own heartbeat was, when it thundered in the silence of being the last alive of over a thousand crew members.

Familiar, too, was the low hum of Grian's light bee, alerting Scar to his presence before he was even all the way through the door. Scar would never admit it, but the sound was nearly as comforting as the rumble of the ship's engine from seventy decks below.

He glanced over at his bunkmate, and was unsurprised to see him sitting at the table by their lockers, fully ignoring his astronav textbook in favor of arguing with the toaster.

"Yes, well, if I wanted a treatise on the universal quandaries of toast, I'd go to you, wouldn't I? But if, say, I didn't, which I don't, then your opinion would be entirely irrelevant."

"Rude," the toaster replied, it's voice still crackling from the last time Scar had punted it across the room. He needed to fix its voice box soon.

"You'll be lucky if you get lukewarm bread tomorrow morning," Scar said, before the toaster could start insulting Grian. They'd be at it all night, if he did, and while Grian might not need to sleep, Scar certainly did. Besides, he knew Grian liked sleeping, liked holding onto the facsimile of life, even if he was closer to being like Mumbo or Etho than he was to Scar. And it would be Scar who'd hear about it all day tomorrow, if he didn't nip this in the bud right now.

Grian stiffened, his back returning to it's usual ramrod-straightness. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. If he weren't a hologram, Scar thought, he'd be giving himself a devil of a headache. Then again, if ever there was a man who could give himself a simulation of a headache, it would be Grian.

"Fancy seeing you here," Grian said, his voice stiff, impassable. Scar resisted the urge to tell him he wasn't seeing anything, since he refused to so much as turn and look at Scar.

"It might come as a surprise," he said instead, trying to inject some humor into the situation. Sometimes Scar thought it would be easier to tell knock-knock jokes to a wall and get a laugh, "given my magnificence, but as amazing as I am, I do still need to sleep."

Scar could hear Grian's teeth grinding together, which was a feat, considering Grian was a projection made entirely of light, and didn't have any real teeth to grind. Scar would have to applaud Mumbo about his dedication to the facsimile of Grian, at some point.

"Let me rephrase, then. I'm surprised you're sleeping here."

Scar felt the world spin a little at the way that Grian's dark eyes cut over to him, looking at him at last, even as he felt his cheeks heat at the... well at the implications of it all.

"Oh," Scar said, because it was all that he could think of. He swung himself up onto his bunk, because it was easier than trying to figure out what Grian's face was doing, and what what Grian's face was doing was doing to him. He laid back, intending to leave it there, and heard Grian's sharp, irritated exhale. Then, because he couldn't leave well enough alone, he asked, "what do you think of her?"

"She's a git," Grian said automatically, and with a vehemence that Scar honestly didn't expect. He swung himself up so that his legs hung over the side of his bunk and looked at Grian again, ignoring the way his bones went sort of itchy with a feeling he wouldn't name when he did.

"Grian," he said, exasperated, "she's you."

Grian didn't answer. At first, Scar thought that that would be it, Grian would try and ignore the conversation, but then he said, in his most standoffish tone, "It's been three million years, Scar. I've always been dedicated to the plight of women in the world, and I think it's high time we all admitted that women can be gits, too."

"That's not," Scar cut himself off with a groan. It was worse than Grian trying to ignore the conversation. He was being willfully obtuse. Scar hated when Grian was willfully obtuse about things. It made him so much more stubborn. "That's not what I mean, and you know it."

Grian slammed the hologrammatic book closed. It dislodged the simulation of a dust jacket, revealing not Advanced Properties of Physics and You, but the startlingly yellow cover of Astronavigation for Dummies. Scar thought it made a satisfying noise, even if it was a little tinny, not as robust as slamming a real book shut would be. Grian stood up, passing through the chair he'd been almost-sitting in, and tucked the book under his arm. That, more than anything, clued Scar in to how upset Grian really was by all of this. He could pass through objects without trouble--had to, actually, given as a hologram, he couldn't touch anything--but he went out of his way to avoid it. Scar suspected it was another way to hold onto life, whatever way he could.

"Yes, yes," Grian said, his voice dripping with cheer, "we all know how taken you are with her and her space heroics, and her ponytail, it's all a bit sickening, really. Still, when you get around to it, do send me a save the date, so I can have Etho burn it."

"Grian," Scar began, but found he was speaking to Grian's back as he swept out of the room. He sighed, turning to the darkened screen in the corner of the room. "Where did I go wrong, Mumbo?"

The projection of the ship's computer flared to life, Mumbo's face twisted in sympathy.

"I'm no expert, mate, and this is just a guess, but I think it might have been when you asked him about Miss Griande."

Scar groaned again, frustrated beyond belief, and let himself fall back onto the thin mattress of his bunk.

"Lights," he called, and the room faded into darkness around him. He laid there a while, pretending to sleep, until a familiar hum returned to the room.

"Lights," Grian whispered, "dimmed."

Behind his closed eyelids, Scar noticed the lights raise infinitesimally. Something rose in him at the gesture. Grian had to know he wasn't asleep, he jabbed at Scar often enough about his snoring, but he still made the gesture, careful not to wake Scar. Careful to help them both maintain Scar's plausible deniability.

Grian sighed, sounding half frustrated, and half something Scar didn't quite recognize with his eyes closed.

Part of him wanted to ask what was wrong, but with the familiar hum of Grian's light bee finally back in the bunk below his, sleep was already stealing over Scar's consciousness.

[stevie-petey]

I need something cute, like Steve getting a glimpse into the future and just seeing everything he's ever wanted. A big house full of kids, it's loud and busy, Toys scattered around. Then he just sees bug in all her glory. She's not dressed up or anything. Wearing pj's and sitting on the couch surrounded by a gaggle of little Harringtons. Some look like her, some look like him, maybe one who's too little to tell. Older ones sitting across the floor. Everyone's doing their own thing but all together in the same room. Everything feels warm and cozy. No more fighting for their lives, or worrying about what's gonna happen next. They're safe, surrounded by love that they created.

I imagine it like when Nancy comes back around Steve feels confused about his feelings ( Steve and Nancy never really had a friend phase like Steve and bug did, so I feel like they have trouble acting like friends around each other. It always lands into flirting territory and this might be confusing for the both of them.) And then he just gets hit with this vision and it makes him wanna cry. All he's ever wanted right in front of him but out of reach. When he'd get out of the upside he'd basically throw himself at bug. Any confusion is out the window and he knows what he wants.

ALSO, I feel like the jug reunion will be so good. I know season four took a lot away from Jon's character but I feel like it was needed. He saw his younger brother dead, his mom go crazy, planned a funeral BY HIMSELF ( and bug), he's almost died a million times. He deserved a break. He deserves to be a teenager and smoke weed, to forget about college for a minute. I feel like it helped him kinda go back to his old self, or maybe become someone new entirely that's a mixture of his two selves. Bugs tired when he comes back from California. She's been through hell and back and now she gets to see her old friend again. She gets to pretend like nothing has happened. Like she didn't almost die, like she hasn't been cursed or plagued with nightmares. She gets to relax and distract herself from everything that's happening around her. Don't get me wrong she's Happy, she loves Steve and she wouldn't give those memories up for the world, but she missed Jonathan. Everythings fucked but when bug and bee are together it's okay, they feel like everything will be okay. I feel like after everything that happened with vecna she'd feel homesick if that makes sense? She's way too stressed out and just wants to go home, but homes changed. Having Jonathan there would definitely help.

honestly what i adore about bug and jon is their childish innocence they still have together. the world is ending and theyve had the worst fucking three years of their lives but the second theyre together its bearable again.

i like to think of them as that feeling we all had as children, where we played superhero or tag or hide and seek, and the thrill and invincibility that followed after an exhilarating game with your best friend. your knees may be scrapped from falling, or maybe the dark closet you were hiding in began to scare you, but the moment youre back with your best friend all the fear and worries disappear because how couldnt they ? youre seven and your best friend is your favorite person in the entire world.

also you make such an interesting point about nancy and steve never JUST being friends. i never even considered that and now may have to rethink my pure hatred for that season 4 plotpoint (thats assuming the duffer bros even had that tidbit in mind). i think it adds such a nice layer to everything, so we shall see !!

[ak-vintage]

questions tag game!

Thank you for the tag, @almostfoxglove! <3

do you make your bed? Extremely rarely. Really only if people other than my husband and me are gonna be in our bedroom for some reason (contractors, cleaners, guests, etc.).

favorite number? 17. Couldn't tell you why.

what’s your job? I work in learning and development for a software company. I am the one designing and assigning all those online corporate trainings everyone hates lol

if you could go back to school, would you? You literally couldn't pay me to go back to school, no. I'm good with my BA and my MA. I don't need more. I admire the hell out of people who do though!

can you parallel park? Only under extreme duress lol. I will walk multiple blocks to park in a lot to avoid parallel parking.

do you think aliens are real? I do! The universe is incredibly vast. The idea that we are the only sentient living things out there feels statistically impossible to me.

can you drive a manual car? Nope, I cannot.

what’s your guilty pleasure? Most recently? 🍃Gardening🍃 gummies and Oreos.

tattoos? Three of them!

favorite color? Like a deep, eggplant purple.

do you like puzzles? Meh. I could take them or leave them. I do, however, LOVE Legos.

any phobias? Heights. Spiders. Bees.

favorite childhood sport? I tried a million sports as a kid, but I am not particularly athletic and didn't really enjoy any of them lol. I was, however, a dancer for 11 years, and I was in marching band, which I feel counts as a sport.

do you talk to yourself? Not as much as I used to when I lived alone.

NP Tags: @80ssong @kilamonster @shchristine @half-moon16 @fhatbhabiee

@pedroswife69 @yorksgirl @sunshinehaze1

[redactedlove]

This morning, I wanted to peel a tangerine for you.

I grabbed one from the fruit bowl in the corner of our kitchen, a bumpy sort of sphere that could not care less that it wasn’t perfect. Perhaps that was exactly what made it perfect, but who am I to judge?

I turned it over in my hands, running my finger from the bright green stalk at the top to the little dent at the bottom to the bumpy, carefree sides, unsure where to start. I haven’t done this for aeons. It felt like my hands had held about a million stars since the last time they held a tangerine.

I suppose, now that I think about it, it wasn’t all that different from holding a star; its orange skin radiated warmth, almost as bright as your laughter. From here, I could see everything: the cosmically-ordained meetings of tangerine flowers and the bees that whizzed by like comets, the miniature supernova as the flower’s petals fell, the galaxy of leaves that cradled the fruit as it grew. If I wanted to, I could even see your expression as I passed you a segment, but existence is no fun without surprises, is it not?

It took a few attempts, but at last I dug my short fingernail into the skin and pulled. Of course not, of course it hadn’t been so long since I’d last done this.

Somewhere on this planet, I was Cody, sitting on a picnic blanket with my parents, my nails short, just like here, only now breaking the outer coating of the fruit. Perhaps I’d pushed a little too hard, I thought, as juice ran down my thumb and onto my palm.

Just in the next universe over, two or three swishing temporal veils away, I was Isobel, unable to contain the hurricane of giggles at my own sticky fingers, drawing confused stares from my coworkers that I only loosely acknowledged.

The skin came away in little islands first, then in a sprawling spiral. I was Ala from the other edge of existence, confused to have come across such an unusual fruit and utterly, pleasantly perplexed at how easy it was to peel.

Holding the peeled tangerine in my hands, I ran over to you. You were sitting on our sofa that we’d found by a skip with several tears we’d since repaired with a hundred multicoloured patches. The sun in the windows caught your shimmering hair, and the little boat-shaped segment as I placed it into your palm.

Tangerines are orders of magnitude rarer than diamonds in this universe. I could search any infinity of existences, see all the wonders every dimension has to offer, and I would never feel quite the same elation as I did in our little living room.

This morning, you ate half a tangerine. So did a billion ‘me’s, or more. And so, though I did not need to, did the ‘me’ sitting on the patchy sofa with you, every segment a burst of electric, perfectly imperfect colour.

[witchboyjimin]

20 questions for fic writers

stole this from my best friend. if you'd also like to do it, please go for it and tag me in it huhu

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

60! which is. a lot of works but i've been posting since 2015

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

623,307. i hope to hit 1 million words by the end of 2025 >:)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

everything is kookmin these days but once upon a time i wrote other bts pairings and before that i wrote for ikon and got7 (and before that aka before ao3: exo, bap, block b, beast, harry potter, naruto, kingdom hearts....god idk there are a lot of fandoms lol)

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

i like how desperate you seem (in the way you look at me) if i get in, i just might drown i glow pink in the night shine a light through the dark the moon keeps calling out to me, but i only ever hear your name

5. Do you respond to comments?

no, but i did promise myself to respond to comments again in 2024. starting with the ones left on my latest fic.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

uuhhh...probably i might not make it. simply because it's an mcd fic and spoilers! jk is dead throughout the fic and the fics ends like that...

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

lol i think pretty much all of my fics end with a happy ending aka the pairing ends up together, happily in love. 

8. Do you get hate on fics?

100%. lot of fandom drama involved with writing exclusively btm!jm. i've gotten anon msgs telling me to "kms", people hoping i get raped, murdered, my body never found etc etc. you name it, i've seen it. all because they hate that i write btm!jm.

i do think fandom has gotten less insane over this very recently but i am also just way less available and have a much smaller social media presence so lack of access to me has probably reduced the hate, too. plus i'm not actively part of fandom these days so people care about me less, which is great!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

it's my favourite thing to write! i do need to get back into it though...also was not aware there are types of smut? i guess the rly nasty kind rjfkndk i like pretty much most kinks/fetishes and think it's fun to explore them.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

i have written three crossover fics! >:) two were bobby (ikon)/jimin and one was jaebum (got7)/jimin.

craziest one was probably oh boy, don't be shy since it's basically bobby finds jimin's dildo and then dp's jimin :D

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

multiple times.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes, i used to allow translations but it got to a point where people would ask to translate and then never come back to link their translations. plus, i've had people link me to fics that were translated without my permission. 

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yes! two of them :)

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

kookmin kookmin kookmin kookmin kookmin kookmin kookmin kookmin kookmin kookmin kookmin kookmin kookmin kookmin kookmin kookmin kookmin kookmin kookmin kookmin kookmin

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

god, i have so many wips i want to write that it's always like...whatever sticks. my current wip tracker has 30 fic ideas on it. i rly want to write this mafia au but i have 2 supernatural aus i also want to write very badly...

there is also a collab fic i rly want to write with my friend bee, which i hope to finish, but idk if we will. i just rly love writing hurt/comfort jgfkd

16. What are your writing strengths?

i'm very good at writing emotion. it's important to me that the reader feels and understands what my characters are feeling and feels that connection to the fic. i'm also good at writing porn for this reason. i'm also very good at worldbuilding and i will put in the research and care to ensure my worldbuilding makes sense and is as accurate as possible and failing that, as believable as possible. moreover, i am just a dedicated researcher. because i write for a korean boyband, it's important to me that i do the research into korean history, customs, current social etiquette etc. it's actually a huge pet peeve of mine to see people just make stuff up or have the fic be entirely westernised/americanised but the boys are all in korea.

i think i'm also good at consistent characterization and at pacing/flow in my work. these are both rly important to me and i've worked on them a lot over the years. i think this also lends to me being pretty good at plotting a fic out so that it's not long and drawn out or that i'm not taking the time to explore certain aspects i've introduced. balance is important!

i think i'm also pretty versatile. i can write different genres pretty easily (eg. i love writing action sequences and am good at making sure the pacing is rly fast and then slowing down when something romantic or suspenseful happens) and am good at like setting a certain vibe/tone for a fic.

finally, i am dedicated to improving. i don't think fanfic writers necessarily owe this to readers (fic writing being a hobby) but writing is really important to me and so it's important to me that i improve and challenge myself.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

i need to read more! i need to expand my vocabulary and learn how to better write metaphors. my imagery could use work, my dialogue definitely needs work. i want to write my characters with a more unique voice versus everyone kind of sounding the same. i want to make sure each character has their own "quirks" the way real people do.

i need to learn to write better description, too, as i think setting can do a lot for setting the mood/tone for a fic. a lot of my short-comings just come down to me reading too little so i need to read more and i need to dissect my favourite fics and books and pinpoint what i found compelling about them.

i also need to challenge myself to write more plot-heavy fics and to be unafraid to write characters who are unlikable or appear irredeemable. i want to write fic that has one main plot but a million little subplots and i want all of these things to come together coherently. i want my work to explore themes that are important to me!

i don't care so much about grammar but probably, i need to get better at that too haha

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

since i write fic for bangtan who are korean, i don't think it's ever necessary to write dialogue in another language. it comes across as cringey (derogatory) and borders on racist imo

19. First fandom you wrote for?

uh, beyblade? lolololol

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

i think it's my favourite rn because i just finished writing it lol but sorry about the blood in your mouth (i wish it were mine)

i am also very fond of i thought he remembered me; he took me back so tenderly because i love writing space aus! sci-fi is one of my fav genres!