#she usually just says it straight to their faces

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 9

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8

Jeff calls her. It’s the first time they’ve spoken on the phone, and something flutters in her chest.

“How did you get this number?” she asks, finger twirling the coiled wire of the phone as she smiles down at her socked feet.

“There’s only one Cunningham in the phone book, Chrissy,” he replies, all dry wit—she can almost see the smirk on his face. “It’s not exactly rocket science.”

She laughs, shuffling around her kitchen, suddenly desperate to move, but she’s leashed to the wall by her phone’s cord, so it’s only about four steps each way until she’s bungee-corded back to the starting point.

“Smartass.”

Jeff laughs this time, quiet the way he always is, but her chest feels like a supernova’s exploding in it. “But that’s not why I called.”

Chrissy’s smile fixes to her face before drooping down into her shoes with her gut. “What’s wrong?” she asks, now standing statuesque in her kitchen, cold tiles leaching all the warmth from her feet even through her thick socks.

“Nothing,” Jeff sighs, and there’s a crackling sound, like he’s rubbing his face in exhaustion. “Just—Steve drove me home.”

“Is he okay?” she asks, clenching the phone hard enough in her hand that the cheap plastic creaks.

“I think so?” Jeff replies, sounding unsure. “He just seems sad, man.”

Steve and Jeff don’t spend a lot of time together, but he’s been around enough that she trusts his judgment.

Steve is sad.

Chrissy wants to sink down to the cold tile beneath her and never get up. Instead, she shuffles back over to the phone and swings herself up onto the countertop—what her mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Her heels clack against the cupboards noisily, broadcasting her restlessness even as the worry sinks straight through her.

“What about?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

“He thinks Eddie hates him.”

Chrissy sucks in a breath and lets it shudder out before biting her lip against the next logical question. “Does he?”

“He thinks he does,” Jeff replies promptly. “But he definitely doesn’t.”

Chrissy hums, too lost in her own head to think of a reply. It doesn’t matter what Eddie feels if the effect is the same: a sad Steve Harrington.

“I don’t think you guys should do this anymore,” Jeff says, snapping her out of her spiral.

“I know,” she groans, shoulders slumping. “But Steve’s hellbent on keeping it up.”

He sighs again, muttering, “boys,” with such a defeated air that she can’t help but laugh again.

“You just keep an eye on yours, and I’ll do the same for mine,” she says, smile audible in her voice. “Deal?”

“I feel like yours is a bit easier to wrangle than mine,” Jeff scoffs, a twinge of bitterness leaking into his tone.

And he’s right; Eddie still hasn’t even told Jeff about the letters he’s been getting, much less asked his opinion on them. Steve, at least, keeps her appraised of his next moves, shares his feelings, and asks for her help even if he won’t always take her advice.

So, when Steve’s acting weird when she sees him the next morning—all shifty-eyed and nervous—she doesn’t ask. He’ll tell her when he’s ready. Besides, the hallway’s too crowded, and she’s got a sneaking suspicion that it has something to do with her and Jeff’s conversation last night.

She’s proved right when they hit the library at lunch instead of the cafeteria, and Steve barely waits until they’re settled in their usual table, feet interlaced.

“He hates me,” Steve whispers.

“He doesn’t hate you.”

Steve pouts across at her, bottom lip stuck out like a puppy dog as he accuses, “you’ve been talking to Jeff.”

Chrissy bites her lip. “I always talk to Jeff.”

He rolls his eyes, but it seems to lift his spirits. “Did you ask him out yet?”

“Shut up.” She kicks him beneath the table until he laughs.

Without further preamble, he pulls a piece of paper from his bag and pushes it across to her. She expects the latest note from Eddie, having yet to read the last one, but it’s not—it’s a letter from Steve, clearly responding to something she’s yet to see.

“Did you pick up the letter yourself?” she asks, panic sinking through her. He could get caught, and then all their subterfuge will be for nothing. She might lose her best friend. 

“Yeah,” Steve mutters, so shyly that she can’t bear to chastise him further. “What do you think?”

She reads it again, trying to look past the panic to the words in front of her. “It’s good,” she says, and it is. “Do you want to send it like this?”

His handwriting is barely legible, even to her with her weeks of practice, and there’s a few misspellings, but she’ll do whatever he wants, forever and always. But he shakes his head, and asks, “Will you edit it?”

“Can I see the one you’re responding to?” she asks.

He pulls it out of his bag and pushes it across the table without a complaint. She picks it up and begins to read.

         Secret Admirer,

         There was a little hiccup with my guitar and plugging her in, but otherwise it went great! All four of the drunks at the Hideout clapped politely when we were done, and not even one of them booed us off stage!

         The riff is still getting on my last nerve, darling, you have no idea. I wish I could hear you play, I bet you’d inspire me so much, a stroke of genius would strike me and I’d know exactly what I’m missing.

         (I don’t know how to ride a bike. My dad was never around to teach me, and by the time I moved in with Uncle Wayne, I was too old to learn.)

         Darling, did you dream of me? Was it a naughty dream?

         Yours,

         Eddie

P.S. The Lord of the Rings is the name of the whole trilogy, so I hope you find it in The Fellowship. Can’t believe you don’t even know Tolkein. It’s okay, baby, I like you anyway. 

She smiles when she’s done, kicking him beneath the table as she asks, “Does this sound like someone who hates you?”

If anything, Steve just gets droopier. “It’s for you,” he mumbles, and she doesn’t have anything to say.

Chrissy squeezes his foot tighter between her own in a pantomime of a hug.

Even with his newfound pessimism, he carefully rereads her edited words once she’s done. He smiles down at it, clearly cheered by the act of writing to Eddie.

“It looks great, Chris,” he says genuinely, as if she’d done more than correct his spelling and rewrite his letter word for word.

“Thanks,” she replies, smiling across at him, relieved his spirits have risen. “Now, let’s drop this in his locker so he doesn’t have to wait too long to read your lovely letter.”

Steve’s ears turn red with embarrassment, but he dutifully wraps his arm around her waist and leads her out of the library.

Jason’s loitering outside of it, leaning against the wall like it’s a coincidence he’s here at all, but the way his eyes glare at the point where they’re in contact makes a liar out of him.

Steve seems to agree because he pulls her closer and asks, “problem, Carver?” in his snootiest King Steve voice.

Jason holds his hands up, smiling like this is all a coincidence, but he seems to have forgotten that Chrissy knows him, maybe better than anyone. She sees the way his arms are flexing, the way he’s baring his canines more than smiling, and it makes her feel on edge.

“No problem, man,” he replies, untold violence behind every word.

“Let’s just go,” she whispers to Steve.

She’s relieved when he nods, not sparing Jason another look as they take the most direct route to Eddie’s locker. He doesn’t respond until they’re well out of Jason’s hearing range. “That guy’s starting to really freak me out,” he says, talking quietly still, even after putting all this distance between them.

Chrissy sighs. The thing is, she still misses Jason, but the Jason she misses is at least a year dead and gone. Now, all that’s left of him is someone who wants to own her.

“Me, too.”

*** 

There’s something different about the letter he finds in his locker this time.

  Eddie —

  You were the best damn thing those drunks have ever seen, hands down. No, before you ask, I wasn’t there. But when I had that letter under my pillow, I dreamed a little dream (not naughty, I know you’re disappointed, sorry). I don’t remember the songs, but I remember the way you looked for me in the crowd and smiled. All the dream people gave you a standing ovation, me loudest of all.

  You’re never too old to learn to ride a bike. My dad didn’t teach me either, but a friend did. Maybe someday, I could be that friend for you, and when I tell you I won’t let go, you can rest easy knowing I’m not lying.

  Sincerely,

  Your Secret Admirer

  P.S. I know it’s still winter, but I’ll meet you in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

The handwriting is just the same, and it’s as sweet as always, but still. There’s—something Eddie can’t quite put his finger on no matter how many times he rereads the letter. Maybe he should have paid more attention in English class instead of always working on his next campaign.

He watches Chrissy when she’s not paying attention, trying to figure out what’s changed, but Harrington always catches him and stares him down like a dog marking his territory.

It leaves him flushed, desperately trying to focus on whatever he’s supposed to be doing. By the time he looks up, Harrington’s always moved onto something else.

Maybe it’s just because they know each other now, spend time with each other, are even becoming friends? Eddie doesn’t mind, as long as the letters keep coming. He might even like this letter best of all. It feels more honest, real somehow, like he’s peeling back the layers of bullshit obfuscation to get to the truth of who she is.

He hopes it lasts.

It’s hard to write his own letter back, to meet that same level of transparency to someone who, despite now having a name and face, still feels like a nebulous being. A nebulous being whose favorite color he knows, who’s insecurities feel like they’re his own, whose words he’s stroked on the page late at night while unable to sleep.

He tries to pour that same energy back into his letter.

  Secret Admirer,

  I wish I could dream about you, too. I want to know your face well enough to hold it in my mind, even unconscious. I want to lay my head on my pillow tonight and know that you’ll be waiting for me in dreamland, ready to be the best groupie a guy could ask for.

  The truth is, no one’s loved me before. No one’s liked me, or kissed me, or held my hand during a scary movie. And, that’s scarier than any movie could ever be. Because, you’re it, baby. The one and only, and all that shit.

  I’ve got friends, and that’s enough for me! It really is! But a part of me just wants to hold someone’s hand—your hand. Maybe we can someday. Maybe we can do all the things we’ve talked about: go to a drive-in, play music together, learn to ride a bike. But even if we never do, I’m grateful for every one of these letters. Being wanted is new to me, and I’m not ready to give it up.

  Yours, always,

  Eddie

He steps into the Shakespeare section once more and slips the note into A Midsummer Night’s Dream and promptly tries his best to forget about it. It doesn’t work.

He wants a response immediately, dreads waiting the typical days it takes for a letter to appear in his locker, so no one can blame him for panicking.

“Do you want to come to a Corroded Coffin practice?” Eddie blurts after the latest Hellfire session.

Chrissy’s brow’s all furrowed up as she asks, “Corroded Coffin?”

Eddie’s surprised she doesn’t already know. He’s mentioned it at least once in one of his letters; does she not spend her nights pouring over the words like he does? Does she not have every dotted i and crossed t seared into her retinas?

His intestines wriggle around in his body, fingers itching to tear his letter into tiny little pieces before she reads his desperate, yearning words.

“My band,” Eddie replies, his response overlapping eerily with Harrington’s, “his band.”

Chrissy smirks between them but Eddie barely notices, too caught up in staring at Harrington. “How do you know that?” he demands.

Harrington’s shoulders curl, like Eddie’s the threat here as he mutters his response barely loud enough to hear over the sounds of the other Hellfire members packing up, “uh, the middle school talent show?”

Eddie’s lip quirks up as Harrington looks up from his own shoes and meets Eddie’s eyes. “You remember that?”

Harrington snorts. “Hard to forget, dude.”

Harrington’s smiling—he’s never noticed before but it’s a little off center, just enough to be endearing. Eddie smiles back helplessly, taking a step forward as he asks, “the king remembers little old me?”

He gets a laugh this time, Harrington’s eyes almost crinkling shut with his amusement. He’s got a nice laugh. Eddie’s never noticed before, hasn’t heard anything from him that wasn’t at least a little snide.

Eddie opens his mouth, desperate to elicit that noise again, when Chrissy pointedly clears her throat and reality comes rushing back in—what was that? He snaps his gaze back to her, shuffling his feet, feeling absurdly guilty. For what? Being nice to her boyfriend?

“When is it?” she asks.

It takes him a minute to remember what they were talking about. “Oh!” he exclaims, taking a step back when he realizes how close he’s gotten. “Uh, tomorrow night in Gareth’s garage.”

Chrissy’s smiling, but there’s something sly about it, Eddie knows, watching the flashing of her eyes, that Chrissy Cunningham knows what evil is and has the capacity to perform it. So much for his pet theory that she’s actually a golden retriever stuffed into a human girl’s body.

“Can Steve come?” When Eddie frowns, shifting his eyes to a red-eared Harrington standing stock-still beside her, she continues, “it’s just, Jason’s been a little intense lately?”

Carver’s name seems to bring Harrington back to life. He damn-near growls as he wraps his arm around Chrissy’s waist. “The word you’re looking for is stalkery.”

She snorts, “not a word, but yeah.”

Now that they mention it, Carver has seemed to be within arm’s reach of Chrissy for a while now, loitering on her fringes with his arms crossed like he’s staking his claim, even all these months after they broke up.

“Sure,” Eddie replies, and he means it. Harrington can come if it keeps Eddie from ending up on the wrong side of Carver’s fists. “Harrington can come.”

Harrington’s ears flush again, and he mutters an awkward, “thank you,” before leading Chrissy out of the drama room.

Once they’ve cleared out, Gareth sighs, long and loud as he says, “band practice is going to be so awkward.”

Eddie glares at him, having forgotten entirely about his audience while talking to Harrington and Chrissy. “Oh, it won’t be so bad.”

“Yeah, right,” Doug snorts, shouldering his bag and heading toward the door.

“Oh, ye of little faith!” he replies as all three of them head out the door, Jeff having inexplicably already left despite Eddie being his usual ride home on Hellfire days. “It’ll be fine!”

Before he drives the guys home, he doubles back to the library to try and steal back his note, but it’s too late: the doors are locked and by the morning, the note’s sure to be gone.

They’re right; band practice is awkward, and it’s not even Eddie’s fault. It’s not even Harrington’s fault. It’s Jeff’s.

“You look nice today,” Jeff says, looking directly at Chrissy, who blushes.

He’s right, she does look nice in a cute pink cardigan and some light-wash jeans that fit her well. It’s not Eddie’s style, but it suits her. But Jeff doesn’t have to say it while her boyfriend is standing right there.

“Thanks,” she says, smiling at Jeff.

Harrington just keeps standing there while Jeff does what can only be described as flirting, with his girlfriend. Everyone else carries on like this is normal, but Gareth’s sending him crazy-eyed looks proving that Eddie’s not the only sane one.

Doug’s too busy practicing his riffs, sure, and Jeff’s clearly gone off the deep end, but Harrington? What’s his excuse?

When he’d been dating Wheeler, he’d been all over her at all times, monopolizing her time whenever possible. And sure, Chrissy and Harrington are always together, but there’s never more than an arm around her waist or sitting close together. He’s never even seen them kiss.

And now here he is, letting Jeff flirt with his girlfriend right in front of him.

Eddie just doesn’t get it.

Corroded Coffin’s a fucking mess, Gareth keeping a beat only he can hear, Eddie missing every other note, and Jeff too busy looking at Chrissy to keep tempo. Only Doug is on his game, clearly getting more and more fed up with each new fuck-up.

Chrissy stays by Jeff’s side, whispering with him between songs while Harrington flops down on the couch and watches them play like it’s his own, personal concert.

Eddie can’t take his eyes off Steve. He wants to peel the guy like an onion, figure out what makes him tick, what makes him smile, why the hell he’s here in Gareth’s smelly garage watching his girlfriend make eyes at Jeff while she writes love letters to Eddie in her free time.

He wants to know.

He just—

Wants.

*** 

Steve’s words have been echoing around her brain for days—have you asked him out yet? It’s ridiculous, but before he’d said those words, she’d never even considered it as an option. Boys ask girls out, that’s how it works. But if Steve can like a boy, she can ask out Jeff.

That doesn’t make it any less scary though. She sits on the revelation for a few days more, watching Jeff out of the corner of her eye, flirting back after he instigates. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s still him instigating.

“I’m going to ask him out,” she tells Steve, not looking at him as they walk into the school together, too afraid of what she’ll see.

“Yeah?” he asks, bumping their shoulders together. “When?”

When she glances his way, he’s grinning ear to ear. She huffs, “I don’t know, soon?” Looking away so she doesn’t have to see that sly look on his face. “It’s just so scary.”

“I know, Chris,” he says, bumping into her again and again just to annoy her. “But you’re the strongest person I know.”

She doesn’t feel strong—she feels like a breeze might swipe her feet out from under her, but Steve believes in her. Steve thinks she’s strong, and she told him she’d ask Jeff out, so she will.

So, when Jeff next slides into her passenger seat, she starts the car and drives away without saying a word.

This has become something of a habit lately—if there’s no Hellfire, she drives Jeff home. Usually they talk, or turn on music they both like and sing along. The quiet has his feet tapping and fingers picking at the seam of his jeans. He grows more restless with each minute that passes.

“Chrissy?” he asks finally, a shyness to his voice that she’s not used to hearing. From the first time they’d spoken, he’s been confident—quiet, yeah, but assured. “Are you okay?”

Unable to take the waver of his voice sitting down, Chrissy veers off the side of the road, holding her arm out to keep Jeff from smacking into the dash at the abrupt change in momentum. She puts the thing in park, takes off her seatbelt, and turns in her seat to face Jeff head-on.

His eyes are wide, clearly freaked out by her erratic behavior, but he still unlatches his own seatbelt and mimics her position, awkwardly pulling his feet beneath him when it becomes clear his legs are too long to fit.

She’s helplessly charmed; it may just be Steve and Eddie’s letters rubbing off on her, but she wants to reach out and take his hand. So she does.

His fingers jerk in hers, pulling back a little like it’s instinct before he drops his hand on the console separating them and lets her link their fingers together. Even with the heater on, the interior of her car’s cold enough that his skin scalds against hers, sending a shudder through her.

“Is this the part where you murder me?” he asks, squeezing her hand. “Because if so, let me know.”

“So you can run away?” she asks, grateful for the moment of levity.

“No, because I’m a gentleman,” he replies, winking at her, “and I can help dig the grave, save you some work.”

Chrissy laughs, once again captivated by him. He’s a nerd, how is he so gosh darn charming? Her cheeks hurt, her heart hurts, her whole body is tingling with the anticipation of what she’s about to do.

“Chrissy—“

“Will you go out with me?” she asks, slapping her hand over her mouth when she realizes she interrupted him. She closes her eyes, entirely mortified. “Shoot, sorry!”

His hand spasms in hers before he tightens his hold. “You’re…” he starts, hand shaking in hers. She opens her eyes, horrible visions of him crying dancing behind her lids, but he’s laughing, whole body moving with the effort of suppressing it. “You’re apologizing for the best moment of my life?”

She laughs, too, helpless not to. “Is that a yes, or are you just laughing at me?”

He hums, tilting his head closer to hers, chuckles finally fading away as he replies, “can it be both?”

“Always.”

Chrissy bounces a little in her seat, vibrating with pent-up excitement. Maybe sometimes the girl can get the guy instead of the other way around.

He hums again, low down in his throat, and their gazes lock. The energy in her car is so electric her skin is buzzing with it. She wants to reach across the distance between them and steal a kiss. But girls don’t do that sort of thing. Girls aren’t supposed to—

She leans across the console separating them and kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him. Jeff gasps into it, like he’s the one being electrocuted now, and suddenly his hand is out of hers, but that’s okay because it’s on her face now, drawing her closer, closer, closer, as he sucks on her bottom lip until she gasps.

She might have stayed in that position forever, craning her body uncomfortably forward like a sunflower toward the light, if she hadn’t shifted a little too far to the left into her car’s horn with a bony hip.

As it blares, they both jump apart, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, looking around for a threat that will never come.

“Oops,” she whispers, settling back into her seat, back protesting at the change of angle.

Jeff laughs, head thrown back, long throat on full display. She wants to bite it, but the moment’s long since broken, so she puts her seatbelt on and shifts back onto the road, cheeks flaming, heart warm.

“Does this mean you’re going to give me your letterman jacket?” he asks once he’s finally stopped laughing. “I’m not familiar with jocks courting rituals.”

Chrissy’s responding laugh isn’t her usual cultivated giggle—it’s a bark that makes Jeff grin at her. “Oh my goodness, can you even imagine the looks we’d get?”

“Or that Steve would.” Jeff replies. “But you’ve gotta admit, I’d look good in his jacket.”

She almost wants to do it for the drama, Eddie’s presence rubbing off on her surely, but it’s not quite worth doubling the lynch mobs that will already be after all of them.

“You realize this is only making this whole situation even messier, don’t you?” she asks, eyes on the road.

“Yeah,” Jeff sighs, but his fingers reach across the car and settle atop her hand where it’s clasping the stick shift. “But worth it, right?”

She’s been smiling so much that her cheeks hurt, but at that, she damn-near beams ear to ear. “Yeah, baby,” she says, heat pooling low in her stomach when Jeff lets out a soft little gasp. “You’re worth it.”

PART 10

[fratttymatty]

Conerdative

(All characters are 18+)

Theo Montgomery had always been a bit of an outsider. At 18, he was an unapologetic liberal, proudly gay, and content with his status as a loner. He wasn’t the most athletic, and he didn’t hang out with the popular crowd—mostly because they made him feel like he was speaking a foreign language whenever he tried to join in. He had his few close friends, all of whom shared his views on the world. They had long conversations about politics, pop culture, and everything in between, tucked away in the quiet corners of the school library or at the local coffee shop.

But despite the friends he had, he often felt like he didn’t fit in—like he was on the outside looking in.

That all changed one afternoon after school when he wandered into the old, unused janitor's closet in the back of the school. He was supposed to meet his friend Jace there to discuss some protest plans, but Jace had bailed last minute, leaving Theo to amuse himself with whatever he could find.

As he was about to leave, something caught his eye—a dusty, ornate mirror standing at the back of the closet, framed in black and gold. It looked like it didn’t belong. Curiosity got the better of him. He reached out and touched the cold glass. The moment his fingers made contact, the room around him flickered, and for a brief moment, everything went white. Then it was gone.

When the blinding light faded, Theo blinked, disoriented, and stared at his reflection.

He wasn’t looking at the familiar face he knew.

His skin was a few shades darker, smooth and perfectly tanned. His hair, once a messy brown mop, was now thick, perfectly styled, and just the right amount of tousled. His jawline was sharply defined, and his eyes—green, like emeralds—shone with an almost unnatural intensity. He was taller, broader, with muscles that looked like they'd been carved by a sculptor.

He couldn’t help it—he ran a hand through his hair and flexed his biceps. His reflection was, well… hot. He looked like a walking, talking dreamboat.

And then, he noticed something else. The clothes he was wearing—his old, faded band t-shirt and ripped jeans—had been replaced with a sleek, tailored suit, complete with a crisp, white shirt and dark, fashionable glasses perched on his nose.

He wasn’t just different physically—he was different in every way. He felt... more confident. More sure of himself. More straight in a way he never had been before. The liberal, gay Theo Montgomery he once was felt like a distant memory. It was like he’d stepped into someone else's shoes, someone who was on top of the world—someone popular, someone who got all the attention.

For a moment, panic flared. What had happened to him? How had this change come about? But as the minutes passed, he realized something: he didn’t want to change back. This new him felt right.

He took one last look in the mirror, adjusting his glasses with a smirk.

"Who are you?" he whispered. But before he could answer himself, a voice broke through the fog of his thoughts.

“Whoa. Theo? Is that really you?”

Theo spun around to see none other than Madison Hayes, the ditzy cheerleader who had always brushed past him like he was invisible.

She stopped in her tracks, her eyes going wide as she took in his new appearance. She blinked, then took a slow, deliberate step closer, her lips curving into a smile.

“Okay, wow. I don’t know what happened, but you look... hot.” Madison giggled, her voice a mix of surprise and flirtation.

Theo felt his heart race for a moment, but not from the usual nervousness he might have felt. No, it was a rush of something else—a thrill, a sense of power. He flashed a confident smile, adjusting his glasses like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“I guess you could say I had a... makeover.” He raised an eyebrow, noticing her gaze linger on him for just a moment too long.

“More like a total upgrade,” she said, her tone breathy and playful, a hint of admiration in her voice. “I mean, I always thought you were kinda cute before, but now... you’re like, perfect. What happened?”

Theo smirked, running his hand through his hair again. “Just a little... magic, I guess.”

Madison giggled again, clearly swept up in his charm. “Well, if you’re not doing anything later, maybe you could, like, hang out? I’m sure everyone would love to get to know you now.”

Theo didn’t miss the way her eyes sparkled with interest, or the fact that she was giving him her full attention, something she’d never done before. He knew he could have turned her down—he could’ve stayed in his old self, the quiet, sarcastic Theo who was content being the odd one out. But for the first time in a long time, he didn’t want to. This new version of himself felt... right.

And why not enjoy the perks?

“Sure,” Theo said with a grin, suddenly feeling more like the confident, popular guy he’d always secretly wished he could be. “I’d love to.”

Over the next few weeks, Theo, now going by the name Zane Knight, fully embraced his new identity. "Zane Knight" sounded perfect—strong, sharp, mysterious. He even got a new wardrobe to match, ditching his old, ragged clothes for sleek, fashionable pieces that showed off his muscular build. He was no longer the shy, self-conscious kid who sat at the back of the class with his nose in books. He was the guy everyone noticed.

Madison, the ditzy cheerleader, became his unofficial “girl next door.” She was always around now, giggling at his jokes, leaning on him during lunch, and even inviting him to sit with her popular crowd. She was sweet in her own way, but her priorities were simple—cheerleading, partying, and looking cute. Zane didn’t mind. She was a nice distraction, and truth be told, he kind of liked how easy it was to charm her. She wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but she loved his new, confident vibe.

The girls? They loved him. Vanessa, the head cheerleader, was often seen hanging around Zane after school, offering him a flirtatious smile whenever they crossed paths. Even Emily, the quiet bookworm from history class, started leaving little notes for him in his locker. They all wanted a piece of him, and Zane—who had once been the outsider—was now the one everyone wanted to be around. The other guys in school—jocks, nerds, and even the band geeks—looked to him for advice, for laughs, for anything.

Zane didn’t have to try. He was just... Zane Knight.

And somewhere deep down, he knew he would never go back. The old Theo Montgomery—the liberal, gay, sarcastic loner—was a shadow. The new Zane Knight was the center of everything. And he was loving it.

Life was better this way.

It had been a few weeks since Zane Knight had stepped into his new life, and it was quickly becoming clear that not only had his appearance changed, but his entire worldview had shifted as well. He had embraced his new persona—confident, popular, and far more conservative than he'd ever imagined he'd become. And nowhere was that more apparent than in his American Government class.

It was a Tuesday, and Zane sat at the front of the class, looking sharp in a tailored blazer and dark jeans, his glasses perched perfectly on his nose. The room was buzzing with energy as Mr. Johnson, the teacher, opened the floor to a debate on current political ideologies.

“You all know the drill,” Mr. Johnson said, his arms crossed over his chest. “Liberal versus conservative views. Who wants to start?”

Zane leaned back in his chair, watching the usual suspects raise their hands. But he wasn’t just going to sit back and listen. He could feel the growing tension in the air—the need to speak his mind, to show everyone just how much he'd changed, how much he'd grown in this new life. And now that he was the center of attention, he wasn’t going to let the chance slip by.

Madison, sitting next to him, leaned in and whispered, "You’ve got this, Zane. Show ‘em how it’s done."

Zane grinned at her and straightened up in his seat, clearing his throat. The room went quiet as he stood, his movements smooth, his confidence radiating.

“Alright, let’s be real here,” Zane began, his voice calm but firm. “The left has this idea that everything should be handed to people, that government should step in and take care of everyone. But that’s not how the world works. You want to help people? You don’t do it by coddling them. You teach them to stand on their own two feet, to work hard for what they want. The government shouldn’t be the safety net—it should be the trampoline that helps you jump higher, not a cushion to catch you every time you fall.”

A murmur spread through the classroom. Some students nodded; others scoffed. Zane wasn’t bothered. He was in his element.

“Look at welfare,” Zane continued, a smirk tugging at his lips. “It’s meant to help people who are down on their luck, sure. But it’s turned into a system that rewards laziness. Why work if you can get a free handout? Conservatives believe in personal responsibility, in self-reliance. You don’t get ahead by relying on others to bail you out. You get ahead by working your ass off, by taking risks and putting in the hours. That’s what made this country great. Hard work and ambition, not sitting around waiting for the government to fix your problems.”

There was a pause, and Zane could see the reactions across the room. Some students were staring at him wide-eyed, as if they couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. But there were others—like Madison—who were practically glowing with admiration.

Madison raised her hand, eagerly waiting to add her two cents. Zane flashed her a quick smile before turning back to the class.

“And don’t even get me started on this whole ‘identity politics’ nonsense,” Zane continued, his tone now turning more pointed. “People need to stop blaming their problems on their race, gender, or sexual orientation. Life isn’t fair, sure, but that doesn’t mean you get to play the victim card every time things don’t go your way. In a truly free society, we should be judged on our abilities and character, not our identity. And honestly, if you want equality, stop demanding special treatment for everyone who’s different. We’re all equal under the law, and that’s where it should end. If you’re good at what you do, you’ll make it. Simple as that.”

The room grew tense, and a few gasps were heard. The left-leaning students—who once might have been his allies in his previous life—looked taken aback, some of them even angry. But Zane felt no fear. No doubt. This was who he was now. This was his truth.

“I’m not saying there isn’t room for compassion or helping those who truly need it,” he added, raising his hands in a gesture of balance. “But there’s a difference between helping someone up and keeping them dependent. You want change? You go out and make it happen yourself.”

Mr. Johnson, the teacher, cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Alright, Zane, that’s quite a perspective. Anyone want to challenge his views?”

A few hands went up, but Zane wasn’t done yet. He wasn’t finished making his point. He felt invigorated by the debate, like he was finally in a place where his opinions mattered.

Before anyone could speak, Zane raised his hand and, with a small but confident smile, continued. “One more thing—this obsession with ‘safe spaces’ and ‘trigger warnings’ is another example of the left trying to create a bubble where no one has to deal with the real world. Life is hard. People are rude. They’re going to disagree with you, and sometimes, they’re going to say things that make you uncomfortable. But guess what? That’s life. You can’t go through it avoiding every harsh word. We need to toughen up and face challenges head-on, not hide in our little safe spaces and pretend the world is always kind.”

He let that sink in, feeling the weight of his words in the quiet that followed. But then, just as the class seemed to settle, Zane casually added, almost as an afterthought, “And, honestly, I get that people want to be true to who they are and all, but—" He glanced around, noticing Derek, the openly gay sophomore from the drama club sitting at the back of the class, looking at him expectantly. "—does anyone else think it’s a little... weird when people make their sexuality their whole personality? Like, why do you need to wear it on your sleeve, all the time? I mean, it’s not like I walk around with a ‘straight pride’ badge on my chest.”

The classroom fell silent for a moment.

Zane’s words lingered in the air, heavy and brash. Some students shifted in their seats, looking around, unsure if they should react. But Madison, always quick to defend him, laughed lightly and nudged him with her elbow.

“Ugh, Zane, you’re so right. It’s like, just live your life, you know? Who cares about the labels?”

Zane just shrugged, unbothered. “Exactly. If you’re truly equal, then stop acting like your identity is everything. It’s just a part of who you are, not the whole damn story.”

Derek, who had been the target of Zane's comment, looked uncomfortable but didn't say anything. He shuffled in his seat and avoided making eye contact. Zane, however, didn't even acknowledge him, his confidence surging as the class began to murmur their agreement.

“Anyway, like I said, life isn’t perfect,” Zane continued, picking up right where he left off. “But it’s up to each of us to make something of it. No one’s gonna give you a free pass just because you’ve got a cause or a label.”

Mr. Johnson stepped forward to regain control of the discussion, but Zane had already taken the room. The conservative students seemed to be nodding along, and even some of the more liberal ones were silent, unsure how to respond. The truth was, Zane’s popularity, his sharp confidence, and his undeniable charm made it impossible for anyone to criticize him, even when he made statements that—back in his old life—would’ve been seen as offensive.

Madison, still smiling, leaned over to him. “Zane, you really just told them like it is. No one else would’ve said that, for sure.”

Zane smirked. “That’s because no one else has the guts.”

The class continued, but Zane didn’t care about the debate anymore. He had made his point, and more importantly, he had solidified his place at the top. No one cared about his past anymore—least of all, Derek.

In this new world, Zane Knight was untouchable.

[machveil]

i dont even LIKE cod and youve got me hooked on konig. god. the hcs with him and his siblings/family are SO GOOD its got my cuteness aggression acting up, i need to headbutt him so gently/sweetly about it. ngl im an older sibling so i would 110% enable his siblings on silly shit like baby pictures, no hard feelings to him but like, lsiten, im honor bound. its bro code but for older siblings or whatever (silly). just watching him wrassle with his sister or get into a cartoon dust cloud with the lot of his siblings and sighing so dreamily about it. my big strong goofy goober 💞💞

love to hear it, I’ve had, like, five people tell me I changed them with König and isn’t that the dream? haha

König is so embarrassed over his baby photos, honestly, you’d get secondhand embarrassment watching him get pissy over it. he will wrestle baby photos away from his siblings - if it weren’t for his mother being sentimental he’d burn them, no joke. there are photos of him eating grass in there, him in the sink for a makeshift bath, oh god, just stuff he wished would go away

I briefly talked about it in this post, but König definitely had an emo/metal phase - it was so bad (to him) he did get rid of a majority of the photos (mama König somehow has a couple stashed away - he always thinks he’s destroyed them all but then she whips out another one). his older sister, the usual suspect, is such an ass about bringing it up. if she really wants to piss König off she’ll play a song from when he was a teen, it always sends him into a frenzy. his older brothers usually don’t pick on him, that said, if his sister brings up his emo phase his eldest brother will also mouth off about it

to his credit, König’s second eldest brother is close to a saint, keeps to himself, is considerate and friendly. König’s second eldest brother is usually hanging around König when he’s home - both of them idly lounging in silence doing their own thing. they’re both mama’s boys, everyone knows, immediate family, neighbors, colleagues, it’s blatantly obvious. and, their sweet mama who could do no wrong, sort of takes advantage of that. they’re both big boys, her darling, strong sons who come running when she calls… yeah, when they’re both home she has them help her around the house - they’d never complain, they’re more than happy to help their mama fix appliances and cook meals

and then there’s their dad. yeah, generally fathers command respect, but papa König? he clears his throat and all his kids freeze - it doesn’t matter if they were laughing, fighting, or just sitting, suddenly they’re at attention. he’s not a bad parent, he just has… a general aura that says ‘large and in charge’, strikes the fear of god into people when he stands up straight and glares at you. he’s larger than life, his father isn’t the tallest in the family, the eldest son is, but König’s dad is still 6’11”/~210cm. he looks like a hardass, and he sort of is, but generally he’s easy going! papa König just has some major resting bitch face, rugged with prominent crow’s feet (mama König is absolutely smitten with him, he’s her big strong bear)

[sandwitchstories]

The Family Portrait

Well hey there! Welcome back to Mouse's Mini-Verse! One of the hardest parts of parenting is having to keep a straight face when you just want to bust a gut laughing. Kids say and do the damndest things. And Mouse, as we all know, is no different!

For more adventures with Mouse, check out my Dad!Sukuna Series on my AO3 - Here! )

Author's Note: For anyone new to my Dad!Sukuna Series, Mouse is Sukuna's, currently, 2 year old daughter with reader.

Summary: Mouse demonstrates her artistic abilities. There's just... a slight issue...

If you would prefer to read this story on AO3, click here !

WC: 1k+

CW: reader is referred to as 'Mama' but not described, toddler dad Sukuna, girl dad!sukuna, true form Sukuna (4 arms), it's pretty much Dilf Sukuna fluff and crack, SFW in every way, just family fluff, Uraume has 2 cameos

Sukuna, you, and Uraume stood side by side, staring in disbelief. You berated yourself for not questioning the silence sooner. Sukuna wondered how the hell Mouse did something of this magnitude so quickly and quietly. Uraume sighed and excused themselves to go get rags and a bucket of water.

Mouse stood frozen and stared back at the two of you for about… 15 heart beats, just long enough to sense she was in trouble, before she made an attempt at a mad dash past Sukuna. Papa wasn’t called the King of Curses for no reason. With his incredible speed he reached down and snatched her up by the back of her outfit before she could get within 3 feet of where you both stood. He brought her up to his face, dangling as he gripped her outfit.

“And where do you think you are going, Mouse?”

She reached out her hands to cup his cheeks. “Down, please and thank you, Papa!” 

“Not happening, brat.”

“Mouse,” you said, trying to get her attention. You glared at Sukuna as he turned his hand so your, still dangling in mid air, daughter was now facing you instead of him. He gave you a cheeky grin from behind her. He knew, without any shadow of a doubt, that the glare had been because he had almost made you laugh when you needed to be stern.

“Hi Mama. Hold me, please and thank you, Mama?” she asked, stretching out her arms towards you. 

You took her from his grasp and put her down on the floor ignoring her whine and pout. You knelt down to be more on her level. “Mouse, please explain to me why you have written all over the wall with your father’s calligraphy ink.”

Sukuna crossed both sets of arms as he stood and waited for her answer. You knew he was annoyed, both by the mess she had made and by her using, what appeared to be, every single drop of ink he had owned.

“I no write on wall,” she looked at you confused.

“Then what do you call that?” you asked, pointing behind her.

She grinned at you and then at Sukuna. “I painted a picture for you!”

“That’s… a… painting,” Sukuna said slowly, squinting all 4 of his eyes at the jagged lines, swirls, dots and scribbles. “I’m not seeing it.”

“I show you?” Mouse asked, looking between you and Sukuna.

“What the hell,” Sukuna sighed and gestured her forward.

“Mama, stand up, please and thank you.”

You did as told, trying hard not to be upset about your ruined wall. It got a little easier when she turned around, grabbed a finger on each of your hands and headed forward, pulling you both along behind her. 

Once you got to the wall she walked over to the right side of the wall. “I start here, Mama, Papa.”

“Alright, Mouse. You have our attention,” you said, standing next to Sukuna who had recrossed his arms and stared with his usual grumpy look of disinterest but you noticed his eyes were all fixed on where his daughter was pointing.

“This is a puppy. This is a kitty. This is a fishie. This is a birdie. That’s a bug. That’s a tree… and another tree…,” she continued, pointing at various scribbles as she walked.

“What’s that?” Sukuna pointed, skipping ahead to the biggest part of the design. A large…something. It was a shape resembling a rectangle with lines coming out from either side and underneath.

“That’s you, Papa!” she said with the proudest smile on her face. 

She then pointed to a smaller version with less lines on the sides but a good number of long lines coming down from the top. “That’s you, Mama!”

Sukuna grinned, kneeling down and putting a hand on her back. He put another hand on the back of her head and kissed her forehead. “You captured our likeness well, I suppose.”

“It’s a beautiful drawing, little one, but from now on let’s do it on paper only, okay?” you asked, brushing fingers through her hair with a smile on your own face. 

“Okay, Mama. I promise,” she nodded happily. You could only hope and pray she remembered this conversation next time.

“And you need to ask first.”

“Okay, Mama, I promise.”

“What’s this one?” Sukuna asked as he pointed to another part of the picture. How she had managed to make a scribbled shape look annoyed was beyond him, but that was the only damn way he could describe what he was looking at. An annoyed blob. Mouse gave him a toothy grin. “That's Urau-rau!”

You choked on air at her response. “You know what, I can see it.” Sukuna tilted his head to the side with a shit eating grin on his face. He glanced up at you, all four eyes twinkling with mischief. Oh no…

He quickly scooped Mouse up in one of his arms, making her laugh loudly with her head thrown back while she held onto his clothing with tight, tiny fists as he stood. He glanced to the doorway  Uraume was returning through with the cleaning supplies. You knew your husband well enough to know that you were about to want to throttle him. 

“Uraume, I have changed my mind. Leave it as it is,” he said as he began walking out of the room with Mouse in his arms. “Come, Mouse. Let's go find a snack.”

“Snacks! Snack! Snacks! Please and thank you, Papa!” Mouse said in a happy almost sing-song voice, looking up at him like he hung the moon.

“May I ask why, Master Sukuna?” they asked, eyes trained down trying not to let any irritation show.

“It’s a family portrait,” Sukuna answered, amusement in his tone.

“I painted you too, Urau-rau!!” Mouse called over his shoulder waving as they disappeared down the hallway, the sounds of them discussing what to snack on fading as they moved away.

Uraume looked at you and shook their head. “I am glad there is only one of those things.”

You chuckled and gave them a pat on the back before you began to follow after the other two. With your hand on the doorframe you paused and looked back, making direct eye contact with them. You winked and said one last thing before fully exiting the room “Only one…For now.” 

[pandapetals]

Haircut

Logan's hair has grown out and he wants you to cut it.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - established relationship (y'all married), cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

It was just after your last class when Jean and Ororo strolled into your office, both looking far too amused for it to be innocent. Jean was practically buzzing, that familiar glint in her eye that always meant she had something on her mind she probably shouldn’t say out loud.

You set down your stack of papers, raising an eyebrow. "Alright, what’s going on? You’re both looking at me like you have some kind of secret."

Jean tilted her head, feigning confusion. "What? I have no idea what you’re talking about," she replied, though her face betrayed her.

Ororo shook her head, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Jean, you’re not fooling anyone. Everyone knows that look means you have something you're dying to say."

You grinned, leaning back in your chair. "Come on, Jean. Out with it. What’s got you both so giggly?"

Jean sighed dramatically, leaning in with a conspiratorial smirk, as though she were about to reveal a closely guarded secret. "Have you seriously not noticed how… long Logan’s hair has gotten?"

You blinked, feigning surprise, though a warmth crept into your cheeks. "His hair?" Of course, you’d noticed. You were hoping Logan hadn’t— you liked it long. The way it softened his features, gave him a slightly gentler look, even if he didn’t see himself that way.

Ororo chimed in, folding her arms and smirking. "He’s looking downright fluffy these days. Reminds me of a very grumpy, oversized puppy."

Jean snickered. "I mean, he's practically got movie star hair now. Big, wild, and those white streaks just make him look all the more rugged. Like something out of one of those brooding novels you love."

You couldn’t help but laugh, the mental image was too perfect. "You two are ridiculous. I think he looks… distinguished."

"Right, distinguished ," Jean teased, raising an eyebrow. "I saw Scott nearly choke on his coffee this morning after seeing him in the hallway. He told Logan he looked like he just wandered out of the wilderness."

"I don’t think Logan even realized his hair had gotten so long," Ororo added, shaking her head. "Until, well, everyone started teasing him about it."

You grinned, already imagining the scowl Logan must have given Scott. "Well, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled when he finds out the whole mansion’s talking about his ‘movie star’ look."

The three of you shared a laugh, but as the door to your office swung open, you froze. Speak of the devil—Logan himself appeared, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and an unreadable expression. His hair was indeed longer than usual, falling in soft waves around his face, streaked with hints of white that caught the light. He looked somehow younger… and maybe a little self-conscious.

"Are you three done talkin' about me like I’m not standin' right here?" he muttered, eyes narrowing playfully. "Thought I'd come see what all the fuss was about."

Jean and Ororo stifled their laughter, making their excuses as they slipped out of the room, leaving you alone with Logan. You looked up at him, biting back a smile.

"So... you heard all that, huh?" you asked, trying to keep a straight face.

He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he stepped closer. "Enough to know my hair’s apparently got everyone in a tizzy," he grumbled. "Honestly, didn’t even notice how long it’d gotten until Scott gave me grief about it. Figured it was time to have it cut, but… thought I’d get your opinion first."

You sat up a little straighter, looking at him with mock seriousness. "Well, if you want my professional opinion, I think the long hair suits you. It’s got that rugged ‘I live in the woods and don’t care about societal expectations’ charm." You reached up, brushing your fingers through the strands near his ear. "And besides… it’s kind of adorable when it’s all fluffy like this."

Logan scoffed, though there was a slight blush creeping up his neck. "Adorable? You’re always pushin’ it, darlin’."

"I mean it!" you insisted, running your fingers through his hair, feeling the softness beneath your touch. "It gives you this ‘wise, wild protector’ look. Like something out of one of those old legends."

He groaned, rolling his eyes. "You’re just sayin' that ‘cause you don’t wanna cut it. I’m tellin’ ya, it’s startin’ to get in the way. Gonna end up chewin' on it if it gets much longer."

"Well, if you’re worried about it getting in the way…" You let your fingers linger, brushing the silver strands back from his face, admiring the way they contrasted with his darker hair. "Maybe just a trim?"

Logan held your gaze, a hint of exasperated affection in his eyes. "Sweetheart, you’re tryin’ way too hard to keep this mop on my head."

You sighed dramatically, giving his hair a final fluff. "Fine. If you insist on going back to the short, tough-guy look, I’ll cut it. But just know, I’ll miss all this wild, windswept charm."

Logan smirked, leaning in close. "Pretty sure you’ll still find plenty of charm left," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. "Now, how about that haircut before I start lookin’ like I belong in a shampoo commercial?"

Later that evening, Logan sat in front of the bathroom mirror, his rugged frame filling the small space as the golden light of the setting sun streamed in through the window. You stood behind him, scissors in hand, combing through his thick, unruly hair with a small, reluctant sigh.

"Alright, Mr. Movie Star, " you teased, raising an eyebrow as you met his eyes in the mirror. "Are you absolutely sure you want me to cut this?"

Logan gave a small, exasperated huff, his gaze steady and affectionate. "Yeah, sweetheart. I trust you. Just… don’t go makin' me bald," he muttered, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You chuckled, fingers threading through his dark hair, feeling its softness as you brushed through it. "Oh, don’t worry. I wouldn’t want to see that either," you teased, leaning down to press a quick kiss to the top of his head before slipping into concentration.

As you worked, Logan watched you through the mirror with a quiet intensity, his eyes softening as he took in the focused look on your face. After a few minutes, he closed his eyes, seemingly surrendering to your touch. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you trimmed, the soft snip of scissors breaking the peaceful silence between you. Every now and then, Logan let out a low hum of approval, as if he were drifting into some rare moment of calm.

When you finally finished, you took a step back, tilting your head as you admired your work. His hair was back to its shorter, rugged cut—the way you remembered it from when you’d first met him—but you’d left just a bit of length to keep that hint of softness you’d grown to love.

Logan opened his eyes and ran a hand through his newly cropped hair, nodding approvingly as he examined his reflection. "Not bad," he murmured, flashing you a small, appreciative smile in the mirror. "I think you missed your calling as a barber."

You grinned, leaning down to drape your arms over his shoulders, resting your chin on top of his head as you looked at him in the mirror. "Well, you make a pretty handsome client," you murmured, ruffling his hair playfully.

Logan chuckled, reaching up to catch one of your hands, his fingers lacing through yours. "Gotta admit," he said, his voice a low rumble, "I kinda like you fussin' over me."

You laughed, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. "Oh, I bet you do. Next time, maybe I’ll charge you for it."

He tilted his head, meeting your gaze with that mischievous glint in his eyes. "Think I can handle the payment," he murmured, his hand sliding up to the back of your neck, pulling you into a slow, lingering kiss that left you breathless. His thumb traced gentle circles against your skin, holding you close as the world around you faded, leaving just the two of you bathed in the soft, golden light of the evening.

When he finally pulled back, a faint smirk played on his lips, his eyes flickering over your face. "Gotta say… you look a little disappointed, sweetheart."

You shrugged, trying to hide the grin tugging at your mouth. "Well, I was a fan of the fluffy look," you admitted, running your fingers through the shorter strands as if to mourn the loss. "But I guess I can make peace with this new ‘refined’ version of you."

He raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge sparking in his gaze as he tugged you gently toward him, guiding you to stand between his knees. His hands found your hips, fingers warm and steady as they rested on your waist. "Guess I’ll just have to make it up to you somehow," he teased, his voice dropping to that familiar low rumble.

You arched an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with a smirk. "Oh? And just how do you plan on doing that, Mr. Howlett?"

He gave a low chuckle, one that you felt more than heard, as he pulled you even closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours. "Oh, I’ll think of somethin’, darlin’," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin before he closed the distance, capturing your mouth in another deep, lingering kiss.

As his arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him, you melted into his embrace, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your palms. His hair might’ve been shorter now, but he was still undeniably him —all rugged strength, warmth, and that infuriatingly charming smirk that had stolen your heart.

Pulling back just slightly, you looked down at him with a teasing grin. "You know, you’re lucky I love you for more than just your hair."

He huffed, rolling his eyes but unable to keep the softness out of his gaze. "Yeah, yeah. Good thing, huh? Otherwise, I might’ve been in trouble."

[emmg]

WIP whenever

because @heylittleriotact uno reverse'd me lmfao

bc grading essays is overrated, so here’s a lil’ something from the ridiculous fic I’m forcing my keyboard to suffer through. Plot? Absolutely none. Just Emmrook going on “dates” (and like also… smutty dates) suggested by the other clowns haunting the Lighthouse. This one’s SUPPOSED to end in a coffee date—because Lucanis—but I haven't written that yet lol

Honestly, it’s like… smut-crackfic with necromancy puns that should be punishable by law. I keep saying I’ll write a serious Emmrich one day, but let’s be real, that day isn’t today

Anyway, title? Don’t have one. I'm just throwing a bunch of dashes and slapping a read-more right before it gets too long so it doesn't invade anyone's dash

--------------

It’s the most absurd scene. Like, truly bonkers. 

She hovers in the doorway, conveniently camouflaged by shadows, because though the cringe levels are searing her soul, she simply cannot look away. It’s like watching a runaway cart barreling downhill, if said cart was cobbled together with blissful ignorance and top-tier ineptitude. 

There, crammed onto Harding and Neve’s favorite tiny sofa, are Lucanis and Emmrich. And they’re... talking? Sort of? It’s the most agonizing conversation she’s ever been subjected to, and that’s saying something. Lucanis is flailing his hands around, using them more than words, trying to drive home whatever point he’s failing spectacularly to make. Meanwhile, Emmrich, ever the dignified one, has one leg crossed so neatly over the other that it creates this little triangle of space that she suddenly wants to crawl into and hide from the embarrassment radiating off both of them. 

"You see," Lucanis laments, his fingers forming that universal gesture of the confused and the desperate, “we went for coffee. But she, well, threw it back. Like a shot of spirits. It was not just any brew. This was from the frost-bitten slopes of the Vimmark Mountains. A dark roast with notes of juniper and just a hint of wild honey. You don’t just drink something like that—you experience it.” He shakes his head. “Her focus was all on that new case file, instead. And fish. Fried fish."

Emmrich nods along thoughtfully. “I understand. However, if I may be so bold, Lucanis, have you perhaps thought of discussing something besides coffee? A change of topic might open new avenues.” 

"I did offer to sharpen her knives."

“Knives,” Emmrich repeats, as though weighing the term’s philosophical import. “And… Neve is known to possess a significant collection of blades?” 

“No,” says Lucanis, flat as a pancake. 

“Ah,” Emmrich replies, offering a sage nod. A wise and knowing “ah,” as if that somehow clarified things. "An unusual approach, then." 

Desperate to claw himself out of this conversational pit, Lucanis asks, “Well, what is it you and Rook… do?” He stumbles over the words, as though simply asking has exhausted his entire social skill set for the year. 

And now, it’s Emmrich’s turn to squirm. She can almost see his moustache twitching, wishing it could detach itself from his face and make a run for the hills. He looks away, frowning slightly, as though consulting some vast internal library.  

They don’t go on dates. Please. Not even the hilariously doomed sort that Lucanis somehow subjected Neve to. For one, neither of them has the time for candlelit strolls with the world about to be ripped apart by blighted elven gods strutting around like they own the place.

Usually, she just pops into his room and fucks him while he pontificates about the finer points of romance. Oh, she always lets him go on for a hot minute, but once her lips are on his throat and her hands start wandering further south, he finally gets the hint, and that highbrow nonsense about “dignified courtship” goes straight out the window.

Emmrich, after clearing his throat, finally answers, "We discuss books."

From her shadow, she snorts. He's not wrong, technically. Just the other night, she had perched in his lap while he was reading some dry treatise on Fade energy attunement and the properties of dawnstone. He’d even launched into a detailed explanation while she kissed her way down his jaw and neck, hardly deterred by the lecture. Finally, when her hand wandered beneath his shirt, Emmrich, after a brief struggle to finish his monologue, allowed the tome to tumble from his grip.

So yes, “discussing books” might be accurate, but it’s hardly the whole story. And yet here sits Emmrich, steadfast in his scholarly pride, while Lucanis looks ready to take a long walk off a very short pier. She’s not sure which of them is more tragic. 

“Hm,” says Lucanis, apparently having reached the absolute zenith of his conversational abilities. 

“Ah,” Emmrich replies, with all the enthusiasm of someone describing mildew yet also, somehow, managing to sound very polite about it. 

She saunters over to break this pathetic monotony of wall-staring both are currently engaged in.

“My dear,” Emmrich perks up, relief flooding his face as though she’s just rescued him from the depths of some social hell. His voice is full of that charming lilt he uses when he’s desperate to salvage his dignity. 

He makes a half-hearted attempt to stand, all dignified and well-bred, but she waves him off with a lazy hand, signalling him to stay seated. And stay he does. Without missing a beat, she slides into his lap, practically draping herself sideways over him, arms winding around his neck. He tenses for a moment, exhales in resignation, but eventually gives in, one hand resting at the small of her back, fingers just barely grazing the line between respectable and… well, decidedly not. 

“I hate when you do that,” Lucanis snarls from across the sofa, jabbing a finger at her. 

“Yes, it’s not very proper,” Emmrich says with solemnity, though he’s showing absolutely zero signs of protest about her whole backside pressing against him. 

With a serene, mischievous grin, she stretches her legs, casually extending them until they’re firmly invading Lucanis’ personal space. 

“Mierda,” he grumbles, swatting at her ankle with all the fervor of a cat being swiped at by an annoying feather. “Rook.” 

She just grins that beautifully infuriating grin. “Go back to your pantry, Lucanis,” she says sweetly, her tone one of pure, serene malice. “The gouda is getting lonely.” 

Lucanis stalks off, glowering as if he’d chuck a knife at her head if he had one in hand. And she’s fairly sure he would. 

She blows him a kiss. He shows her the middle finger. They’ll have coffee in the morning.

Meanwhile, Emmrich, ever the portrait of indulgent patience, looks up at her from his cozy place beneath her with a satisfied hum. “How was your day, darling?” 

“Good,” she sighs, stretching further until her legs are practically colonizing whatever’s left of Lucanis’ side of the sofa. “Yours?” 

Emmrich raises an eyebrow. Makes a contemplative sound deep in his throat. “Enlightening. Lucanis and I were just having… an intriguing discussion.” 

“Oh?” she purrs, eyes glinting. “About what, pray tell?” 

“Courtship,” he says, savoring the word as though it were some priceless artifact he’s just dusted off from an ancient shelf. 

She smirks. “I’m sure you gave him absolutely riveting advice.” 

“I certainly tried.” He heaves a great sigh, even rolls a shoulder in a semblance of a shrug. “Though, I fear our preferred methods diverge.” 

“‘Preferred methods’?” she echoes, giving his thigh a playful squeeze. “Do enlighten me.” 

Emmrich gives her a look that’s half-scholar, half-sufferer. “Well, I fancy a touch of romance, some… sentimentality, if you will. And Lucanis…” 

“And Lucanis?” she goads. 

“His idea of a grand romantic gesture involves… knives,” he finishes with a sigh of pure exasperation. 

She can’t hold back the snort that escapes. “I mean, yeah, it’s Lucanis. Did you expect anything different?” She presses a little closer, trouble dancing in her eyes. “But for what it’s worth, I do love talking about books with you… so very much.” 

Emmrich doesn’t miss a beat, a hint of sarcasm curling his lips. “So I’ve gathered.” 

“Tell me more about your books, Emmrich,” she coos, batting her eyelashes with all the enthusiasm of a third-rate actress in a chintzy Orlesian play. 

“If you’re genuinely interested, I would gladly oblige.” 

“Oh, I’m interested,” she purrs, lowering her voice to a husky whisper. “In you talking… while you bend me over your desk.”

Emmrich rolls his eyes, his facade of feigned innocence dissolving in an instant. “There it is,” he says, shaking his head, fully resigned, and yet absolutely, unflinchingly unbothered. “Right on schedule.”

She giggles, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips, laughing against his skin as his mouth curves into a smile. His hand moves down her back, rubbing a little more insistently, as if he’s grounding himself—or maybe just unable to resist the urge to keep her right there. 

And she doesn’t make it easy for him. She drags her legs back, swings one over his lap, and settles herself down, straddling him. For a moment, she just studies him, tracing her fingers through his hair, brushing little gray strands back, pressing featherlight kisses along his cheekbones. She moves to his jaw, his forehead, then teases at the edge of that absurdly high collar he insists on wearing like he’s hiding some grand secret rather than just a very biteable throat. 

He is fine, she muses, is he not? So impossibly precise, so painfully detailed. He’s all sharp angles and sleek lines, with those maddeningly long fingers that look like they could carve through a mountain if they set their mind to it, and legs that seem to go on for days. Tall, lean, graceful, and—she smirks—a touch too verbose for his own good.

There’s a tragic elegance to him, too, a sort of quiet, melancholic dignity wrapped up in age and maturity, like a bottle of rare, finely aged wine that’s only gotten more complex with the years. A shame, really, that he’s about to be thoroughly enjoyed by someone who wouldn’t know a fine vintage from a spoiled ale. 

She’ll savor him all the same, every last bit. 

When she takes his hands, winding her fingers through his, she feels him smile—a real, soft thing, so she leans down and steals it right off his mouth. She licks along the seam of his lips, teasing, before he finally gives in and parts them, letting her kiss him in earnest. 

“I like your rings,” she murmurs as she pulls back, letting their mouths part with a wet pop, a little string of saliva snapping between them. “They make you look expensive.” 

“Not too expensive, I hope,” Emmrich teases. “Otherwise, I fear I’ll meet the same fate as every artifact your merry Lords of Fortune collect. Pilfered in the night, sold to the highest bidder. One moment here, the next—poof. Gone.” 

She makes a show of sighing, voice deadly serious. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’d rig the auction, slip in a pretty penny or two, then plant an inside man to bid on you. Coin in one hand, you smuggled back to me in the other. All in one night.” 

He laughs, that rich, throaty sound she loves, and she can feel it rumbling up through his chest. “All that trouble just for me?” 

She leans in, lips brushing his ear. “Consider it my own little courtship ritual,” she whispers, nipping at his earlobe. “Better than dinner and a walk, don’t you think?” 

He chuckles, his hands slipping to her hips, holding her close as if he’s half-tempted to test just how well she could pull off that heist. “Dangerously persuasive, as usual.” 

For a while, she stays just as she is, savoring the closeness, every slow inhale filled with the scent of him, the warmth of his body against hers. She steals little kisses, grazing his jaw, breathing her laughter against his skin each time he starts to smile. She loves the quiet, the intimacy of it all, though she loves his voice just as much. Sometimes, she asks him to read aloud, not for the content, but for that smooth, careful cadence that rolls through her and makes her feel so, so good. She’ll rest her head in his lap, fingers idly tracing patterns on his hands, kissing his knuckles, his fingertips, watching his face as he reads. 

Now, there’s nothing for him to read, but she leans into him all the same, letting his quiet words fill the space. He murmurs, babbles, whispers soft nonsense as he unlaces her hair, fingers brushing through the waves, watching as they fall in gentle cascades over his lap. She exhales, content, her eyes half-closed, perfectly happy just to listen as his voice drifts around her, soothing and familiar. 

She simply listens, resting her head on his thigh, gazing up at the ceiling, fingers trailing over his hands, kissing his fingers one by one, lingering on each touch. Her teeth gently scrape along his skin, letting her tongue follow in a slow, winding path. She feels his breath hitch, hears him stumble over his words as she nibbles down each finger, tracing her tongue along the edge before she takes it into her mouth, sucking just enough to leave him squirming. She lets each finger slip from her lips with a wet pop, savoring the way his composure falters, how he tries—and fails—to keep his voice steady as she drags her mouth over the center of his palm, kissing, licking, leaving nothing untouched. 

He’s given up on this one-sided dialogue entirely, his gaze drifting from her to the room around them—the door, the table, the empty corners where nothing but dust bunnies, or perhaps a few stray Fade bunnies, lurk in silence. 

“Dear,” he murmurs, glancing down at her. “We ought to move.” He gives her a gentle nudge, even tries to rise himself, but she’s not having it. 

“Oh, but you look so good here,” she protests, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “They’re all asleep, Emmrich. Even Lucanis, that kitchen rat, is probably curled up in his pantry right now, snuggling his precious wheel of parmesan.” 

Emmrich lets out a long, put-upon sigh, like he’s reaching deep into his reserve of patience, maybe for some scolding remark, but he finds none. His shoulders drop as he finally relents, letting her kisses chip away at his restraint. She leans in, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper, detailing exactly what she wants him to do with those hands of his—where she wants those fingers, how she wants them stroking, filling, plunging, curling… 

“Well then,” he manages, and she laughs, a short, wicked little sound, straight into his mouth. 

She slips down his body, her hands already at his waist, working his trousers loose with a grin that says she knows exactly how flushed he’s become. She murmurs something obscene, barely a whisper and almost incoherent, her smirk widening as she leans in closer, taunting, “Come on, Emmrich, don’t tell me no bone was ever… poked… in that crypt of yours, right out in the open for all to see.” 

“It’s the Grand Necropolis,” he corrects, like that’ll somehow keep his dignity intact, “and we most certainly do not… poke.”

She undoes the last of the many - too many - buttons on his trousers before freeing him just enough to take him in hand. And oh, would you look at that, for all of his posturing he's already hard. All that wriggling on top of him certainly led to something, she thinks.

“Oh?” she hums, tracing her fingertips over his bare skin, savoring the way he stiffens under her touch. She leans forward, her lips brushing against his length as she murmurs, “Not even a quick tumble between the tombs? Not a single bone used for inspiration?” 

His restraint crumbles as she flicks her tongue over him, taking her time, drawing out each little shiver, each catch in his breath, making sure he’s utterly undone before she finally lets her mouth close around him, her gaze locked on his as she starts to take him deeper, her mouth warm, wet, greedy. And as she feels him sink back, his hands clenching in her hair, she knows she’s finally broken that perfect composure, and she couldn’t be more pleased. 

Then she pulls back just enough to speak. “So, tell me, is this what you meant by reanimation techniques?”

Emmrich sighs, dragging his free hand over his face as if he could somehow block out the utter cringe tumbling out of her mouth, his fingers twitching, though she doesn’t give him a moment’s peace. She lowers her head again, sucking him in, hollowing her cheeks, before releasing him yet again, his cock slipping past her lips with an obscene, wet pop. “You know," she muses, "I’d say you’re looking rather stiff.”

A sharp exhale escapes him, a half-laugh, half-moan that only encourages her further. She picks up her pace, taking him deeper, her hands braced against his hips as she moves with a steady rhythm, doing that little thing with her tongue she knows he likes, she knows that everyone likes, a talent truly, swirling all the way around, pressing it flat on the underside of his cock, only to suck her way up, breathe hot air against him, before swallowing him again. 

Between every few breaths, she pulls back just enough to taunt him, her voice syrupy with mock innocence. She can barely hold back the laughter as she watches him react, his hips bucking ever so slightly with each tease, like clockwork, so deliciously predictable. “Come on, love. I thought resurrection was your specialty?”

“Blasphemy,” he mutters above her, though there’s no real heat in his voice. 

“No, no.” She rests her cheek against his thigh, stroking him instead with a slow, deliberate touch, her palm warm and slick, her grip firm. “Think of it as… a rather intensive course in raising the dead.”

The absurdity of it hits her right as she says it—her last attempt at an erotic pun officially surpassed—and she breaks, a snort escaping as she buries her face against his leg, her shoulders shaking with laughter. 

But then she feels his hands shift, pulling her up by her arms, and she yelps, startled, before giggling as he hauls her up, settling her right back on top of him. 

“That’s quite enough of that,” Emmrich whispers. 

As he catches his breath, she wipes her mouth, grinning at him with all the smug satisfaction of someone who’s just completely dismantled a man who prides himself on his restraint. She feels his fingers on her chin as he angles her face back towards his so he can kiss her and she's not shy, she tangles her tongue with his immediately, tasting as much of him as she can reach, even tracing the edge of one canine before retreating for breath. 

“Think you could, I don’t know…” She waves a hand around aimlessly. “Necromance my pants away?” 

He smiles, curling her hair around his fingers where it frames her face. “No, dear. I’m afraid that is not in my skill set.”

[magics-neptunes-things]

Mockingjay - Part 9

Hi guys!

New chapter for Mockingjay, you guys know the things now! Like the others I hope you will like it!

I don't know how many chapters it will have left to be honest, I received the question several times and I still don't know... Sorry?

Enjoy ♥

TW : Blood, death, fight, injuries, weapon.

Chapter before

Ona slept for several hours that night, but when she woke  up, she managed to make Lucy sleep too. She’s used to being up at night and sleeping during the day usually, just like an owl. But when she looks at what she did until now, Ona must admit that she hasn’t done a lot of things.

Well, she’s still alive, which is pretty good actually.

With Lucy asleep, Ona could let her mind go to Teagan for long hours. She can’t forgive herself for not being able to put the boy in security somewhere. She feels like she doesn’t deserve to be here and not him. It’s so unfair.

She is angry when she thinks about his death. She’s not sad anymore. Unlike when she lost Jana, she wants this time to get revenge for Teagan. Seth is dead thanks to Lucy, but Ona wants to make Camden pay.

That idea terrifies her. She’s not a violent person usually. But now, it’s different.

Ona kept her anger at a reasonable level while Lucy sleeps, though. She passed her time stroking Lucy’s face, redesigning without getting tired the features of her face. Lucy doesn’t seem to mind and hasn’t woken up, so Ona guessed that it was pleasant for the other girl too.

When Lucy finally stirs, the sun isn’t here for now. But they still have the fire keeping them warm and nice.

“Hi” Lucy says with her sleepy voice.

“Hi” Ona smiles, stopping her caresses. “Did you sleep well?”

“Better than since the beginning of the Games”

Ona lets Lucy sit and rub her eyes, but she doesn’t stop looking at her. She probably never finds Lucy as cute as right now. She wouldn’t be against a hug to be honest, but she doesn’t want to be too clingy. Or needy.

“Where were you sleeping until now?” Ona asks with curiosity.

“On the ground” Lucy shrugs. “We made our camp near the starting point. What about you?”

Ona nods before answering. She was right when she told Teagan that they shouldn’t pass straight by the starting point. They were maybe just unlucky to be seen by Seth and Camden.

“In the trees. We went to a house in the city at some point. And I think I slept in one of the big buildings at the beginning.”

“Where I saw you” Lucy says.

Ona nods one more time, even if it wasn’t a question. She remembers perfectly the way Lucy was suddenly in front of her, the fear she had to be discovered and killed. That moment only lasted one or two seconds, but it’s still massive in her mind.

“When Kayla said that she saw you going into the city, I was so scared. I knew I needed to find you first, otherwise they would have killed you. It was a massive relief to be the one finding you.”

Ona hums softly. It seems that she was lucky several times during the Games. She hopes that karma won’t charge her in exchange.

“I was lucky it was you” Ona concedes. “Just before I received chocolate, it would have been sad not to be able to eat it”

Lucy chuckles softly and grabs one of their bottles of water to drink a little bit. Ona hasn’t any chocolate left, Teagan and her have eaten them already.

“Did you receive a lot of things from the sponsor?” Lucy asks.

“Just some food the first day and the cream when I got hurt. What about you?”

“Some useful things”

Ona looks at Lucy when she stands up to go near the backpacks leaning against the cliff. Ona hasn’t realised until now that Lucy took advantage of her sleep to reorganise their stuff.

They have some food, the things Ona and Teagan have collected yesterday, and some things Ona thinks might come from Lucy’s or Camden and Seth’s backpack. There is bread, dried meat and even some fruits.

“We need to eat that today” Lucy comments while looking at a banana.

Ona hums softly, looking at Lucy grabbing other stuff from the backpack. There is a flashlight, the rope they used to get Ona out of the cliff, a lighter, some tape, several bottles of water, a lighter, several knives and the hammer which belonged to Seth or Camden, Ona doesn’t really remember.

“How do you feel?”

The question takes Ona out of guard, and she turns her head in Lucy’s direction. Lucy is looking at her with concern and Ona smiles softly.

“I’m okay, what about you?”

“I’m not the one injured here”

Ona rolls her eyes, making Lucy smile. The older girl gives Ona the banana she was looking at before, telling her to eat it. Ona obliges and keeps looking at Lucy. She can’t believe they are together again, but at the same time, Teagan’s death is still in her mind.

“You don’t have any injuries?” Ona asks, impressed.

“No” Lucy shrugs. “But there is nothing to be proud of. We were six at first.”

Ona hums once again. She looks at Lucy when the girl comes closer again from her, sitting next to her. She feels herself shiver when Lucy pushes the hoodie a little bit to discover her neck.

“What happened to you here?” Lucy asks, looking at the bites on Ona’s neck. “Did you get into a hot make out with someone else?”

Lucy is teasing her, and it makes Ona smile softly. She feels like it happened weeks ago, but it’s not so far away than that finally. The girl wasn’t aware that she still has the mark on her skin.

“I got bitten by a dreaming bee”

Lucy frowns and looks at the bite closer. Ona can feel her breath against her skin. She almost forgot how much her body can react to Lucy.

“I wasn’t aware that their bites look like this” Lucy comments softly. “Did you have fever and hallucinations?”

“No”

Ona shakes her head, eager to erase the concern and worry on Lucy’s pretty face.

“I had a dream, but that’s it”

“About what?”

Ona bites her lips softly. She wanted to tell her about her dream when she woke up that day, but she doesn’t know if it’s a good idea finally. She doesn’t want Lucy to take her for crazy.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to” Lucy assures her with the most caring voice.

“I want to. I just don’t want to look like a fool.”

“You won’t.”

Lucy seems sure about herself, so Ona decides to talk about it. Maybe it will make sense for Lucy too, after all. Ona takes a deep breath before opening her mouth.

“I dreamed about Jana” she explains softly.

“Oh. Did you dream about your life together? Like, before?”

“Not really” Ona smiles softly and shakes her head. “I excuse myself at first, for how things happened for her. But she told me that she had a happy life before everything happened and that she wouldn’t have chosen to make things differently if she could.”

Lucy nods softly, looking a little lost. But she doesn’t say anything, not wanting to interrupt Ona. Lucy is scared that Ona won’t explain everything to her if she cuts her in with her explanations. And she wants to know.

“She said that she had a happier life than a lot of the other tributes” Ona explains “And then we talked about you.”

“You did?”

Lucy tilts her head on the side, looking at Ona expectantly. That level of cuteness makes Ona beam, and the girl gets closer from Lucy, almost sitting in her lap.

“Yes. She told me that your family life is complicated and that you maybe are less happy than she was” Ona says slowly. “And then she said that it’s okay for her that you and I have something between us.”

Lucy bites her lips, seeming to be lost in her thoughts. Ona knows that this is a lot to process and that she still can take her for a mad woman. But Lucy is stroking her knee while thinking, which can only be good, right?

“My family is complicated” Lucy sighs softly. “My parents aren’t okay about my sexual identity. They wanted me to hide it and find a man to get married and have children”

Her face can say alone what Lucy thinks about it and Ona can’t help but chuckle softly.

“Jorge was the only one from my family to get over it. He fought against our parents for me, they didn’t want me to have a good link with my nephews. They were scared that I would corrupt them or something.”

“It’s stupid” Ona groans. “Like if it’s something contagious. I can’t believe that there are still people thinking that way now. A parent should love their kids no matter what.”

“I know” Lucy sighs. “But I didn’t want to make a fuss. I was too happy to be able to meet my niece and my nephew.”

Ona smiles sadly, cupping Lucy’s cheek with one of her hands. In her eyes, Lucy is perfect. She would love for Lucy’s parents to love her like she does. Because she deserves it.

“For me, you are the most perfect person I’ve ever met” Ona whispers softly.

“You are biassed” Lucy rolls her eyes.

She tries to play the girl who isn’t touched by Ona’s words, but the younger one knows better. She doesn’t want to push Lucy though, so she just snorts and says nothing else. She lets Lucy take her against her and play softly with her hair.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Ona asks after several minutes.

“I just… I mean… Do you…”

“Once at a time is enough” Ona laughs.

She tries to get out of Lucy’s embrace when Lucy tickles her ribs in revenge for her teasing, but Lucy doesn’t let her go.

“I’m trying to be serious here” Lucy says, tickling her one last time.

“Sorry” Ona giggles.

“I was scared a lot, during the first moments of the Games. I was scared that you thought I won’t go back to you at some point. And I was scared that something would happen to you before we could get together again.”

Ona looks at her, frowning softly. She wasn’t expecting that, to be honest. For her it was sure that Lucy will fight during all the Games with the teammates who were chosen for her.

“You never said that you wanted us to be reunited at some point” Ona says slowly.

“I know” Lucy sighs. “I needed everyone to believe it. Someone could have heard us if we had talked about it at the Capitol. I couldn’t take any risks, for me but for you too. My plan was to stay with Declan and the four others before killing them as soon as possible. Let’s say it wasn’t what happened.”

Ona hums softly. She feels a little selfish suddenly. Lucy consoled her about Teagan’s death, but Ona didn’t say anything about Declan.

“I’m sorry about Declan” Ona says softly before continuing when Lucy shrugs. “I was scared too. For you. I saw how they betrayed Declan. I was scared they would do the same thing to you.”

“I don’t know why they didn’t”

There is another silence, and Ona is practically sure that Lucy is asking herself the same thing that she is. Why haven’t they tried to kill Lucy? They were suddenly three against one. Camden, Kayla and Seth could have easily killed her. The thought only makes Ona shivers.

Of course, Lucy notices it.

“Hey now. We are together and it’s all it matters” she whispers before kissing her cheek.

But, feeling like they talked enough about their feelings, Lucy decides to take the conversation in a more practical subject.

“Did you only have that knife to fight?” Lucy asks.

“Yes. I would have loved to have a bow or even a crossbow, but I haven't even seen one since the beginning of the Games.”

“Lilith did find one” Lucy thinks out loud. “The bow must still be at the base, I think. Kayla and Camden prefer to fight with a weapon.”

“Is it a good idea to try getting it?”

Lucy bites her lip, thinking before talking. She doesn’t want to take any risks and put Ona in danger, especially with all of her injuries.

“I can try to go and grab it” Lucy finally says.

“Alone?”

Ona doesn’t have to say something else for Lucy to understand how stupid she finds that idea. She can read it in her eyes and on her face. It’s so deep that she could laugh if the situation wasn’t so serious.

“Yes?” Lucy answers cautiously.

“Don’t even dream about it.”

There is no discussion left in Ona’s tone once again and Lucy raises both of her hands in surrender.

“It was just an idea.”

“A stupid idea” Ona frowns. “We are finally together again. There is no way that we will take any risks to be separated again.”

“It works for me”

Lucy smiles at Ona, not wanting to let this little fight ruin their mood for now. She was almost sure that Ona would refuse it anyway.

“Did you see Tony at all during the Games?” Lucy asks with curiosity.

Ona shakes her head. She hasn’t seen a lot of people to be honest and the ones she saw are almost all dead.

“No… Did you?”

“At the beginning of the Games, yes. Then I went with the others, and I never saw him again. He killed at least two people during the bloodbath.”

Ona doesn’t answer anything, she just grimaces. She doesn’t know how to feel about Tony, to be honest. She didn’t like the way he acted since they left for the Capitol, but that doesn’t mean she wants him dead.

“It could be a good thing for you to have a bow, though.”

Lucy coming back to the first discussion turns Ona away from any thoughts about Tony. She doesn’t know that Lucy did it on purpose. She hates that guy.

“It could” Ona confirms. “Maybe we can try to craft one”

That is what they do for the rest of the day, trying to find the good wood to make a bow for Ona and some arrows. When they found the good material, they even started to craft some of them.

“I’m just going to look if there is something we can grab to eat” Lucy says at some point.

Ona hums softly, now looking for rocks who might be at the end of her arrows. Something in metal would be better, but hers are better than nothing. Ona is still a little bit jealous of Lilith’s bow though.

Several minutes later, Ona hears footsteps and turns in that direction, ready to see Lucy standing next to her. But there is no one. If she was in district 8, she would have thought that it’s a cat, but there are no cats here. 

Not even birds.

Ona stays still for a little bit, waiting for another noise, but nothing’s coming.

“Lucy?” Ona tries to call.

When she doesn’t have any answer, she decides to gather the few things they left on the ground and go to look for Lucy. She takes the same direction Lucy took, trying to figure where the older one could have gone.

“Lucy?”

The silence Is almost dizzying, and Ona starts to be worried. She starts to walk faster, looking around to find any sign of Lucy. It seems to her that she sees some branches and grass crushed, so she takes that way.

Ona walks for several minutes, her bow and the arrows she already crafted with Lucy in her hands. She doesn’t understand why she’s getting more and more nervous. Maybe because she can’t find Lucy, but she feels like there is something else.

She understands when she sees the scene in front of her eyes in one of the clearings of the forest.

Lucy is fighting against someone that Ona quickly recognizes as being Tony. And it’s nothing to say that Lucy is in a difficult position. Tony has a massive mace as a weapon and even if he’s bleeding from several parts of his body, it’s Lucy who seems the worst one.

Ona first instincts would have been to shout to Tony to leave Lucy alone, but she knows it won’t have any use.

So, with shaking fingers, she grabs her bow to place an arrow on it. Just like in the training, she takes a deep breath, keeps both eyes open and blocks her breath before shooting.

Her first arrow arrives in Tony’s arm, between his elbow and his shoulder. Ona doesn’t know if his scream is more from the surprise or the pain, but she doesn’t allow herself the time to think about it. She grabs another arrow and shoots again, aimed for his head this time.

The arrow finishes in his neck which is maybe a good thing finally. Her arrows aren’t strong enough to cross his body like metal arrows can do. Tony still bleeds abundantly and falls on the ground.

During this time Lucy managed to sit and crawl back away from him. Ona hesitates before shooting a third arrow, going for his back this time. And when she’s sure that he won’t come for them, she runs towards Lucy.

Tony isn’t dead, the cannon hasn’t sounded.

But she still wants to take Lucy away from here. Lucy groans in pain when Ona passes one of Lucy’s arms around her shoulders to help her walk away from here. Ona would have preferred to look at Lucy’s injuries here, but she knows that she needs to take Lucy to a safe place before doing it.

They take the way back to the mountain, Lucy groaning from time to time because of her injuries. She seems out of breath when she talks after several minutes.

“Ona… We need to slow down, please.”

“Not now. Come on, we have soon arrived”

It wasn’t true, Ona and Lucy knew it both. They only made half of the journey to find their cave in the mountain. Ona is glad to have been careful to look around this morning, because she wouldn’t have been able to find it back now. She was in a rather bad state yesterday.

It takes what seems to Ona to be an eternity before finally arriving. But she managed to drag Lucy there, making her sit next to the rest of the fire.

Lucy is paler than ever, but Ona takes it upon herself to not show Lucy how worried she is.

“Okay. Where are you in the most pain?”

Ona asks her question while taking out all the things they took from the forest today to put them next to their other things. She’s sure that fresh water will be needed to clean some of Lucy's skin.

“My stomach”

Ona was turning her back to Lucy, so she didn't see the other girl swallowing and closing her eyes before answering. But she still realises how weak Lucy’s voice is. Ona kneels next to Lucy.

“Can I?” she asks, taking a part of Lucy’s shirt in her hand.

Lucy nods and Ona shivers when she sees the wound on Lucy’s stomach. It’s pretty deep and because of Tony’s weapon, the wound doesn’t have a regular form.

“I’m going to clean it, okay?”

Lucy nods and closes her eyes, even if she flinches when Ona presses a little bit on it.

“I’m sorry” Ona whispers.

When the bleeding is finally stopped, Ona wraps the tape she got at the beginning of the Games around Lucy’s waist. She puts back Lucy’s shirt to look at the different other parts of Lucy’s body. She would have given anything to have disinfectant here and make sure Lucy doesn’t take any virus or bacteria.

She wasn’t waiting for Lucy to look at her when she looked away from Lucy’s arm she just cleaned too. But Lucy was looking at her and the intensity of her gaze made her blush.

“You’re so beautiful” Lucy whispers.

Ona blushes harder but smiles softly, putting her hand on Lucy’s forehead.

“Do you have a fever?”

She is in fact a little hot, but the older girl doesn’t seem to have any interest in this information.

“Don’t joke with it. You saved my life. And you’re beautiful. And I… I love you, Ona. I’m so in love with you.”

There is so much intensity in these words that Ona couldn’t have any hesitation about Lucy’s sincerity, even if she wanted to. She can’t help but smile, putting a finger on Lucy’s lips.

“You saved me first. And I’m not only talking about the Games” Ona whispers, carefully putting her forehead against Lucy’s. “You are my light in the dark. And, by the way, you don’t have the right to die now.”

“Why?” Lucy whispers back.

“Because I love you too.”

Chapter after (Coming soon...)

[schrijverr]

No, Daddy, I Want Papi’s Helmet

Divergence from chapter 18 to 19, where Chris gives the secret away when he’s staying at the 118 firehouse after Abuela broke her hip. In this universe, the PT switch didn’t happen, facilitating the reveal.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie (pre-slash)

Warnings: ableism mention, homophobia mention

~~~

Eddie buckles Chris in with tense shoulders and Buck wishes he could make it better, wishes he never suggested it with Chris in hearing range, because then Eddie wouldn’t have felt obliged to say yes.

Buck could have just gone back to the station and convinced Bobby that Eddie really needed to stay with his Abuela and he’d be fine without a partner for the day. He feels like an idiot for opening his big mouth and making Eddie uncomfortable. Both of them know the chances of any of this ending well are improbably low.

So, he anxiously watches Eddie fuss with the seatbelt, before he closes the car door. Wanting to know where his head is at, before they walk into the lion’s den, Buck asks: “What are you thinking?”

“That this is going to be a shit show,” Eddie answers honestly, rubbing his face.

“It’s not determined they’re going to find out.”

“He calls you papi, Buck.”

Okay, yeah, that is a fair point. It’s pretty damning if a child you’ve supposedly only known exists for a week or two calls you papi. People are going to want an explanation and Buck isn’t going to be able to come up with a good one that doesn’t give everything away. If Chris was still a baby and couldn’t talk, this whole thing would be easier.

The thought triggers a heartbreaking idea in his brain, but he still has to say it. Has to offer Eddie this out, even if it will tear himself to shreds inside. “We can ask him not to do that. It’s only for a little over an hour by the time we get there,” he suggests, aiming for causal and probably missing by a mile.

“That’s not fair on you.” Eddie is already shaking his head before Buck is done talking. For a moment, Buck fears Eddie found him out, but then Eddie adds. “And what sort of message would we be sending if they did find out? I don’t want Hen to think we’re raising Chris to be homophobic, just because we’re straight.”

It’s adorable how determined Eddie looks. Every time Buck is reminded how hard Eddie is trying to be a better father than his own, Buck falls in love with him all over again.

“Alright,” he says. “We’ll leave this one up for the universe, then. But we should probably get the good kind of bribery coffee. We’re probably gonna need it.”

Eddie throws his head back in a laugh, before he agrees. Then they get into the car and drive off, Buck behind the wheel as always.

Buck pulls up into everyone’s favorite coffee shop that they usually don’t go to, since it’s slightly out of their way. Both of them are nervous, that much is clear, even if they try not to be. While he waits in line, he calls Bobby, explaining the situation as vaguely as he can, while still getting the results he needs.

He’s pretty sure Eddie is as nervous as he is when they get to the firehouse, but if he’s nervous, Eddie will only get more nervous and if they’re both nervous, Chris will get nervous. So, he stuffs any sort of nervousness down and plasters on a big smile as he gets out the car and waits for Eddie to help Chris out of his seat.

They’re going to give this some semblance of a try, so Buck doesn’t walk as near as he usually does, when they enter under the curious gazes of the others.

His own shoulders want to tense, but he stops them and Eddie relaxes slightly when he seems at ease, so he keeps it up. He loudly greets everyone as he usually would. Normalcy is key. “We come bearing bribery coffee.”

“I would say who cares about coffee when you’re bringing such an esteemed guest, but I really need my caffeine fix,” Hen jokes, a big gentle smile on her face.

She probably knows how nerve wracking it is to introduce people to your kid and Buck smiles at the gesture. He is about to make a joke about Chris being way more important than some coffee and more than enough of a fix to get you through the day, but stops himself. It’s not his place right now.

Eddie, however, is in sync with him as ever and picks up on it. Clumsily joking in his stead: “Hey, Chris is way better than coffee.” He looks slightly mortified at himself, but Buck and Chris both grin widely.

However, no one else seems to notice and Hen just laughs quietly: “I believe you,” before she turns to Chris and holds out her hand. “Hi, I’m Hen. I heard a lot about you, you’re a real smart kid.”

That was partly a lie, since Buck hadn’t been able to brag and Eddie is still private and not great at talking about emotions. But no one is going to call her out on that when Chris is smiling the way he is.

“Hello, I’m Christopher,” he says, shaking her hand. “You’re really cool. Daddy and papi say so.”

Hen pauses for a second at that and Buck and Eddie both hold their breath. She quickly glances over to Eddie – they worked hard for Buck to not even be considered – and sees his the apprehension, before quickly covering any reaction and smiling as she tells Eddie: “Oh, I like him.”

Their shoulders relax. Buck assumes that Hen must think Chris just accidentally outed Eddie and is helping him by pretending to not have noticed. He appreciates that about her, not just because it works in their favor.

Chimney follows her lead, sending a quick glance between her and Eddie, before swooping in. “Hey, what about me? I’m cool.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Chimney.”

“Chimney! I know you. You have a silly name,” Chris informs him seriously, getting laughs from everyone.

The tension has been broken and Chris easily accepted without any realizations. Buck thinks they might actually get through this okay, going to grin at Eddie, only to find him looking choked up at the three moving towards the stairs as Chris asks all about the ambulance.

Buck knows how nervous Eddie always is about people meeting Chris. Not because he is ashamed of him, but because people always seem to judge Eddie as if there is something wrong with him, with both of them, which is fucking terrible and makes Buck want to deck whoever makes Eddie feel like that.

Getting this easy acceptance from everyone must mean the world for him. Buck should know, he’s in the same boat. There isn’t anything to say, though, so Buck just gives his shoulder a comforting squeeze, before jogging to catch up with everyone.

Chris is determined to get up the stairs by himself and Buck easily lets him as Chris chats away about what he’s studying at school and what his daddy and papi told him about the trucks, asking a thousand more questions about the ambulances, since Hen and Chimney know them better.

Every time he mentions papi and daddy, he sees how Hen and Chimney send looks to Eddie, clearly waiting for him to acknowledge it, but he never does. Buck is pretty sure they’re dying to ask, but aren’t going to with Chris there. It makes him dread what will happen after Maddie comes to pick him up.

From how Chris is talking, it’s clear that both his dads are firefighters. When it comes to fun facts – of which Chris has many, Buck is so proud of him – Chris always starts with ‘Papi said…’ And Buck is pretty sure none of them are buying that Eddie has been supplying him with those facts.

In these moments, Buck is glad Chris was too young to realize it’s a little odd that Buck is papi, because that might be the only thing throwing everyone off their scent right now.

Then Bobby comes over and Buck’s stomach tightens. This will be another hurdle. Jovially, Bobby says: “What’s this? I don’t remember asking the chief for reinforcements. You any good with a hose, kid?”

“I can try,” Chris smiles and everyone chuckles.

“Alright,” Bobby smiles back, because Chris’s smile is infectious.

And even though Buck knows that Bobby doesn’t know that’s his kid too, it makes him fly that Bobby seems to be taken with him immediately. Buck craves Bobby’s approval so bad and having Bobby approve of his kid is the best feeling.

Eddie on the other hand, tenses and gets up as he explains: “So sorry, Cap. Maddie, uhm, Buck’s sister is getting off work early so she can take him, before my tía can, but you know LA traffic, so until then w- I- I didn’t know where to take him.”

“Yeah, you did. Right here. Buck gave me a heads up. I already cleared it with the chief,” Bobby says, nodding towards Buck, who smiles at Eddie, trying not to look too love struck when Eddie looks back with those big, beautiful brown eyes.

For a moment, it looks like Eddie is going to cry, but the attention gets pulled away from him before he does by Bobby asking: “Did you get a tour of the trucks yet, kid?”

“No,” Chris answers, hopefully excited.

“Well then, what do you say about a tour?” Bobby asks him.

“Can I?” Chris asks immediately, looking absolutely thrilled at the idea. He hasn’t caught on that no one seems to realize Buck is also his dad, and while he directs the question at both of them, he looks over at Eddie first, since he’s standing next to Bobby.

“Course, we can look at the trucks,” Eddie smiles.

Before Chris can look to him for confirmation as well, Buck grabs Chris under his armpits and swings him over the back of the couch, putting him on his feet again with a, “Let’s go, Superman!” getting a delighted shriek from Chris as expected.

It’s probably a little too familiar for a kid that he supposedly doesn’t know that well, but Buck ignores whatever looks get send his way. He loves kids. And he loves this kid in particular. It already sucks enough that he can’t be as loudly proud as he wants to be. Let him have this.

Eddie steps up next to him soon enough, asking: “Wanna walk downstairs by yourself too, mijo?”

“No. Carry me?” Chris asks and Buck is so proud of him. They’ve raised him well, asking for what he wants, what he needs, when he has to, and doing it by himself when he can and wants to.

“Yeah, here.” Eddie sweeps Chris up in his arms, putting him on his hips and handing his crutches over to Buck with practiced ease.

It’s so natural that neither of them even realize they shouldn’t be doing that here, until Chimney claps Buck on the back and grins: “Always in sync, you two, huh?”

“Haha, I guess,” Buck blushes, hurrying down the stairs after Eddie and Chris before anyone can study his face too closely.

While Chris had the most questions about the ambulances, he wants to see the engine and ladder truck the most. It’s what he’s heard all the stories about it. And he wants to do it on his own, demanding to be put down, the second they get downstairs. Buck is glad he hurried after them, so he can hand Chris his crutches before he even has to ask for them.

Chris clatters over to the engine, looking at all the stuff that he can see, excitedly pointing at the hose as he says: “It has a loop, just like you said!”

“You know why, kid?” Bobby asks, looking pleased that his way of doing things is important enough to Chris to get pointed out by him.

“Papi said it’s because if you leave a loop and stick your arm through, it makes for a faster carry and speed is important,” Chris recites.

“That’s right,” Bobby smiles.

Chris proceeds to ask more questions, already being way more knowledgeable about the vehicles than most kids his age. He’s been hearing firefighter stories for a year and a half already and when Buck’s excited about a topic, he pulls Chris with him and vise versa. They feed on each other’s curiosity and energy.

Just when they think they’re getting off scot free, Chris wanders over to where everyone’s turnouts are gasping: “Can I try on a real firefighter helmet?”

“Of course, here you go,” Eddie says, grabbing his own, even though Chris is standing in front of Buck’s helmet, and moving to put it on his head.

“No, daddy, I want papi’s helmet,” Chris protest. “You’re still a probie, he’s a real-real firefighter.”

Buck is pretty sure that if the ‘oh fuck’ didn’t hit Eddie at that moment, he would have been more offended by that, going to give Buck a playful glare, before what Chris said registers and he instead looks at everyone else with wide eyes.

There’s a beat of silence wherein everyone tries to piece together what they just heard and process what that means. Their eyes rapidly go from Chris to Eddie to Buck, then back to Eddie to Buck again, then to Chris.

Fuck, we’re so caught, Buck thinks.

However, the silence isn’t over yet and he’s not going to let Chris feel like he did something wrong. So, he acts like this isn’t a huge thing that just got revealed, instead smiling at Chris as he grabs his own helmet and carefully puts it on Chris’s head. “There you go, Superman, a real-real firefighter helmet. Way cooler than daddy’s probie helmet, right?”

Eddie catches on to what he’s doing, unfreezing himself and forcing himself to act casual. “You know there’s no difference between the helmets, right? I also have a real-real firefighter helmet.”

“I know,” Chris smiles, looking absolutely adorable in the over-sized helmet. “Papi said only the Captain has a different helmet, but it’s about the idea.”

It seems that a repeat of ‘papi said’ is enough to unpause the others, who have been watching Buck and Eddie brush this whole thing off with great confusion. It was such a smooth blasé turn of events that they almost started to think they imagined it. But no, Chris is still very much there, in Buck’s helmet, calling him papi and reciting his facts.

“Papi?” Bobby finds his voice first, though he only manages the word, butchering its pronunciation slightly.

Chris doesn’t seem to notice how the vibe has shifted very quickly and just nods proudly, helmet nearly falling off. “Daddy and papi are both firefighters, but daddy’s still on his probationary period.” He slows down on the big words, carefully sounding them out. “They’re heroes.”

Despite the situation, Buck can’t help the pleased smile and blush that appear at the declaration. It will always feel good to hear his son be so proud of him. Of both of them.

“So you- so you two…” Chim starts, then trails off, pointing between Buck and Eddie with a confused look. It’s as if he isn’t sure where to start asking.

Before anyone can figure out what to ask, the alarm starts ringing and they all stare up at the flashing lights for a second like caught animals.

Buck snaps out of it first. He knows they’re in deep shit, but they need to help people first. It’s a small fender bender, shouldn’t be anything too traumatizing to Chris, but he’s not going to make it worse by going over Bobby’s head. So, he asks: “Am I man behind, or are we taking Chris with us?”

“We can take him with us,” Bobby decides. These accidents are often nothing big, but if there are a lot of cars, they need the extra hands. And they’re already next to the trucks anyway.

Besides, while his head might still be reeling, a small part of him looks between Buck and Chris and suddenly sees all the similarities. The way Chris was religiously asking questions and spouting facts moments ago suddenly very familiar. Much like his papi, he can’t deny Chris the opportunity to see everything in action. The thought of having a grandkid intruding on his brain without his permission.

With that decision made, Buck gently pulls the helmet from Chris’s head and puts it on his own, before lifting Chris into the truck and smiling: “Save my seat, alright, buddy?”

“Sí, papi,” Chris smiles back, legs kicking excitedly at being in the truck.

The others only hear the exchange, too busy with pulling on their turnouts. Since Buck had a delayed start, the others have already climbed in when he gets there. Eddie pulls Chris onto his lap while Buck climbs in, before handing him back, so Buck can buckle him in next to him.

Everyone is watching the exchange as if it’s something alien and Buck wants to snap at them to stop it, because Chris has gotten enough of that as it is. However, he knows it’s not because of Chris that they’re looking at them like that – well, it is, but not like that – and snapping isn’t going to help them when they’re in enough trouble as it is.

They pull out of the firehouse at record speed and Chris gives a loud cheer, clearly thrilled to be a part of this. Despite the situation, Buck smiles broadly and pulls out his phone to take a picture of Chris with the huge headphones on in the back of the fire engine.

This is sadly taken as an invitation to start asking questions, of which they must have many now that everyone has had the time to gather their wits.

Hen starts it off, asking: “So, when did the whole papi thing start?” A valid question, since it would be quite the leap to have taken after learning about Eddie’s son a few weeks ago with the earthquake.

Before Buck or Eddie can start, Chris is already explaining: “Well, papi was Evan first when he worked with the chickies, but then mommy left,” Chris’s lip wobbles for a second, but he braves on, “and papi stayed forever. But he was still Evan, but then he and daddy got married and Ms. Jane said that made him my daddy too, but daddy was already daddy, so he’s papi.”

The answer does nothing to get them out of trouble, in fact, it probably only gets them deeper into trouble. However, Buck’s heart can’t help but do a happy little flip at Chris’s confidence in stating he’s staying forever.

“Married? But what about-” Chimney starts to loudly say something, before cutting himself off. He looks at Chris uncomfortably, then at Eddie, who is giving him a confused look, trying to guess what the fuck Chimney is on about.

Buck, however, can take a guess and cringes slightly. Still, the last thing he wants is for them to think they watched him cheat on Eddie for his first few months at the 118. That is never the kind of man he wants to be. Never.

So, he clarifies: “Yeah. We got married as friends. Great tax benefits and stepparent adoption. This little guy is legally half mine,” he grins, ruffling Chris’s hair.

“Uh-huh,” Chris nods excitedly. “We went to court and it was all official and we went to the courthouse too. They made daddy and papi kiss, it was really silly.”

Both Eddie and Buck blush at the reminder, though Buck supposes they’re blushing for very different reasons. He’s honestly happy if his wedding day kiss is the only kiss he’ll ever get. He treasures the memory. Eddie probably not so much. Buck tries not to think about it.

Hen looks between the two of them, clearly not believing it. She says: “You got married for the tax benefits and for adoption?” her voice asking why the fuck they would do that.

“Yup,” Buck answers, trying to act casual. Chris is still right there and they’ve already dragged up Shannon leaving today, he wants to spare him as many reminders, but he needs the others to stop asking questions. So, he slings his arm around Chris and smiles at him, Chris smiling back. “So, me and Superman here could continue to hang out while daddy was out saving people, isn’t that right?”

“Yeah!” Chris cheers, thankfully taking the comment as not something to be sad about because papi isn’t sad about it. “Daddy took care of everyone, giving band aids to all the soldiers.”

Realization dawns on everyone’s faces as they figure out Buck raised Chris while Eddie was out on his tour in the army. Eddie looks like he always does when someone reminds him of having to leave Chris behind; devastated, but locking it up. However, is face softens slightly at Chris’s unwavering support and recount of what he did.

The air gets awkward now, everyone unsure what to ask, wanting to get all the details, but not wanting to interrogate Buck and Eddie in front of their kid.

After a few moments, Bobby clears his throat and changes the subject, telling them about the accident they’re driving up to. He also tells Chris all about the headsets and the communication system, with as much flair as he usually has for school trips, maybe a little more. Seeing it makes Buck’s heart warm and he hopes they haven’t fucked it all up entirely.

They arrive at the accident and everyone gets out. Except for Eddie and Chris after a look between him and Buck to check who’s gonna stay behind with him.

As Buck walks away, he hears Bobby say: “I’ll watch Chris. I need you out there with Buck. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of him.”

“Yeah, daddy, you got to have papi’s back, right?” Chris says, which must be enough to convince Eddie, because soon enough he’s at Buck’s side.

While they work, they keep their heads down and stay quiet. Both feel like scolded school boys and they don’t want to get more attention on them than necessary.

From time to time they shoot a look towards Chris, who looks to be having the time of his life listening to Bobby, who is smiling as well as he explains what’s going on. Buck hopes that’s a good sign, hopes that means Bobby isn’t too mad at them. At him. Buck hates the idea of Bobby being mad at him.

Hen and Chimney go with the ambulance to a nearby hospital with one of their patients, so it’s just the four of them in the rig back. Bobby is allowing Chris to sit up front with him, letting him pull the horn even though he’s usually against such frivolous use of equipment, much to Chris’s delight.

Both Buck and Eddie watch nervously, with Eddie sending Buck a look asking ‘what does that mean?’ and Buck sending a look back that conveys ‘I don’t know, but maybe something good?’

When they get to the firehouse, Buck gets a notification on his phone. “Maddie says she’s held up and is going to be a little later.”

“Looks like you’re going to be hanging out with us a little longer, kid,” Bobby tells Chris.

“I don’t mind,” Chris grins broadly.

“Of course, you don’t,” Eddie says fondly, ruffling Chris’s curls. “The inside of the rig can be dirty, so let’s go wash our hands, yeah?”

“Okay,” Chris says easily and follows Eddie out of the way, leaving Buck alone with Bobby.

He can’t blame him for the smooth escape. Still, he is nervous when he turns to Bobby and asks: “So…”

“You have a good kid,” Bobby starts, surprising him. “I see he gets his curiosity from you.”

Buck flushes with pride as well as embarrassment. “Oh, uh- Chris isn’t mine. Well, not biologically, I- I don’t think-”

“Buck,” Bobby cuts him off. “You still have an impact on him. You’ve been raising him for quite a while already from what I understand. He gets things from you.”

“Thank you, then,” Buck says with a bashful smile, before he carefully checks: “So, you’re not mad?”

“Oh, no, I’m pissed off you’d keep something like this from all of us when Eddie started working here, but I do hope you didn’t keep this from us before that, because we made you uncomfortable.”

“No, no, that was me getting in my own head,” Buck assures him. “I knew you guys wouldn’t judge, I just didn’t know how to explain. And I am sorry, you know. For lying about it. We just wanted to work together and we thought you’d retract the offer if you knew.”

“I probably would have,” Bobby agrees. “But you two can clearly keep it professional in the field and your teamwork is truly something. If it’s not romantic, I can make a case for you two to the brass.”

Buck blushes again, twisting feeling in his gut. “Oh, no, it’s definitely nothing romantic. Just two married guys, being friends.” He wants to smack himself in the face for his reply. He’s not even lying, but he is being weird about it and Bobby is going to see right through him.

“Uh-huh,” Bobby raises a brow. Then too conversationally, he asks: “So was Eddie the girl, who was in that trap with her parents?”

At that, Buck freezes, he had all but forgotten about that. And he didn’t think Bobby would have remembered either. However, he’s totally right and now both of them know it and Buck basically confessed to wanting more with Eddie. Shit.

“You love him, don’t you?” Bobby asks. Before he can answer, he adds: “Now, don’t lie to me. I see it in the way you look at him, even before I knew all this.”

Buck panics slightly and he says: “You can’t tell him.”

“I won’t,” Bobby promises, putting a hand on his shoulder. “But remember what I said back then, I said you’re ready to have those things and, by how you’re raising Chris, you were more than ready. You stepped inside with Eddie a long time ago. You’re ready for a next step too.”

“Thank you, Bobby, but it’s not like that for Eddie. He’s my best friend, but nothing else. He’s straight, it’s not going to happen,” Buck answers.

“I wouldn’t count it out.” Bobby says cryptically, before clapping him on the back and walking off. On his way to the loft, he runs into Eddie and Chris and he asks: “You up for a grilled cheese, kid?”

“Yes, please,” Chris cheers.

“Then let’s go,” Bobby smiles the two of them going up the stairs.

Meanwhile Eddie makes his way over to Buck so he can get out of his turnouts, Buck also still dressed in his own. He must look kind of stupid, the way he stands there, because Eddie pauses and asks: “Are you okay? Did Bobby say anything?” He looks more and more nervous. “Are we fired?”

That snaps Buck out of it and he quickly says: “No, no, not fired. Bobby’s gonna make a case for us with the brass, since it’s not romantic. He is pissed though. That we lied.”

“Okay, that’s good,” Eddie nods, oblivious to Buck’s crisis as he steps out of his turnouts.

Not wanting to seem weird, Buck quickly follows his lead, until they’re walking up the stairs, shoulders knocking into each other. It’s comforting. Familiar. Buck doesn’t want to lose that. He studies Eddie, trying to see what Bobby saw, but he can’t find it. It’s just Eddie, as he’s always been.

Naturally, Eddie notices him looking, giving him two wide, confused, beautiful brown doe eyes as he asks: “Do I have something on my face or something?”

“Nah,” Buck says casually after a few moments, “just trying to imagine what you’d look like as a real-real firefighter.”

Immediately Eddie’s expression falls into something more deadpan and annoyed. “You put that idea in his head, you know, with your probie bullshit.”

“I don’t know, Eddie, seems to me like you just still have a ways to go,” Buck grins with as much little shit energy as he can.

“You’re the worst,” Eddie grins back, pushing him slightly, though immediately catching him, before he can do as much as stumble.

At this point, they’ve reached the top of the stairs and find Bobby presenting Chris with a plate of grilled cheeses with a flourish. “Here you go. What do you think?” he asks, awaiting Chris’s judgment.

Chris takes one bite, before he beams up. “It’s very tasty.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Bobby ruffles his curls. Buck imagines that this is what it would be like to have Bobby as a grandparent and the thought makes something twist inside him. By that time, Bobby has spotted Buck and Eddie and calls over: “You two also want a grilled cheese for lunch?”

“Yes, please,” Buck replies, shaking it off and skipping forwards.

Soon after, there’s a plate of grilled cheeses on the table and the four of them are sitting around it. The adults are listening to Chris about his latest school project, any interrogation of the family unit he’s a part of shelved for now.

At some point, Hen and Chimney return, joining the table. Chimney is still looking between Buck and Chris as if it’s the weirdest thing he’s ever encountered – Buck tries not to be too offended – while Hen seems more comfortable about the whole thing, though she sends glances in Eddie’s and Buck’s direction from time to time.

The grilled cheeses are being eaten when Maddie comes up the stairs, greeting everyone. Buck smiles and waves at her, before turning to Chris, steadying him as he gets out of his chair. He hands him his crutches and goes on one knee in front of him, smoothing out his clothes and pressing a kiss on his forehead as he says: “Be good for your tía Maddie now, okay, Superman?”

“I will, papi,” Chris promises.

Maddie, who’s been getting closer pauses for a moment, before her eyes snap to Eddie. Eddie pauses under her gaze. She hisses: “Evan is papi? He’s the husband?”

Well, if Chris hadn’t given it away, Maddie would have it seems. And because Eddie is an asshole, who has the ability to lie to Maddie, he puts on a faux-innocent look and says: “Yes, he is. Didn’t you know that? I thought you must have realized.”

“No, I did not,” Maddie says lowly, turning to Buck. Buck swallows, but straightens his spine defiantly anyway. Maddie asks him: “Why didn’t I know that?”

“I thought you were being homophobic,” Buck answers honestly.

“What?” Maddie sounds almost offended.

“What was I supposed to think? I got there after Eddie picked up Chris and mentioned me and you didn’t say a word. Nothing.”

“Of course that’s not what I was doing. Eddie asked me not to tell anyone. I wasn’t going to out him!”

“Oh, that makes a lot more sense, actually.”

“Thank you,” Maddie says forcefully. Then she does turn back to Eddie and goes: “What are your intentions with my baby brother?”

Eddie has just started to relax, but freezes all over. Before it can get nasty, Buck jumps in quickly. “It is not like that, Mads. Me and Eddie are friends. Married as friends. And I’ll explain everything later, I promise. But we’re on the clock. Please, just take your nephew home.”

Maddie puffs herself up, gearing up to protest before the last part of that sentence hits and she looks at Chris with big awe-like eyes. As if she has never seen him before. In a way, she hadn’t. She’s hung out with him a few times, but not as her nephew. That’s her nephew. Buck has a kid. Her baby brother is a dad and has a kid and she missed that, but now she gets to know him.

The fight leaves her and she puts on a smile. “I’d love nothing more. What do you say, we get some ice cream. It’s an aunt’s job to spoil their nephews, you know.”

“Ice cream!” Chris cheers, making his way over to her.

“Don’t fall for his pout, he’s only allowed two scoops,” Eddie calls out bravely. “Thank you so much for taking him,” he adds quickly.

“We’re getting three,” Maddie informs Chris cheerfully.

“Be wary of the sugar rush,” Buck warns her.

“We’ll be fine, now stop worrying,” Maddie calls back, having reached the top of the stairs.

They all watch the duo go down the stairs, waving and calling out goodbyes. As they go, Eddie turns to Buck and says: “She never babysat on her own before, has she?”

“Yeah, not since she was a kid with energy herself. She has no clue what she just got into with that promise,” Buck agrees.

“Oef, good luck.”

“Ah, her mistake,” Buck shrugs. “Maybe she’ll be so tired when we come to pick up Chris that she won’t have the energy to be mad.”

“God, I hope so.”

“Well, you two shouldn’t be worrying about her right now,” Hen suddenly speaks up behind them. “We want answers. Now.”

With matching apprehensive looks, they turn around to face everyone. Buck feebly says: “I think we’ve gotten most of the basic information out there.”

“Not good enough,” Hen says. “Come, sit, and spill.”

“I’m not a dog,” Buck pouts as he goes to do what he’s told.

“You could’ve fooled me,” Chimney grins patting his back.

“Oh fuck off.”

Eddie comes to sit next to him, crossing his arms defensively. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Chimney snorts. “Come on, you can’t just drop being married with a kid – even as friends – for god knows how long on us, not to mention lying about even knowing each other, and expect us to just shrug it off.”

“Well, there isn’t much more to add,” Eddie says defensively. “We got married as friends, so Buck could adopt Chris and take care of him while I was in Afghanistan after Shannon left. He already helped before that. It was the most logical thing to do at the time.”

“There wasn’t anyone else?” Hen asks, now mostly directed at Buck. The underlying, ‘you had to take care of Chris by yourself?’ heard by everyone.

“Uh,” Buck sends a look at Eddie, but Eddie isn’t looking his way. “Eddie’s parents helped too, you know, but you don’t want to drop your kid on your parents,” he settles on in the end. It’s as neutral as he can make it.

Hen seems to accept this answer, which is enough for Chimney to jump in on it. “How did you even get involved anyway, Buck? Chris said you were taking care of the chickens? How do you get from chickens to father?”

Buck blushes slightly and explains: “I worked as a farm hand on a chicken farm. Chris’s mom used to buy eggs there, took Chris with her from time to time. I babysat in a pinch, then did it more regularly, also after Eddie came back. She left Chris with me, before getting on a plane to never look back. Eddie still had work that night, so I offered to watch Chris and, uh-” he rubs the back of his head “-I kind of never left.”

It’s quiet for a moment as everyone processes, then Eddie cuffs him on the back of the head. “That’s not how it went and you know it.”

“What?” Buck asks confused, because last he checked, that’s exactly how it went.

“You didn’t watch him for one night and never left, you chose to stay and help a stranger who was struggling, even though you didn’t have to. Because, Evan, that’s who you are,” Eddie says forcefully, making sure Buck hears it.

“Oh.” Buck doesn’t really know how to respond to that, tears prickling despite himself. “I guess, I never thought about it like that.”

“Of course you hadn’t,” Eddie sighs, but it’s a fond one.

Everyone is looking between the two, various expressions on their faces, but all scrutinizing. It makes Buck blush. Especially when Hen feels the need to check: “And it’s strictly a platonic thing?”

“Yes,” Eddie replies forcefully, which doesn’t make Buck sad at all, no, sir. “We’re gonna get divorced at some point, have a prenup and everything. The plan was when I got back from Afghanistan, but then I got hurt.”

“So why haven’t you yet?” Chimney asks curiously. “I mean, since you’re obviously better now.”

Eddie looks a bit like a deer in headlights and Buck clenches all his muscles and tries to disappear into the background. If he starts trying to answer that, a whole bunch of things he’d prefer to stay hidden will come spilling out.

“Why would we?” Eddie counters after a few beats to think, a blush coloring his cheeks anyway.

“Huh?” Chimney replies dumbly.

“I mean, think about it. We’ll divorce just for the sake of divorcing, then we’d have to come up with a parental plan for Chris, uproot him again, because one person alone can’t afford that mortgage, plus we’d loose are tax benefits, which means we can’t save up for college for Chris,” Eddie lists. “Unless one of us wants to marry someone else, why go through the hassle? It’s not like either of us are planning to leave anytime soon.”

Despite how utterly practical it is, Buck can’t help but smile widely, stomach unclenching as butterflies flutter in it instead. Eddie truly isn’t planning on leaving. Eddie still wants him around, still needs him around. He nods: “Yeah, what he said.”

Hen looks between the two then nods to herself as she mutters: “Ah, so that’s how you’ve justified it to yourself?”

“What was that, Henrietta?” Eddie snaps, without even fearing for his life.

“Don’t call me Henrietta,” Hen scowls back, dropping what she just said. Buck is grateful for it, he doesn’t need anyone pushing at Eddie and making him feel weird about staying.

Bobby thankfully steps in for them. “Alright, alright. It’s quite the story, but we’re not here to interrogate either of you.” To the others he sharply says, “I mean that. I’ll bring up the situation with the brass and we’ll see from there what will happen.”

“But, Cap,” Chimney starts to whine, but he’s cut off by the alarm that starts blaring. They all look up for a second, then Chimney quickly stuffs a grilled cheese in his mouth. Still chewing, he says: “This isn’t over.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Eddie mutters as he and Buck get up in sync.

Together they hurry down the pole and to their gear. They’ll have a lot more questions to answer later, not to mention appearing in front of the brass. However, all in all, bringing Chris to the firehouse could have gone much worse.

~~

A/N:

I know I cut the whole explaining themselves thing short, but it’s mostly a repeat after a while and I did put a chunk in there.

[falafelluva]

warnings: not a warning but to the anon who sent in a request with a flower emoji and something with that my fics make them giggle pls resend it because my phone glitched and it got deleted n now I feel bad 😞😞💔!

Girllll 🥹🥹🥹🥹

I forgot it HAHAHAHAHAH BUT I HAVE SOMETHING NEW 👀 kenny crushing on his younger cousins babysitter and is literally making things up just to stop by etc.

; 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐃 - 𝘬.𝘺𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘻 ✮

summary: the req

warnings: x

author’s note: scuse my disappearance yall, they r trying to put me in a mental hospital. This is so short because im trying to eat my rice and I made u guys study psychology in this 😔😥

It started as nothing more than a coincidence—or at least, that’s what Kenan told himself. His cousin Leila had a babysitter now, someone his aunt had raved about over the phone. “She’s amazing with kids,” his aunt had said, “Leila loves her.”

Kenan didn’t think much of it until the first time he stopped by his aunt’s house and saw you sitting on the couch, Leila sprawled across your lap with her favorite picture book in hand.

You looked up and smiled, warm and effortless, and Kenan swore his heart stopped for a second.

“Hi,” you said casually, brushing off the dust from the book

Kenan cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “Hey. Uh, I’m Kenan. Leila’s cousin.”

“I know,” you replied with a small laugh. “She talks about you all the time, star boy, right?”

Star boy.

From that moment, Kenan couldn’t help himself. Anytime he had a free afternoon, he found a reason to stop by his aunt’s house.

Dropping off snacks for Leila, picking up a book he ‘forgot’ the last time, or even randomly asking his aunt if she needed help with errands.

The truth? He just wanted to see you.

One Wednesday afternoon, you were in the kitchen cutting up some fruit for Leila when the doorbell rang.

You frowned—his aunt wasn’t due home for another couple of hours.

When you opened the door, there he was. Kenan stood on the porch, hands stuffed in his pockets, his signature sheepish grin plastered across his face.

“Hey,” he said, glancing over your shoulder. “Is, uh, my aunt home?”

You raised an eyebrow. “No, she’s still at work. You didn’t know that?”

“Oh… right. Must’ve mixed up the time.” He scratched the back of his neck, clearly caught off guard by your question.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a teasing smile on your lips.

“You’ve been stopping by a lot lately. Are you sure you’re not just here for the snacks?”

Kenan laughed nervously, feeling his ears heat up. “Maybe. Leila does have good taste.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, unconvinced but amused. “Come in. She’s in the living room drawing.”

Kenan stepped inside, pretending to head straight for his cousin, but his gaze kept drifting toward you.

You were wearing a simple outfit—jeans and a t-shirt—but somehow, you made it look effortless.

He sat with Leila for a few minutes, watching her color in her sketchbook, but when she got distracted by her favorite cartoon, he wandered back into the kitchen.

“You’re good with her,” he said, leaning against the counter as you wiped down the cutting board.

You glanced at him, a hint of surprise in your expression. “Thanks. She’s a sweet kid. Makes my job easy.”

Kenan nodded, his heart racing as he searched for something else to say.

He wasn’t usually like this—nervous and fumbling for words. But there was something about you that made him feel like a teenager again.

“You’re, uh, studying?” he asked, motioning to the notebook you’d left open on the counter.

“Yeah, just some school stuff. Nothing exciting.”

“What are you studying?”

“Psychology,” you replied, setting the board aside. “I want to work with kids one day. Maybe as a counselor or therapist.”

“That’s cool,” Kenan said, genuinely impressed. “You’d be great at that.”

“Thanks.” You smiled, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

Just then, Leila called for you from the living room. You excused yourself, leaving Kenan alone in the kitchen, staring at the counter like an idiot.

“What am I doing?” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

—

The next time he stopped by, he didn’t even bother coming up with an excuse. He showed up with a bag of snacks for Leila and walked in like he belonged there.

You were on the floor with Leila, helping her put together a puzzle, when you glanced up and spotted him.

“Back again?” you teased, your eyes sparkling.

Kenan shrugged, trying to keep his voice casual. “What can I say? I like spending time with my favorite cousin.”

Leila looked up and beamed. “Kenan!”

“See?” he said, grinning as he sat down next to you. “She’s always happy to see me.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Uh-huh. And it has nothing to do with the snacks you always bring.”

“Hey, I know how to win people over,” he said, smirking.

As the afternoon went on, you noticed the way Kenan’s attention kept shifting from Leila to you.

He asked you about your classes, your favorite movies, even what music you liked. It was almost… sweet.

When his aunt finally came home, you were packing up your bag while Kenan lingered by the door.

“Need a ride home?” he offered, his tone casual but his heart pounding.

You looked at him, surprised. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” he said, grinning. “But I want to.”

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, sure. Thanks.”

As you climbed into his car, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Kenan was charming, in a slightly awkward but undeniably endearing way.

And Kenan?

He felt like he’d won the lottery just having you in the passenger seat, laughing at his jokes and filling the car with your presence.

Maybe his excuses weren’t so bad after all.

[mysticwolfshadows]

Taken - Zutara - Part 49

First / Previous / Next / Masterpost

They make it to the Fire Nation with very little fanfare. It was shockingly easy, given how difficult it had been to get past the barricade when they went to Roku's temple. But there they were, landing harmlessly in a cave on one of the outer islands.

While Sokka lamented about how this was their life now, hopping from cave to cave, until the invasion began.

Zuko rolled his eyes, and shared a look with Katara and Suki. One of them had to talk sense into Sokka.

"We could try finding some new clothes?" Suki suggested, glancing at Katara.

"Zuko and I know how to blend in with the Fire Nation."

Aang was quick to jump in. "Yeah! Blending in is better than hiding out. Wouldn't having Fire Nation disguises be just as safe as hiding in a cave?"

"Plus, we can get real food out there." Toph punches a wall, making cave hoppers jump out, Momo diving after them. "Unless you'd rather eat cave hoppers in the dirt."

Sokka purses his lips, looking at Zuko as his last hope.

Zuko rose a brow, arms crossed. "We need to conserve as much of our supplies as we can. If we keep using our reserves when we don't have to, we'll run out before we reach the Black Cliffs."

Finally, Sokka caved. "Fiiiine."

They start by finding the nearest farm. There was a series of clothes lines, which they studied carefully for a moment. Aang wondered about the ethics of stealing for a moment, before Katara rushed forwards to snag a silk robe. Suki and Toph weren't far behind, and the boys soon followed.

They returned to the cave to get changed, Toph putting up walls to give them some semblance of privacy, while Sokka and Zuko scrounged together a wig for Aang to wear to hide his tattoos.

"What about your scar?" Aang whinged, as they tied the headband(?) around the wig to help keep it in place. "It's distinctive!"

"Burn scars are common in the Fire Nation," Katara said, as she stepped out. "While they aren't usually on the face, you'll probably see a lot of them, especially in outer islands with fewer resources and physicians like this one."

Zuko turned to say... He couldn't remember. As soon as his eyes landed on Katara, his mouth went dry and his head empty. She looked...

"You look great!" Aang said, beaming.

"Thanks, Aang," she said, moving to get a look at their handy work. "It looks good. Should hold for a day." She glanced at Zuko, and her own smile tugged at her lips. "You look nice."

He swallowed. "You... You too."

Over Katara's shoulder, Zuko could see Sokka making a gagging motion, as Aang watched on in confusion.

"So!" Toph called, as she stepped out of the barrier with Suki. "Where are we going for lunch?"

Heading into town, Katara and Zuko took lead, pointing out different kinds of shops. Katara hadn't had much time to explore the city when she'd been in the city before, but the signage was enough for her to give recommendations. Zuko was more straight forward with his answers, and helping steer them away from the more niche establishments.

Katara was so excited to be eating fresh and authentic Fire Nation cuisine again, she barely noticed Aang wondering off. She made sure to order something more mild for the others, giving a smile to the frowning waiteress.

"We just moved from the colonies," Katara explained, before gesturing to Zuko and herself. "We spent a good amount of our childhood her on the islands, though. We've missed it. If you could hold the spice on theirs, but maybe add a little to ours...?"

The waitress hummed, but made a note on her pad. Then she was off, and Katara felt herself begining to relax. The smells of the Fire Nation filled her. The warm ocean spray and the spices of cooking food. The feel of Agni on her skin, filling her with a pleasant warmth she hadn't felt in so long...

They ate in comfort, giving simple conversation and enjoying the food. She listened to other patrons, hearing about how lucky they were that the draft hadn't reached their island yet. Apparently, in the wake of Prince Zuko's 'death', the draft had been instated but not entirely enforced on outer islands. More prominent families, like Mai's, were voluntarily enlisting their sons as 'officers'. There was speculation, with only Azula as heir and there having never been a female Fire Lord, that the Fire Princess would need to marry, and her spouse become Fire Lord in her stead. Others thought that Azula would be skipped over, with Ozai being fairly young for a Fire Lord, and that her first son would become the true heir instead. Of course, Katara knew that Ozai would never pass on his throne willingly, much as Sozin and Azulon had before him, and that Azula would never let herself be forced to marry, much less be skipped over in succession.

As they were wrapping up their lunch that they heard about the local academy. A pair of mothers, talking about how the headmaster was cracking down on students behavior, as they passed by to their table. One was worried, as the school was so strict already, and her daughter On Ji was such a sweet and gentle girl, who had such a creative mind, and was worried that innovative thinking might get her in trouble. The other woman wondered if perhaps it was a good thing for her own son, Hide. He was becoming rather unruly and disrespectful at home, with his father gone on the warfront. Perhaps the headmaster's stricter rules would bring Hide into line.

A faint memory, of a young Zuko in a boys uniform, more militaristic than academic, tickled the back of her mind. But the FIre Nation was know for their similarities in uniforms. In the military, the main difference between a foot soldier and a captain was the more angled and spiked shoulders, with more gold accents. And Aang...

"Zuko," Katara whispered, as they were walking back to the cave. He blinked at her, inclining his head to show she had his full attention. "Do you remember what Fire Nation school uniforms look like? I only saw the Royal Fire Academy uniforms, but..."

For a moment, Zuko blinked. Then, his brow scrunched, and he cursed so venomously under his breath that a lick of flame was spat from his lips. Reaching out, he grasped her elbow, squeezing it.

"Make sure the others know we might have to run," he said, turning to look back down the road towards town. "I'll find him and bring him back. If his cover is blown, we'll need to leave immediately."

"Be careful," she said, as he let go. They shared a look, the air tense around them, before turning away from each other and rushing off.

First / Previous / Next / Masterpost

[marvel-lous-guy]

Peter: what's a polite way to say "this essay would have been better if I had any clue what the fuck I was doing"?

Pepper: "the analysis is severely limited by my lack of understanding what I am doing"

Peter: wow, that was great! You're really good at this!

Tony: she has to some up with polite ways to say all the shit she wants to in those board meetings

Pepper: not just in board meetings

[fratttymatty]

Roots Changed

(All characters are 18+)

Ryan Thornton had always been the quiet, bookish kid. At 18, he was still the same shy, nerdy teenager who spent most of his time buried in science fiction novels, comic books, and the occasional video game. Ryan had come to terms with his place in life: an outsider in high school, an openly gay teen with few friends and even fewer social opportunities. His world was small but comfortable, a safe little bubble in the predominantly white suburb of San Diego where he’d lived his whole life.

But when his mom got a new job and the family moved across the city to a much more diverse, predominantly Latino neighborhood, Ryan didn’t know what to expect. The change was jarring. The new school was like nothing he’d known — crowded, full of energy, and with a culture that felt loud and foreign. The kids here were different, the language they spoke, the way they dressed, the confidence they carried — it was all so much more alive than what Ryan was used to.

In the first few days, Ryan stayed under the radar. He was determined to finish high school without any drama, just getting through the final year before heading to college. But that plan quickly unraveled when a group of the popular kids — the jocks and cheerleaders — took notice of him.

At first, he didn’t think much of it. He tried to keep his head down, but he couldn’t ignore the whispers in the halls, the way people looked at him — the way they sized him up. His pale skin, messy blond hair, awkward stance — all of it screamed “outsider.” It didn’t help that Ryan was the only openly gay kid in the school, and he often felt like an alien in the sea of confident, straight students.

One afternoon, during lunch, the inevitable happened. He was sitting alone at a table when Luis, the captain of the football team, and Sofia, the head cheerleader, approached him with their usual entourage. They towered over him, their presence intimidating, but Ryan couldn’t find the words to excuse himself.

Luis looked down at him, a smug grin on his face. “Hey, you’re the new guy, right?”

Ryan swallowed hard. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“You don’t really fit in here, huh?” Sofia’s voice wasn’t unkind, but it was sharp. She appraised him like a project. “You’re a little too... quiet for this place. Too nerdy.”

Ryan felt his face flush. He had been used to this kind of thing before, but not quite like this. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wanting to disappear.

Luis smirked. “Well, we can help with that. Make you more... like us.” He exchanged a quick glance with Sofia, who gave a small nod.

“I don’t really—” Ryan began to protest, but before he could finish his sentence, they grabbed him by the arms. He struggled, but the group was too strong. Their laughter was loud and mocking, echoing in his ears as they pulled him away from the lunch table, past the curious eyes of the other students, and out to the school parking lot.

“What the hell is going on?” Ryan managed to say, panic setting in as they shoved him into the back of a van.

“We’re gonna make you one of us, gringo,” Luis said, the edge to his voice unmistakable.

Ryan’s heart pounded as the van started moving. “What are you doing? Let me out of here!” But the more he shouted, the less anyone seemed to care. They ignored him, speaking in rapid Spanish, laughing, joking, as if they’d done this before.

The van came to a stop in a neighborhood unfamiliar to Ryan, and they led him into a house that felt more like a base of operations than a home. An older man with tattoos covering his arms stood waiting for them, his expression serious, as though this was just another job.

“Sit,” the man said, gesturing toward a chair in the middle of the room. “We’ve got work to do.”

Ryan’s heart raced in his chest, but he was powerless to fight back. They tied him down, but it wasn’t painful; it was more like they were preparing him for something. The man — who spoke little — went to work, using strange tools and substances on him, altering his appearance in ways that made Ryan’s head spin. His skin, once pale and freckled, slowly darkened, turning a rich olive tone. His features shifted subtly — his jawline more defined, his nose more pronounced. But it wasn’t just his skin that changed.

The most dramatic transformation happened to his hair. Ryan’s once-messy, light brown curls were smoothed out, darkening into a deep, glossy brown. They styled it into a perfectly straight, sharp middle part. It was perfect, almost too perfect. His hair, which had always been unruly, now lay in neat, controlled waves on either side of his head, framing his face in a way that made him look... different.

When the process was finished, they released him from the chair, and Ryan was led to a mirror. He barely recognized the person staring back at him. The face was familiar, but the features were sharper, darker. His hair — sleek and controlled — was no longer his own. The new, confident posture, the athletic build, the deep brown eyes looking back at him — it was like he was staring at someone else.

Luis stood behind him, clapping him on the back with a grin. “Welcome to the team, hermano,” he said, his voice low and proud.

Ryan — or whatever was left of him — looked at himself in the mirror. The old Ryan Thornton was gone, replaced by someone else. Someone new. Someone who looked like he could be a football player. Someone who looked like he belonged here, in this world.

Luis wasn’t finished. “You’re Mateo Hernandez now. We’re not calling you Ryan anymore. You’re one of us, hermano.”

Mateo Hernandez. The name felt strange at first, foreign even, but when he said it aloud, it felt right, like it had always been his. Mateo felt stronger, more confident. He felt like someone who had a place in the world — a world where people like him didn’t get pushed around, a world where his old self didn’t matter.

Over the next few days, Mateo settled into his new life with surprising ease. His old identity, his old life as Ryan Thornton, began to fade. The change was too thorough. The way he spoke was different now. His accent was smoother, more natural, the slang coming to him effortlessly. His new friends, the jocks, the cheerleaders, they accepted him without hesitation. He was one of them now, and they treated him like family.

It didn’t take long before Mateo found himself walking the halls of his new high school with the same confident swagger as Luis or any of the other jocks. He laughed, joked, and participated in everything — the football games, the parties, the casual flirting with the girls in his classes. It all felt so easy, so right. The old Mateo, the quiet, awkward kid who once spent his days hiding in the library, was gone.

Mateo Hernandez was a high school jock. He was strong, he was popular, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t feel like he was pretending. He was who he was supposed to be.

And as for Ryan Thornton?

Well, Mateo didn’t even remember who that was anymore.

Mateo Hernandez had found his place. And he wouldn’t change it for anything.

[averagecatdiidkesenhiyer]

My Ukranian friend told me that she supports israel because she thinks that it's in a similar situation to Ukraine. Like Palestinians are these evil terrorists like russia who attacked first and poor little israel is just defending itself like Ukraine. Am I insane. Am I going insane. Am I actually fucking insane.

[painted-bees]

A quick, sloppy little comic about Magritte

[OC's]

(image description under the cut)

[Image Description: It's a vertical comic strip of 14 panels arranged one under the other. The style is realistic, done with sketchy lines in a dark burgundy. It is not colored or shaded and there is no background. The comic features the interactions of a couple, Magritte (also called Margie) and Rafael (also called Raf). Magritte is a young woman, she is wearing a baggy armhole tank top with a tight fitting black top underneath, shorts and boots. She has a messy bun and a small messenger bag slung over her left shoulder. Rafael is her partner, wearing baggy pants, sneakers, fingerless gloves, V-neck t-shirt and an open button-up jacket with a hoodie and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair has short side with long top bangs and a short goatee.

 (First panel): There's only Magritte visible from the waist up. Off screen, Raf says to someone else: “Magritte has our tickets.” Magritte is excited, looking straight forward. Her left hand in on her bag's strap, her right hand rummaging inside her bag. Magritte says: "Yeah! Even made sure to put them in my wallet so that I wouldn't- uh..."

 (Second panel): She is beginning to look concerned, now with her face turned to her back, both left hand holding the lip to open the bag wider and her right hand still rummaging inside. Magritte says: "wouldn't forget.... Hang on, it's not on it's usual pocket. Haha." The last is a nervous laughter.

 (Third panel): Magritte is kneeling on the ground. Rafael is standing to the side and behind her, only his feet visible. Magritte looks frantic, searching inside her bag. Her right arm is forearm deep digging in her bag. Magritte says: "It's definitely here-! It's the one thing I never forget 'cus I never take it out of my bag!" Rafael says, firmly: "Margie, when you took it out to put the tickets in, did you put the wallet back in the bag?" The letters are bolded, with the word "back" underlined for emphasis. Magritte says: "Give me some credit, there's no way I'm that stupid." The last three words are underlined for emphasis.

 (Fourth panel):  The scene has changed and now Magritte and Rafael are in a car. We see them from the passenger's side. Rafael is driving, looking straight ahead at the road. Magritte is hunched forward, hugging herself with the left hand. Her right hand is holding her head. She is looking out the passenger window, avoiding Raf.

 (Fifth panel):  Rafael turns slightly to look at Magritte.

 (Sixth panel):  The point of view is now a side profile view from the drivers side. Rafael has his left arm leaning on the open window, his right hand on the wheel. Magritte is hunched over facing the passenger window. Rafael says: "I'm not mad at you, if that's what you're worried about." Magritte says: "I can literally feel your disappointment."

 (Seventh panel): Back to the passengers side, Rafael is looking at the road. Magritte is frustrated, no longer leaning her head against her right hand and instead her hand is palm upwards. Rafael says: "Well, yes. It is a disappointing situation, but-" Magritte interrupts: "You'd think I'd be able to do the one thing I was asked to do-! That I'd at least learn from the last billion times I forgot shit. Rafael says, quieter: “that's not where I was going with this...”

(Eighth panel):  Magritte has her right hand holding her face with the palm on her cheek, left hand placing the tips of her fingers on her left temple and eye brows. She is frustrated and angry. Magritte says: "It's not like I've got anything more important rattling around in my brain.  But, for some reason, if it's not my music, or like.... food or something, then it's just not a priority. I can't make myself care enough to make it a priority!"

(Ninth panel): She now has both hands in front of her, elbows bent, finger extended in a vague hand gesture as if there was something in front of her. Magritte says: "I'm an adult in my 20s and I still manage my responsibilities like a child. I'd be more dependable if I could just stop and think for a second, but I'd probably forget to even breathe if it weren't for the..."

 (Tenth panel): Her frustrated expression turned to confusion. Her hands are still in the air in the same position as before. Magritte says:"... why are we parked?" Her noticing this stopped her rant.

(Eleventh panel): Magritte straightens up and faces the window entirely, left hand crossed over her body to lean on the car door. Rafael, off screen: "Margie." Magritte says: "Oh." Magritte's inner thoughts are written around her. "He stopped the car to scold me. No, not ‘scold’. Don't be a child about this. He's disappointed and just needs to make sure you understand so you can do better next ti-"

 (Twelfth panel): Magritte is still looking out the window, but now with a shocked expression. Rafael reached with his right hand, and its now resting gently on her upper back. Rafael interrupts her inner monologue with "I need you to stop repeating the shit your parents and teachers and such yelled at you growing up. They were wrong, and nothing you just said makes sense."

 (Thirteenth panel):  The perspective switches back to the driver's side profile. Rafael says: "A poor memory isn't synonymous with poor priorities. Nor does it speak to a lack of maturity. The priority was there, we just have to build a better habit of checking things before we leave the apartment. Both of us. It's gonna take time. You afford everyone else a ton of patience, all the time. Can you please afford some for yourself? The situation sucks, we were both looking forward to this. But it's not the end of the world. We didn't forget things on purpose. So let's take it easy and try to end the day on a good note. Alright?" Magritte says: "Okay... c-can we um...."

 (Fourteenth panel): Magritte has turned to face Rafael and her eyes are filled with tears and they're running down her cheeks.  Rafael looks startled, lifting his arm off Magritte's back. Magritte says: "Can we get some ice cream on the way back?" Rafael says: "O-of course!" End of description.]

This description was written and provided by Hiwi.

[mymarifae]

this is what antoya looks like btw

this is really import🐜 to me and i hope i explode

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC "Pick Me Up"

The stream goes live on the first day of the school year. It's the usual song and dance - mad laughing, threats, poor jokes, terror, and about thirty kids huddled together in a classroom behind Joker's back. Tim recognizes it as one of the Gotham Academy classrooms. Dick can't imagine the horror those kids' parents must be feeling right now. Jason jokes about middle school traumatic experiences. Damian is feeling very justified for skipping classes today.

Bruce, all suited up in his Batman garb, is making his way to the Academy as fast as he possibly can. Those are kids.

Gotham is once again anxiously kept on the edge of their seats, watching as Joker decides to interview the kids on their learning experience so far. Something about leaving a good first impression on the new generation or some other bullshit. Most kids stutter over their words - it's true that Gothamites are way more composed when facing life-threatening events, but those kids are only fourteen or fifteen for the most part. They are not old enough to keep their cool in the face of a murder clown.

That is, until Joker points his camera at one of the girls. Black hair in a high ponytail, blue eyes without a trace of fear, a slightly displeased, even bored expression on her face. She looks straight into the camera, not even waiting for the laughing madman to finish his question, and deadpans:

"I don't think I like school. Pick me up, please."

Joker sputters.

"Not so scared, I see," he sneers, and, in the next moment, a comically large gun painted in purples and greens is pointed to the girl's forehead, "How about now?"

The girl scrunches her nose and makes a so-so gesture.

"It's kinda meh," she admits, "Like, yeah, points for style, but you know, size doesn't matter. It's all in the technique."

Dick snorts over the comms. It's a bad time for laughing, sure, but the phrase caught him off-guard. This is not what you'd expect to hear from a teen, and definitely not something you'd expect anyone to say to the Joker. Jason's comms are muted, but Barbara knows he also laughed a little.

"Technique, you say?" Joker hisses, pressing the gun closer to the girl's head, and she winces, leaning away from it, almost as if she is disgusted by the touch.

"Yeah, I mean, guns are not that scary anyway. What are you gonna do with them, blast my brains all over the floor? Been there, done that," the girl shrugs, "Kinda nasty, but overall, it's just like slime, only sticky." She pauses and looks to the side, seemingly lost in thought, "Huh, maybe we should have added Borax to it. Or was it baking soda?.."

"Listen here, you little brat," Joker's fingers catch the girl's chin, and his voice becomes sickeningly menacing. Bruce is almost there, just two more minutes. Tim is already grappling onto the wall.

But none of them get to finish.

"Put your dirty fingers away from my sister," a low, cold, and even in a way that speaks of barely contained fury, voice comes from out of the screen.

The camera spins, like whoever is holding it turned really fast, and everyone watching the stream sees a fairly normal guy standing by the window - a turtleneck and ripped jeans, same black hair as the girl, same blue eyes... Wait, they are not blue.

And that's not a guy.

The camera falls down to the floor, and there are a lot of panicked screams coming from the broadcast now, but none of them sound like children's voices. It's the screams of adults, of grown-ass men, and later, someone even claimed they heard Joker's scream among them, too. The picture on camera glitches a few times, and the angle is awkward, but everyone still gets to see how shadows in the room morph into eyes, wide open and green, and how the darkness grows sharp teeth, countless grinning mouths that don't belong to any faces.

Screams turn into gargling and then to quiet whispers, filling the ears of all those listening with countless words in languages they don't know.

Red Robin turns off the recording and looks to that same guy from the levestream, sitting across him on the couch. The guy - Daniel, or Danny, as he introduced himself - looks him in the eyes and raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, and?"

"How did you do it?" Tim asks for the third time this evening. Danny blinks.

"Did what?" He asks, completely incomprehending. Tim groans. He's been trying to get his answers, any answers at this point, from the guy for thirty fucking minutes already. So far, he's got nothing. Danny, whoever the fuck he is, proves to be the most annoying human being on Earth.

"Seven people in a coma, including Joker himself, with no physical injuries and none of the children remember a thing! How?!" He demands, and a girl's face peeks from around the corner:

"I remember!"

Tim snaps his head at her, "What do you remember?"

The girl pauses, blinks, and looks to Danny. Then shrugs, "My brother picked me up from school."

Tim drops his head down and breathes out in frustration. He can't force the information out of civilians, he is a vigilante, not a mafia.

"Would it make you feel better if I promise not to do it again?" Danny asks, and his voice is way too innocent for Tim to believe him. He raises his head to look the guy in his shameless, amused eyes.

"I hate you."

"Thanks," Danny grins.