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#oc: teddy green
ginger-grimm · 3 months
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OC NEW YEARS CHALLENGE 2023-2024
Day 2: I Polish Up Real Nice
KIPPI GOODE & TEDDY GREEN
Now I haven't worked in my Riverdale OCs in an eternity but these recasts have really led me to be interested in them again. Kippi and Teddy have always been two of my favorites, so reworking them (mostly in my head and in friend's DMs) has been so much fun.
x, x
TAGLIST: @waterloou @eddysocs ​ @ocs-supporting-ocs @foxesandmagic @veetlegeuse @decennia @hiddenqveendom @arrthurpendragon @luucypevensie @richitozier @noratilney @wordspin-shares @oneirataxia-girl @endless-oc-creations @lucys-chen @andromedalestrange @far-shores @daughter-of-melpomene @bibaybe
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nerdyperday · 5 days
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Day 2748 Mikey
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luvmomoiz · 5 months
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>stimboard of my oc sage!! very very self indulgent but she’s my little cutie patootie
🍂 🐛 🍂 / 🐛 🐛 / 🍂 🐛 🍂
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doodlethings · 1 year
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Burrito teddy
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someone help him please
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daughter-of-melpomene · 3 months
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TEDDY GREEN
↳ for @carmens-garden as part of her holiday exchange; I really hope you like this!
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shinmiyovvi · 1 month
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Gavrilo is a seal confirm, prove me wrong
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coldshrugs · 2 years
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rotating these blorbos in my mind with this picrew
teddy (bloomic) // effie (wayfarer)
ulysse (fhr) // alma (twc)
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lewis-winters · 1 year
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Day 9: Role Reversal
part of my OC-tober 2022 (that's prolly going to bleed into 2023)! This takes place in the late 1920s, early 1930s, when they were much younger than in the original timeline of People Like Us and in their "we're still frenemies (more friends, tho) but I'm also secretly in love with you" era. Truthfully, I just wanted to write about Teddy in his Female Impersonator/Drag Queen get up. Teddy Davies and Lucas Samsa belong to @hellofanidea! I hope I did them justice.
tw: period typical homo/queer/transphobia, use of the f-slur maliciously, and sexual harassment (a nameless, third party being a little too pushy)
“Oh my,” Teddy swoons as he enters the tiny dressing room, going so far as to sweep a hand up to his cheek in delighted surprise, his painted lips, perfectly coifed wig, carefully made-up face, and silk green gown completing his homage to every Hollywood starlet of the silver screen. “My hero!”
Much to Lucas’ annoyance, Amy and Mags laugh.
“Wounded in battle, and all for you, pretty girl!” Mags crows, taking Lucas’ injured hand and waving it in the air, as if to prove a point. “Look at this delicate face—poor thing’s going to be black and blue tomorrow.”
“Aww,” Amy sighs, faux-concerned and loving every second of this, the bastard. “What’s yer momma gonna say, Lulu? She’ll throw a fit.”
“And yer daddy’s gonna shake yer hand, protectin’ yer girl like that!” Mags pitches in, taking Lucas’ chin to wiggle it in that condescending way she does, when she likes to lord her height, her broadness, her manliness, over his slighter, shorter, and paler frame. Boyish mannerisms made even more boyish by her male impersonator get up, her clothes padded and square in all the right places, the feminine curves she loudly denies she doesn’t have, hidden expertly beneath the layers of what should have been an ill-fitting suit. Handsome, in all aspects except personality, at the present moment, reminding Lucas too keenly of those crass and snarky boys in school he’s always tried to avoid, when he was a kid.
The unwanted reminder sours what’s left of his mood, good or not, and he sharply shrugs out of Mags’ hold with a damning tsk. “Fuck off,” he spits.
It surprises them all.
All except Teddy. “Alright,” he says, clapping his hands together like a chiding mother after a stretch of awkward silence. “You’re both on in five minutes.”
Amy and Mags file out quickly at his cue, too eager to follow Teddy’s directions if it means that it’ll get them away from a grumpy Lucas as fast as possible. A small part of him still largely unaffected by his anger cringes inwardly at his behavior, aware that this was no way his parents raised him to treat his friends, much less ones as loyal as Amy and Mags. But the bigger part of him is still fuming over his current predicament, so he stays silent as Teddy carefully closes the door after them.
And continues to stay silent as Teddy picks his way through the messy dressing room to reach Lucas at the far end, sitting up on one of the rickety desks with a cold towel pressed to his rapidly swelling lower lip. For once, the golden-haired, green-eyed bastard is respecting his quiet, the carefully blank expression he keeps on his face seemingly serving as a muzzle over all those buzzing thoughts whizzing around behind his eyes. Lucas can see them, even in the split second it took for Teddy to accidentally meet his eyes, then rapidly look away, before diligently checking Lucas over like he has a lick of a clue what he’s doing, humming both affirmatively and negatively at what he finds. It’s unnerving to see him this artificially still, not when moments ago he’d been sparking and flaring like a candle flame, dancing and singing amongst the Aurora’s patrons’ tables, skirt swishing, heels tapping, bare shoulder shimmying to the music, exuding so much life Lucas had felt like his very breath was being squeezed out of his body.
“What? What do you want to say?” Lucas snaps, feeling all kinds of sharp all of a sudden. “I can see you holding your tongue.”
“And here I thought you liked me quiet?” Teddy gently teases, smiling slightly even when Lucas sends him a withering glare. It gets quiet again for a moment, but the careful mask has since slipped, enough for the smile to stay, and despite himself, Lucas softens. Just a bit.
“Thank you,” Teddy says, finally looking up to meet Lucas’ gaze with eyes so clear, so green. “I could handle myself but… thank you.”
Swallowing hard, Lucas nods, jerkily. “I know,” is all he can bring himself to say. Because he does know; even dressed the way he was, the anti-thesis to a man’s man, an open target for anyone and everyone, Lucas knows Teddy could handle himself. He’s Teddy, and Teddy is big. Larger than life, really. Slight in some places, with his tapered waist and long, pianist fingers, but tall and broad shouldered, with a wit sharper than any knife and a confidence so overwhelming, people couldn’t help but be drawn to him, in all the worst and best ways. Teddy Davies has known all his life that he was handsome, that he was beautiful, intelligent, and adored, and it informed the way he moves through the world more than anything else, no matter how much he denies that it has.
Men like Teddy were made to be looked at—the ideal All-American Jock, the Golden Boy, meant to inspire all those other men around him to rise and conquer; whilst secretly wishing his downfall with all the pitch-black jealousy hidden in the darkest corners of their hearts. At first his perpetual presence in the spotlight came off as self-absorbed and vain to Lucas, but the longer he knew him, the more Lucas came to understand that, for a queer who likes to wear women’s clothes and dance all weekend through, the spotlight was the most terrifying, loneliest place to be.
Yet in it he remained. Made it home, conducted the eyes that ogled him with a commanding hand and a toss of his pretty head, and made himself even more seen. Shameless. Larger than life. Daring them all: Look all you want. You won’t like what you see, but I don’t care. I’m not going to change.
Teddy was the bravest person Lucas knew.
Still, that doesn’t mean he has to be the loneliest, too. “He clipped you,” Lucas says, lifting his hand to touch the part of Teddy’s sleeve that had ripped upon contact with the rowdy man’s signet ring, when Lucas had pulled him out of the path of the punch. Teddy meets him half-way, shaking his head.
“Hey, let me be doctor, now,” he says, soothingly, guiding Lucas’ hand down to his lap. “I have to say, it’s odd to be on the other side this time.”
Yes, because on top of being brave, Teddy was righteous, too. Knowing he’s beautiful and handsome, also comes with the price of knowing that, to others, he always appeared to be in the position of right. The world, collectively, was lucky Mrs Davies had known what values to drill into her boy to make him as kind as he was, using whatever authority that’s been carelessly thrust unto him in the best ways he could. Truly, this isn’t his first bar fight with a man who has no understanding of the word no, and this isn’t the first time Lucas has silently worried over bruises that marred his skin, either.
But this was perhaps the first time Lucas has ever seen Teddy shrink. Just for a split second, so minuscule that nobody else saw it—but Lucas had. Seen the slight flinch, the twitch of his lip into an upset frown, when that man, that dreadful man, had shoved at him and called him all sorts of terrible things, all for getting in the way of his unwelcome advances on one of their patrons.
“Faggot,” he’d sneered and the word rung so loud in everyone’s ears, and Teddy’s face had fallen, and all Lucas could see was red.
He had swung first.
“I wasn’t joking,” Teddy tells him now, voice still quiet, but teeming with a gratefulness and a bit of awe. His eyes twinkled. “You really were a hero down there.”
He wasn’t, not quite as practiced in the art of brawling as Teddy was, but between the two of them they’d managed to get the unruly gentleman flat on his back in two minutes.
Mrs Davies had been quite annoyed at her fairy of a son and his quiet friend (as she called them, affectionately) stirring up quite a storm, but the vindicated curl of her lip that appeared when some of their burlier patrons came to toss the man on the street, was enough for Teddy, who’d apologized for the commotion with a small, cheeky smile. All they’d gotten was a swat to both their backsides and an order to put Lucas’ face on ice.
And now here they were.
Lucas didn’t feel like a hero. But he wasn’t going to tell Teddy that. He just grunts, instead. “Sure.”
Teddy smiles, and that’s the end of that conversation. The next few minutes are spent back in blissful silence, with Teddy puttering around with a couple of rags to catch the melting ice that drips from Lucas’ fist and face, even going so far as to wipe at his split lip with one of them, clearing away the blood and debris with a gentleness Lucas knew he was capable of, but has never experienced himself. This close, Lucas can count his lashes, darkened significantly with mascara, curled and fluttering delicately against his rouged-up cheek. Count the freckles he didn’t quite cover with his make-up, the ghost of vast constellations peaking just so behind the fine dusting of perfumed powder. See the part in his bangs where his wig cap peaks out, a flesh-colored net that should break the illusion, but completes the picture, instead. Carves out a new Teddy that Lucas has never had the privilege to see up close.
Blonde bombshell Teddy Davies, more beautiful than any Hollywood starlet. Everything about him is delicate. Delicate and girlish and pretty, and it takes all of Lucas’ self-control not to reach out and touch. Just to check that it’s all real, and that this Teddy had truly been on stage just an hour ago, singing and charming all the men who hollered for more at his feet.
That this Teddy is before him now, fluttering his lashes at Lucas like a practiced coquette. “There you go,” he says with a giggle. “My hero.”
Lucas colors. “Shut up.”
“No, really!” Teddy laughs with a purr, patting Lucas’ uninjured cheek. “So butch! The second you came in; I picked you out of the crowd immediately.”
For some reason, he feels strangely pleased by that. “Yeah?”
“Yes, you with your little suspenders and that curly bed o’ hair? Oh, you had all my girls swooning. I was so jealous,” Teddy says, flouncing about a bit more now, fidgeting nervously with his hair and reapplying his lipstick in front of the nearest boudoir, as if his words have finally fed him the energy he’d lost, scuffling on the bar room floor in his nicest dress. “I mean, I may be old news, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be upstaged by the new fairy in town.”
“So sorry to have distracted your adoring audience.”
“Truly, I require financial compensation.”
“Does it have to be financial?”
“I could be persuaded to a drink.”
“Alright. But,” Lucas says, grinning. “You have to be on my arm the whole night.”
“Oh, my,” Teddy gasps. If he was blushing, it would have been impossible to see under all that make-up. Lucas takes it as a win, though, when he reaches up to push a bit of lose hair back into place behind his ear, eyes briefly turning away to assess the state of the floor. “Well, if the gentleman insists.”
“I do.”
They smile at each other. “I wish you’d told me you were coming,” Teddy says, so quiet it could have been a whisper. As if admitting it too loudly would take away the weight behind his words.
Lucas hears it. All of it. “I didn’t think you’d appreciated it.”
Teddy scoffs. “I would’ve loved it,” he says, sincerely. “In fact, if I knew you were there, I would’ve performed better.”
A part of him wonders if Teddy could possibly do anything to top that performance, with all its bells and whistles and… piano humping. Just thinking back on it has Lucas’ head spinning, and he knows, if Teddy put his mind to it, he could make even a grand show like that look like a carny attraction at a subpar county fair. “I don’t think so.”
“No, truly,” Teddy laughs, so painfully earnest, his face completely softens into that self-deprecating look he gets with that pretty flush that travels all the way from his forehead down to his powdered neck. Lucas couldn’t help but stare. “It’s always easier when I know I have someone I have to impress.”
“You always impress me,” Lucas says, surprising himself with his honesty. “I am always impressed by you.”
Teddy stops. Fully stops, freezing in place once again and taking with him the collective breath of the world—or maybe just Lucas’, who can’t do anything to deny how beautiful he finds Teddy in this moment, staring at him with those green eyes and those full lips parted in a gasp, a tentative openness to him akin to wondrous hope.
The bravest, loneliest and most beautiful girl in the world.
Then, Teddy laughs, half-delighted, half-mocking. “Aww.”
Lucas really doesn’t know what he expected. “Shut up, Davies.”
“Now don’t start.” Teddy coos, reaching out to ruffle his hair and dance just right out of the way of Lucas’ playful swipe. “You adore me, you really do! Did you hear that world? Lucas Samsa adores me!”
Lucas doesn't deny it. But he does throw a soaking wet rag at Teddy's face to hide the fact, and lets the moment quietly slip away in the wake of Teddy's subsequent rant about his ruined make-up.
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neeino · 5 months
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day 26 all edge no point
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ginger-grimm · 5 months
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OC HALLOWEEN CHALLENGE 2023
Day 28: Let's Be Weird Together
Some of my Riverdale OCs as the Winx Club (and Brandon)
Dot Cahill as Bloom
Beth Lambert as Stella
Misty Ortiz as Flora
Paisley Monaghan as Musa
Kippi Goode as Tecna
Toni Topaz as Layla
Teddy Green as Brandon
x, x, x, x, x, x, x
TAGLIST: @waterloou @eddysocs ​ @ocs-supporting-ocs @foxesandmagic @veetlegeuse @decennia @hiddenqveendom @arrthurpendragon @luucypevensie @richitozier @noratilney @wordspin-shares @oneirataxia-girl @endless-oc-creations @lucys-chen @andromedalestrange @far-shores @daughter-of-melpomene @bibaybe
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minasweep · 1 year
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actually speaking of ocs i legitimately miss zack (lore house) so much
#mina mumbles#lore house#hes the most ever to me <3 hes such a poor meow meow truly#depending on the strand of the multiverse hes either painted in a rlly heroic (protagonist of legends!!) light or#hes the most evil guy to ever exist (bc of forces out of his control)#also sometimes he was just a silly guy he cant canonically swim he had a livestream bit he was an idol in one and he was like an evil king#i drew art of him as a mermaid once that was fun#one of the last universes we made for him was a completely reverse of what he knew (it was all a dream) so everything he knew was wrong#hes a demon of another demon who married an angel in the alt universe hes just some guy trying to tell his friends hes literally a demon#and despite having been an angel and a demon in the other universe his friends r like haha yeah sure bud#hes like rlly powerful but hes also so silly hes got one out of place strand of green hair#hes was a shared oc in a world built w an old friend he was like our self inserts bestie and worstie in lore house#it was so fun so self indulgent i miss world building w them tbh i hope theyre doing good#i only have sm of zacks/lore house stuff in old screenshots and notes theres some part of me that wishes i still had the messages but !!!#thats just how it be yk <3 i hope theyre doing well i hope they carry a bit of zack w them still hes such a silly guy#the last time we spoke we talked abt rewriting the entire thing maybe in zacks universe we did /hj#i think of remaking it sometimes bc i feel like we left zack in the void so i draw him once in a while but it doesnt have that charm i feel#i still love him vv much i treat him the same way u would a teddy bear that falls off ur bed when ur asleep yk hes just a lil guy
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darkbluekies · 1 year
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ARHGGG I KNOW ITS LATE. BUT IM SO CURIOUS ABOUT VALENTINES DAY WITH DR KRYYYYY
“Do you like me too?”
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Doctor!yandere OC x reader Valentine special
Summary: Your very own doctor decides to try to make Valentine's in the hospital special for you. And for once, you're finally let outside and Dr Kry can pretend that you're a real couple.
Warnings: none really!
Word count: 1k
[I spedwrote this, im going to bed now]
Today’s a day like every other. You wake up in your bed with nothing to do. It doesn’t even register that it’s valentine's day. Why would you care? You don’t have anyone and you can’t go out on a date. 
Dr Kry has been out all morning in search of perfect gifts for you. He’s gotten flowers, chocolate, a new book and a green sweatset for you. 
When you wake up from your first nap, Dr Kry is back with the gifts in a paper bag. 
“Good morning, Y/N”, he smiles and sits down on his rolling stool. “How are you feeling today?”
“Like normal”, you mumble. “I’m never getting better.”
“Don’t be so sad. Look, I got you gifts!”
He fixes the pillow behind your back and places the paper bag on your legs. You åick up the chocolate box first and give him a wide smile. 
“I love chocolate!” you burst out. 
Dr Kry smiles fondly. You’re so cute. 
You pick up the red roses too and take a sniff. Sadly, you have lost a lot of your smell, but you can imagine how sweet their scent is. You look around, trying to find a vase. 
“I need water to put them in”, you say. 
“I’ll get a vase for you”, Dr Kry says and takes the flowers out of your hands. “They’re beautiful, right?”
“I love them.”
You pick up the book he got you. 
“You haven’t read that, right?” he asks. “Would be a shame if you have.”
“I haven’t”, you say. “It looks good. Can you read it for me tonight?”
“Of course I can. I have one more thing for you in the bag. Take a look.”
“You shouldn’t have got me so much. I don’t have anything for you.”
“You don’t have to. I like your quality time more than material goods. If I get to read for you, that’s enough of a gift for me. Look at the last thing now!” 
You pick up a pair of sage green sweatpants and a hoodie in the same color. 
“The hospital gown you’re wearing is very thin”, Dr Kry explains. “I’m sure you’re cold. This will give you some warmth.”
You look at the things you’ve gotten as your eyes tear up. Not even your last partner was as sweet as Doctor Kry.
“Thank you so much”, you smile. “You didn’t have to-”
“I wanted to, don’t worry about it”, Dr Kry smiles. 
“Can I give you a hug?”
He nods and leans over to wrap you in his arms. You put your arms around his neck and he wishes that you could suffocate him. He hugs you close to his heart, enjoying the feeling of your body in his arms. 
“You should dress in the new clothes”, Dr Kry smiles. “Then you can sit and eat chocolate while I read for you.”
He helps you change into the sweatset. Oh, you’re so cute in the clothes. 
“WHat do you want for dinner?” Dr Kry asks. “I can go out and buy something special for you.”
“I want to come with you”, you say. “I want McDonald’s.”
“It’s not safe for you.”
“We can go through the drive through. I can be in the car. Please? It’s just for half an hour.”
Dr Kry sighs and nods, giving in. 
“Now lean back and grab some chocolate”, he says and picks up the book. “Here’s chapter one.”
You hug your teddy bear and take a piece of the chocolate. Dr Kry starts to read and you listen closely. 
That evening, Dr Kry dresses you in his coat and holds his arm around your shoulders. You’re wearing the sweatset he got you and his large coat. Being in a car again makes you jump up and down in the elevator. 
“I want mozzarella sticks!” you grin. “What are you going to get?”
“I don’t know”, Dr Kry says. “Maybe chicken nuggets.”
He leads you through the lobby, out to the parking lot. The sky is filled with wonderful little stars. 
“Look!” you say and breathe out. “My breath fogs!”
Dr Kry imitates you and points at the fog that exits his own. 
“Mine do too”, he smiles.
“Ah, it’s been such a long time since that happened …”
Dr Kry smiles and takes your hand. He leads you over to a white car in a protective hold, making sure that none of the people in the parking lot comes close to you. The second you see his car, you want to laugh. Of course it’s white. He opens the front seat door and straps you in as if you were a child before walking over to the driver’s seat. 
“Is this your car?” you ask and look around. 
“Yes, it is”, he smiles, turning on the engine. 
“I like it.”
Dr Kry smiles. His heart is beating oh, so hard. He feels so dizzy. This is literally a date! He’s on a date with you! You’re so cute, sitting there all innocently in the seat beside him. Your face lights up thanks to the streetlights. 
“I like car rides”, you admit. 
“You like a lot”, Dr Kry smiles. “Do you like me too?”
“You’re a good doctor. I’m happy I have you.”
His heart explodes then and there. 
You reach the McDonald’s restaurant and go in the drive through. Dr Kry gives the radio your order while you sit beside him. You look so cute in his coat. He gets filled with primal, almost animalistic tendencies. The feeling of wanting to kill something cute. You get to hold the bag in your lap as he drives back to the hospital. 
When you come back to your room, you jump onto your bed and pull up your fries. You hold out some fries to your dear doctor and he takes them carefully, blushing slightly. And there you sit for the rest of the evening, with your burger in one hand and some chocolate in the other while your doctor reads to you. Not a very bad Valentine’s after all. 
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honkytonk-hangman · 1 year
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Afterburn – Crosswinds
Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OC/Reader
Masterlist
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OC/Reader's name is Teddy/callsign 'Kodiak'
Summary: You liked him when he was like this. You liked him all the time, but especially when he gave up on trying to get the upper hand in the conversation, and just let things be. When he was a little less Hangman and a little more Jake.
Warnings: mentions of aviation crash, mostly just hangman being a simp. smoking?
Notes: Dagger Squad took one look at Teddy and Phoenix was already printing out the adoption papers lmao. this is set post TGM, and Mav has taken up an instructing position.
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A loud burst of buoyant laughter greets your ears, the noise out of place in the otherwise quiet administrative corridor, but not totally unwelcome. You have to suppress a smile and a roll of your eyes as you tuck a stack of papers under your arm and push open the door to what you imagine is the only currently occupied room in this part of campus.
Your arrival into your own office barely grants a pause in the ongoing conversations, though several out of the seven aviators lounging about throw you a wave or a quick greeting.
Hangman, who doesn’t appear to acknowledge your presence at all, sits in the visitor chair directly opposite your workstation, with his feet nonchalantly kicked up on your desk, one of your little model jets turning in his hands. You shove his feet off as you pass and pointedly ignore the tiny twitch of his lips that threatens to break into a full-on smirk any moment. Instead, you lean in and snatch back your model F-22 Raptor, before rounding the side of the tabletop, and falling into your chair.
Hangman’s hands stay suspended in place for a few moments, but he drops them a beat later, his eyes fixated on you in taunting amusement as you return your prized desk bauble to its proper position.
This time, you ignore him, tapping your login credentials into your computer, and shuffling the papers from under your arm to the surface in front of you. Out of the corner of your eye you spot Hangman’s fingers reaching out for something else, a pen or another of your model jets most likely, and the flash of surprise that flickers across his face when you sharply slap his knuckles away is almost enough for you to mirror the self-satisfied smirk he’d been wearing only moments prior.
“I know you’re capable of looking with your eyes, Hangman, considering you like to stare so much,” you tease, using the same voice that you might with a naughty child. The man across from you relents with suspiciously little bitching, and leans back in his seat, fingers laced together.
“You know Teddy Bear, I’ve been told that women like eye contact,” Hangman’s smile only grows when you fix him with an unamused look.
“And just like everything else, Hangman, you take that too far,” Phoenix scoffs from the scant seating area right behind him, where she sits facing you with Rooster and Bob.
The green eyes still boring into yours suddenly gain a challenging glint, and he opens his mouth, turning in his seat to respond, but you cut him off.
“Now, now, children…” you say scoldingly, earning an annoyed frown from Hangman, and a shrug from Phoenix.
You go back to updating your records, and for a while the tapping of your keyboard undercuts the soft conversation that fills your office, and you happily listen to the aviators discussing today’s training. It was pleasant to have the company, as much as you pretended to be exasperated with certain people, not-so-deep down you were more than alright with the Civilian Instructors’ Staff Room becoming the new hangout for the group.
It had started several weeks back now, with Phoenix and Bob visiting you on your lunch hour. The next day they brought Fanboy and Payback, who the day after that, had convinced Rooster to come along, and naturally there was no way that Rooster would be invited to any social gathering that Hangman was excluded from, so he and Coyote had tagged along too.
Now it wasn’t just your lunch breaks that had your office full of pilots, since it was plainly obvious that you were the only current civilian instructor on base, they had started using the office as their own lay-room in place of the one used by the rest of the pilots. Coyote had made up the excuse last week that the usual rec room had too many younger aviators in it, and this week it was because you were apparently closer to the hangar. With every new excuse, you’d simply let out a huff and roll your eyes with a knowing smile.
The first time you’d actually been forced to interrogate the how’s or whys had been a week ago, after Maverick had spent the best part of an hour searching for his group and had eventually come looking for you to ask if you’d seen them. He’d found your office filled with his rowdy squad of aviators having an intense argument, split down the middle over Kong vs Godzilla. After declaring Godzilla would be the winner hands down, Mav had ordered them all out.
A bemused smile plays on Maverick’s lips, and he shakes his head. One of his hands holds open your office door, and the other ushers out his squad of aviators, all wearing matching looks of sheepishness at having been discovered.
Once the last pilot has filtered out, the older man turns to look back at you, his handsome features pulled into a concerned, almost fatherly grimace. It was an expression that you’d become rather used to since you’d begun working together.
“Teddy…” Mav begins, and he almost sounds exasperated, before he pauses, and softens his tone. “I should tell them not to bother you,” he says, but you can hear the subtle question beneath the statement. He sounds sympathetic and gentle in just about the only manner that doesn’t automatically make you retch these days.
Your eyes dip down to your hands on your desk, and you spin your pen skilfully around your pointer, ring, and third fingers. It was a trick you had picked up several years ago, confined to a hospital bed and with nothing else to occupy your mind.
When you look back up, you see Mav eying your movements, his lips pulling down in the corners. He knew as well as you did by now that it was an anxious habit.
“I don’t mind. Really, having them around is nice… everyone around here treats me like I’m made of glass, it’s nice to just… have friends,” you purse your lips and drop your pen, before reaching out and straightening the model jet that a certain pilot had been playing with earlier. Another nervous tick that doesn’t go unnoticed.
You didn’t talk about this subject with many people, if anyone, but since being introduced to Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell, you’d discovered the man’s earnest, ironically down-to-earth kindness was good at weeding the truth out of those around him.
“I think…” Mav starts but trails off, looking out into the hall quickly, and then stepping further into your office, letting the door close behind him before he continues. “I think they know that if things were different, you would have been recalled alongside them. They respect you for that,” he tells you softly.
You were never one for bragging, but you can’t deny that he was probably right. Still, you scoff out a small laugh and cross your arms over your chest.
“I think they’re just teacher’s pets,” you try to brush off his praise.
Maverick only shoves his hands in his pockets with a fond smile and shrugs.
“I’m just saying, they treat you like one of their own for a reason,” his face turns more serious then, and he drops his chin slightly. “But I understand if having them around all the time brings up some difficult feelings. Just say the word and…” he trails off again, just as someone calls for him out in the corridor.
You shake your head definitively then and smile softly, but genuinely. You were thankful that he’d even thought about that angle at all. To be honest, you were thankful in general for the oddball friendship the two of you had struck up while working together.
“Really, Mav, it’s fine. They won’t be able to sit around here forever, so it’s nice to have them back for as long as I can,” you pick up your pen again, and spin it mindlessly in your fingers. Neither of you point out that you didn’t even know half of the detachment before they’d been recalled to Miramar for their most recent assignment. You couldn’t really describe it as ‘having them back’, but you know he gets what you mean.
Maverick watches you closely for several more seconds, his eyes dropping to your spinning pen, then back to your face.
“Do me a favour while you’re up there, Cap?” you ask, leaning forward on your desk. Mav straightens up some and cocks his head.
“Shoot down everyone who argued for Kong,” you tease with a grin, and receive a laugh and a lazy salute in reply before you’re left completely alone once more.
You brush the memory aside, another train of thought crossing your mind.
You flick your eyes to Hangman’s neatly pressed tan uniform, and then to your watch for the time. Doing your best to sound nonchalant, you clear your throat, but don’t look away from your work.
“What are you guys still doing here?” you ask, referring to the late afternoon time, and the fact they’d clearly already run simulations this morning. Their duties for the day would have been finished at least an hour ago, giving them time to shower and change into their khakis.
“We’re headed to the Hard Deck after clock-off,” Coyote says, picking up an abandoned stress ball left behind on one of the desks and tosses it across the room where Phoenix easily catches it with one hand, before quickly offloading it to Rooster, who pitches it to Payback.
“You should’ve already clocked off by my count,” you say quietly, trying to sound more than only half-focused on your work.
“You’ve still got an hour,” Rooster tells you unnecessarily. You were aware now of what they were waiting for, and despite yourself, your heart grows warm.
“You know I can always just meet you there,” you say after clearing your throat once more.
“And give you the chance to skip out on shots again, Teddy Bear?” Hangman cuts in, somehow managing the feat of smirking and pouting at the same time.
“You know I don’t drink, right?” you cock your head at him with a squint, but he only shrugs.
For a moment your eyes linger on his mouth as he flicks a toothpick between his lips and tongue, having produced it from somewhere when you weren’t looking. When you lift your gaze again, he lets you know he’d spotted your shift in focus with a taunting lift of his brows, his smirk growing to near Cheshire proportions. You can only shake your head good-naturedly at his antics.
“Well, we figured we’d all just head on over together when you got done,” Coyote says, drawing your attention. You open your mouth to protest once more, not wanting them to feel obligated to stick around just for you, but you’re cut off by Phoenix.
“You get to dunk on any greens today?” she asks, a smile playing on her lips. Her question successfully distracts you and you drag your eyes away from Coyote with a matching smile and a scoff.
“There’s always one or two in a new class,” you roll your eyes.
“Do they not get that you have a pretty big say in whether or not they get their certification?” Phoenix asks rhetorically. You just shrug and absently start spinning your pen between your fingers.
“Well, if they don’t, they learn quickly or they learn the hard way,” you reply. It wasn’t in your nature to grandstand or call people out, especially in front of their peers, but you also weren’t going to allow some snot-nosed pilot to walk all over you. They tended to straighten up and shut their mouths once Warlock or Cyclone himself had a word or two with them.
The conversation easily flows on after that, and you occupy the rest of your afternoon finishing up a few tasks you needed to get done for Monday, chipping in with a comment here or there.
Your F-22 somehow finds its way back into Hangman’s clutches while you’re distracted, but this time there’s an almost child-like curiosity to him as he inspects the model exhaustively, and you find that you don’t have the heart to take it off him again.
When five o’clock ticks around at last, you pack up your desk and note with fond amusement that your model is promptly returned to the exact position you liked. Once you’ve grabbed your coat and bag, you allow yourself to be whisked away.
***
It never seemed to matter what day of the week it was, the Hard Deck was consistently busy. You suppose it helps to have the Naval base so close by, which was like having built-in regulars, as well as a stream of constant new faces.
You can still remember vividly the first time you stepped foot inside the bar, almost eight years ago now, still fresh-faced, a little wet behind the ears, and filled with the sort of energy only a twenty-two-year-old hot-shot Naval Aviator can possess. Back then you hadn’t really spent all that much time off North Island, but ever since Dagger squad had been around, you’d found yourself happy to be regularly crammed into one of the many small booths.
The sound of pool balls bouncing off one another cracks sharply and draws you back into the present. You throw a cursory glance toward the ongoing pool game, your lip quirking at the intensely competitive expressions on everyone’s faces. At this point in the night, they were all taking the game seriously still, but you know that later it would descend into thinly veiled duels over who could sink the coolest trick shot– or more entertainingly– making up some weird ‘dogfight’ version of the rules that would have generally have onlookers baffled.
Bob steps into sight then, briefly blocking your view of the game as he places two sodas down on the table between you, before somehow folding his not insignificant height into the booth opposite you. You watch fondly as he ducks forward to sweep back some hair that had uncharacteristically fallen into his eyes, looking almost like someone had ruffled it.
“Thanks!” you pull your drink towards you and take a sip, relishing in the ice-cold fizz that almost burns on its way down your throat.
“Penny said they’re on her,” he tells you, his mussed-up hair making sense now. You turn quickly to find Penny in her usual spot behind the bar, and even as she busily works to serve orders, you catch her eye, and send her a thankful wave. You hadn’t fully figured out why Penny never seemed to charge you or Bob for your drinks, but you were grateful regardless.
“So… opinions on the Spitfire and the Mustang?” you ask, watching the way Bob’s eyes light up behind his oversized glasses.
“The fuel capabilities and combat range of the Mustang outclass Spitfires by a mile,” Bob tells you, leaning forward and clasping his hands together on the table in front of him.
“But I’d be lying if I said that the Spitfire wasn’t my favourite,” he tells you almost giddily, and his smile is contagious.
“I mean, it just looks so cool!” you exclaim in agreement, glad that you were on the same page. Bob’s nose scrunches sweetly as he takes a drink from his glass, nodding all the while.
“I’m going to work on the Mk 24 this weekend,” you tell him a moment later. “The curator at the museum of Naval Aviation is letting me backstage this weekend, so I can take some reference photos of the paintjob,” you had to admit you were rather excited about the whole thing, but even still, you speak somewhat quietly, making sure you won’t be overheard.
It was silly, and you don’t really know where it comes from, but you felt shy about your weekend pass time. Maybe it was because it felt like the hobby of an elderly man, but regardless, you’d found a friend in Bob, who had expressed his fondness for miniature model building upon spying the F-22 Raptor you kept on your desk.
Phoenix had blinked between the two of you that first lunchtime they’d spent in your office, as you’d both discussed at length the model series you liked most, as well as preferred painting techniques. Bob didn’t actively build anything himself; he was too convinced he’d become completely obsessed, and in his own words he ‘didn’t need any more obstacles to getting a date’, but he’d let himself get invested in the online community back during his first deployment.
You’re about to ask if he (and likely by extension, Phoenix) would like to come along with you, but a nearby conversation makes you pause.
“Richter told me it’s cause she waited too long to pull her chute, wasn’t enough time for a clear landing,” a male voice says.
“If she was so good, how’d she mess that up?” another voice asks, scoffing back their disbelief.
“Apparently she refused to eject without WSO, but he got knocked out on first impact,” a third voice fills in, sounding far less derisive.
“I heard that she was lucky she even survived long enough for the medics to find them,” the first voice first voice returns, sounding somewhat awed.
“Guess it’s kind of fortunate she saved her WSO then, huh?” the second voice replies.
“’Fortunate’?! You’re joking, right? Kodiak has to be the unluckiest pilot the Navy has ever had!” the third speaker exclaims, a little louder this time, mirth filling his voice now.
“She got shot down right outta TOPGUN, pulled her chute so late she hit the ground hard enough to puncture both her lungs, and then she contracts some infection or whatever the hell else, wrecking her lungs to the point she’s now got goddamn lung disease!” A pause follows his frantic sounding rant, followed by the sound of an emptied beer bottle being fisted down.
“Honestly, I think I’d just have preferred to die in the crash,” the second person says, his tablemates voicing their quick agreement.
You blink at the frank coldness of the statement, and even though you try, you can’t stop yourself from taking a quick look over your shoulder in the direction of where the voices were coming from. You spy a table with three of your current students, which quickly makes you flick your head back around again before they see you.
Their discussion of your accident doesn’t bother you; you’d come to expect it these days. Whenever a new class came through it was all but inevitable that they would gossip to each other about their civilian instructor, more specifically about your unique situation. You couldn’t blame them really; it wasn’t as though they were wrong about you being incredibly unlucky. Frankly, your fragile health condition felt like an utterly sarcastic response from the universe for having the nerve to be young, driven, and extremely promising in your chosen career. Like the outcome of some Wishmaster bargain.
Back when you’d still been able to fly, you had gotten familiar with being the best. You were a damn good pilot, and it was clear to everyone around you from the moment you got in a cockpit. You never let it go to your head though, after all, it wasn’t just pure natural talent. You had worked incredibly hard to make sure you were outdoing yourself every time you got in the air, to make sure that you were constantly punching up, challenging yourself.
You certainly weren’t the youngest pilot to be invited to go to Miramar to get your TOPGUN certification, not by a long shot, but you were the youngest in over thirty years to graduate top of the class.
Putting yourself in your students’ shoes, knowing all of that, coupled with the fact that you would never again be able to fly… Well, it added up to be a perfect kind of tragedy, really. It was a cautionary tale to some, a dramatic fable to others.
As far as you were concerned, you’d made your peace with your conditions a long time ago. There was no point in dwelling on something you had no control over and couldn’t change. You chose instead to focus on what you could have control over, so you took all your potential, all of that raw talent, and channelled it down a new path.
At the end of the day, you were alive, relatively unharmed, and able to work in a field you adored. You couldn’t complain about that.
“Do you… do you want me to say something?” Bob’s voice cuts through your reverie, and you find yourself blinking back at him with wide, puzzled eyes.
“What?” you ask dopily, unsure of what exactly he meant. Your confusion is cleared up a moment later however, when he dips his chin toward the table of your students, his eyes flickering nervously between you and them. Clearly, he had overheard the conversation too.
Your face softens at that, and you shake your head gently.
“No, it’s alright. They aren’t doing anything wrong,” you wave him off, but deep down, you feel touched that Bob, who seemed to despise any kind of one-on-one confrontation, was willing to step in on your behalf. You see him purse his lips uncertainly.
“What happened to me isn’t exactly usual,” you remind him, trying to sound light and airy. “There’s always some talk surrounding it when I get a new class. They’ll get it out of their systems and move on soon enough,” you assure him, and you mean it, however it takes several more seconds of your companion studying your features before his face and posture relax, and he gives you an almost nervous little nod.
You take a sip of your drink and look away to check the current status of the ongoing pool game. A glance tells you that predictably Hangman was in the lead, but not because of the number of balls he’d sunk, but more due to his peacock-like display from the sidelines. You watch as he turns and cocks his head at Phoenix, saying something clearly taunting, his signature infuriating smirk pulled across his features.
You struggle to keep a straight face when behind Hangman’s back, Payback reaches into the nearest basket and retrieves one of the insufferable blonde’s balls and places it back on the table. You make eye contact as he steps innocently away, and you share a look of sworn secrecy. You wonder briefly how long this has been going on for already, but more than that, you wonder how long it’ll take before Hangman notices.
“How’d you save your WSO?” Bob’s question makes you snap your gaze sharply back to his, and you realise he hadn’t looked away from you yet. You stutter for a moment, before blinking away your surprise.
“I… I released the yoke and shook him awake…” you mutter. Sure, you weren’t bothered when others spoke about your accident, but you never discussed it yourself. Bob considers your words carefully, before he lifts his chin slightly, his eyes flickering between yours.
“That’s why your altitude was so low when you ejected,” it isn’t a question, it’s a missing piece of the puzzle, to him at least, and for the first time in your (admittedly short) friendship, you find yourself forced to look away.
In your efforts to look anywhere but at Bob, you accidentally make eye contact with Hangman. He’s bent over the pool table, facing directly towards you, and with no small amount of amusement behind his look, he holds your gaze and blindly takes his shot, expertly sinking the ball without even looking.
You can picture him performing the trick to impress one of the many women that often fawn over him at the Hard Deck, how the display alone would get them hook, line, and sinker.
You, on the other hand, find yourself practically staring through him as you try to banish all further thoughts of your accident from your mind. Unfortunately, your expression mustn’t be as blank as you’d thought it was, because as Hangman straightens once more to his full height, his eyebrows crease together, and his gaze abruptly flickers down, quickly taking note of how stiff and uncomfortable you are.
When he meets your eyes again, his frown has only deepened, and you watch dumbly as he cocks his head questioningly. It occurs to you then, that you don’t think you’ve ever seen him tip his head like that without a hefty helping of mockery to go alongside it. Concern isn’t exactly an emotion you’re used to from Hangman, and you aren’t really sure of how to process it properly. Instead, you tear your eyes away from him entirely, and face Bob again.
You suddenly can’t remember why this conversation had felt so daunting a moment ago.
“Hey, can we talk about something else?” you ask lightly, thankful when your booth buddy nods happily, looking up as you’re joined by Halo, who deposits a bowl of chips on the table, before squeezing in next to Bob.
You ignore looking in Hangman’s direction for the next hour or so. Normally you had all the patience in the world for Hangman’s button pushing, but right now you’re not sure you can muster up the energy to take any of it.
To be honest you found him amusing, though you were well aware that you’d never been on the receiving end of his more overtly malicious jabs, which he seemed to make less of these days anyway. Unlike most of the people around you, especially aviators, Hangman didn’t treat you as though you would break with the lightest of touches. His blatantly flippant and laissez-faire approach to your generally sensitive circumstances was more than welcome.
Still, even you had bad days, and after your questioning earlier, you didn’t really feel like joking right now. If he was really concerned, he could ask you about it later, but you’re almost certain he’ll have forgotten by tomorrow morning.
***
Just like a reflection of the Hard Deck itself, as the night wanes on, your already cramped booth steadily fills up with aviators. The scarred wooden table at the centre is scattered with empty glasses and beer bottles, and the bowl of fries Halo had brought over earlier was long devoured. The pool game had ended some time ago, the polished edges of the table now being used as extra seating, which you know Penny would hate.
You’d found it thankfully easy to put aside the heaviest aspects of your earlier tailspin, checking into the rowdy conversation happily. A few of the younger pilots, not your students, had approached the table earlier, and after they’d left again, to fill another round most likely, you’d found yourself bashfully rolling your eyes and shaking your head as the squad had heckled you over the mooning of the younger men.
It had to be nearing midnight when you at last extract yourself from the sticky seating. The air had become hot and heady now, not just within the space of your booth, but throughout the bar as a whole. It wasn’t too bad, but it did feel thick in your lungs, and you knew it could quickly grow into a large problem for you, may as well refresh yourself now.
Stepping through the door to the empty back deck of the venue, you’re amazed at how much noise the simple wood and glass doors can muffle. The night was dark, but in front of you somewhere, you can hear the lapping of the waves, and you step out closer to the railing, breathing in deeply the sea salt air.
You’re a little ashamed to say you jump at the sound of the back door opening again, the roar inside drowning out the ocean for a few seconds, and you turn back to see Hangman gently closing the door behind him.
He wears an easy expression as his eyes fall on you, and you look away to lean back against the railings as he approaches.
“Everything alright?” The lightness in his voice is easily discernible as put on, but frankly, you’re too surprised by the question to figure out why.
“Huh?” you blink up at him with a frown as he comes to lean against the rail besides you, his back toward the ocean and his arms crossed over his chest. The pose, and his proximity make him seem even larger.
“Earlier, you, uh, you looked all…” he doesn’t finish his sentence, and you note that he also doesn’t mockingly demonstrate however he thought you’d looked. You straight up a little, your frown smoothing out.
“Oh, everything is fine. Bob just… he just asked me something about my crash,” you only decide halfway through your sentence to tell him the truth, and you can tell by the ensuing pause, and the way he flicks his eyes carefully over your face that he hadn’t really been expecting you to tell him.
As if he realises his surprise has been visible, he clears his throat and looks away from you, back toward the doors.
“Huh. Wouldn’ta thought Bobby-Boy had it in him,” he says shifting his stance slightly, still not looking back at you. You can practically hear him thinking.
“Hm, you clearly don’t know him very well,” you say wryly, your smile only growing when his face whips back to yours, an almost mortified look of alarm painted over his features.
“Oh Jesus, Jake, not like that,” you reach out and shove his arm roughly, giving a scoff at his stupid man-brain.
Predictably, your shove doesn’t do too much to dislodge him, but you can at least enjoy the feeling of his hard muscle under your hand for a moment. His alarm is replaced with a derisive sort of disgust, but you can tell it's playful more than anything else.
“Good,” he says flatly, and this time doesn’t look away from you, resuming his regular routine of using his stare as some kind of powerplay. You shake your head even as you glance back to squint out at the ocean, your smile still pulling at your lips involuntarily.
“You’re so insecure,” you tease him, earning a scoff.
“Excuse me?!”
You can see his chest puffing out of the corner of your gaze.
“I take my attention off of you for one second and you’re going nutter-butter and getting all pouty about it,” you chortle, glancing briefly back up at him. Even in the dim outdoor lighting you can see the light pink wash that has coloured his ears.
He’s seemingly only able to glower down at you in response, clearly unimpressed at just how aware you were that you had him wrapped around your finger. He scoffs again, looking away, but doesn’t speak, and your grin widens.
You liked him when he was like this. You liked him all the time, but especially when he gave up on trying to get the upper hand in the conversation, and just let things be. When he was a little less Hangman and a little more Jake. It strikes you, however, that he doesn’t even attempt to argue back, the silence stretching on between you saying more than enough.
You look away and nudge him once more, using your whole shoulder this time, which seems to take him off guard, and he sways lightly at your touch.
“Besides, I only have eyes for one aviator,” you say lightly. Hangman’s shoulders square, and his lips begin to form a familiar Cheshire grin as straightens up to his full height, looking down at you almost haughtily.
“Damn straight,”
“I was talking about Rooster,” you tease, and you’re glad the playfulness has returned, his hand covering his heart as his face twists in faux pain.
“You’re cruel, you know that darlin’?”
You let out a laugh as Hangman stares down at you, the fond look in his eyes only turning sharp and annoyed when the back door opens again, and you both look up to spy an unfamiliar man stepping out of the bar.
He seems oblivious to the moment he’s interrupted, sending you both a quick nod before he moves to stand a couple of metres away from you at the railing, his hands fiddling with something. You watch as he tucks a cigarette between his lips, and lifts his lighter to the ends, cupping his free hand around the flame so the cool breeze won’t blow it out.
Before you get a chance to say anything, besides you your companion has stiffened, straightening to his full height once again and stepping away from the rail.
“You can’t smoke here,” he says loudly, catching the guy’s attention as he blows out his first puff, and shoves his lighter away. He looks around at the decking, before his eyes land back on Hangman.
“I don’t see a sign,” he says evenly.
Hangman has stepped around you completely now, almost blocking your view of the other man, who you must note, wouldn’t stand a chance against the aviator if he decided to get physical.
“Listen buddy, my friend’s got a pretty sensitive lung problem, if she breathes in any of that, she’ll get real sick, so I’m asking if you can go stand somewhere else?”
You’re surprised by his words, and despite the patient sound of them, his tone is nowhere near as restrained. You gently reach out for the arm that he’d used to gesture back at you, even as the other man blows out another smokey breath.
“Jake, it’s fine, we can go,” you say, a pit building in your stomach when he doesn’t even look back down at you, the muscle of his jaw beginning to tick.
“Yeah. You can go,” the other man smirks, and somehow, it’s even more infuriating and smug than any of Hangman’s has ever been.
Your grip on your friend’s arm tightens too late as he pulls away from you, reaching the other man in only two strides as you call out for him to stop. Ignoring you, Hangman rips the cigarette from the other man’s mouth and tosses it into the sand, where it blows out.
“Jake!” you shout, a little louder as he gets in the other guy’s face, and you realise your voice is echoed by another.
Phoenix stands in the open doorway, and behind her you can see Coyote by the booth, throwing a curious glance your way. You shake your head at him, just as Phoenix repeats her stern call. Hangman snaps out of it, and steps back from the man. By the time he’s turned back to you, his face reads nothing of the anger he’d just displayed.
“Come on, it’s getting cold, anyway,” he says flippantly. You’re only able to frown at him, but he seems to ignore it, carefully pushing past Phoenix who still stands in the doorway, fixing Jake with a firm look he subsequently brushes off.
“Guy was an asshole,” he mutters by way of explanation. She moves aside for you to follow, and you can only give her a shrug in response to the eyebrow she raises at you.
You find yourself following Jake as he leads you back towards the bar, instead of the booth, and when your senses finally come back to you, you smack his arm sharply.
“You didn’t need to do that! The last thing you need is to get cited for fighting. They’d ground you!” you scold, even as he guides you into one of the stools.
“Nah, you love it, s’why you keep me around,” he rebuffs, flagging down a bartender and relaying your drinks order. You frown at him again as he leans casually against the wooden surface and looks down at you.
“No… I keep you around because you’re my friend,” you tell him, still annoyed, though it lessens when his smirk morphs into something more like surprise.
Your drinks are pushed toward you with nary another word, and Jake taps his card without even breaking your eye contact.
“How’d you even know I can get sick from smoke?” you change the subject quickly, but his face only turns even more bashful, and he looks down at his beer and shrugs.
“Mav told us,” he says, making you blanch.
“He what?” you demand, almost angry for a moment. You didn’t like being treated like glass, you didn’t like when people worried over you unnecessarily–
“He just said we should always wash up before going to your office, the jet fumes were enough to irritate your lungs.”
Your anger subsides, and you feel a little foolish. Of course, Mav hadn’t told them out of pity. He was right, the harsh fumes lingering on their flight suits could be enough to make your respiratory system inflamed. You’d learnt the hard way after you’d started teaching.
“Just figured if traces on us were enough to make you sick, then second-hand smoke definitely would,” Jake follows up, cutting his eyes back towards you, and you can’t help but smile softly. You lean forwards, chin resting in your palm, making him cock his head down at you.
“For someone who takes pride in pissing off his friends, you really do care a lot, don’t you?” Your question makes him bluster, and he tries his best to look nonchalant and annoyed, but his quirking lips give him away.
He leans in toward you too, close enough that you almost pull back, but you steal yourself instead as he gets a hold of his face, and fixes you with an infuriating, yet fond smirk.
“Only for you, Teddy Bear.”
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daughter-of-melpomene · 6 months
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TEDDY GREEN
↳ for @carmens-garden as part of her birthday exchange; happy early birthday, Anna!!!
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Hi I'm Moss or Void! I'm relatively new to Tumblr, though I was in here in 2020. I am trans masc, and I use he they pronouns bc I change between being a guy for sure and being non binary and areas in between. Guy, boy, man, person, dude, any of those identifiers are fine all the time!
• FREE PALESTINE!!
~~ This blog is the first time I've ever put my art on the Internet! I hope you like it!
∆: Nsfw Blogs, Please Do Not Interact.
( If anyone thinks that I've shared too much about myself, please let me know!)
• Absolutely love picrews and send me asks all you want!
× this is a body positive, body neutral blog. I am not fat myself, or plus sized but anyone who spreads any sort of body hate or bs will be blocked. Fat is just a word and fat is beautiful.
- I'm not a very clean blog! I keep it sfw though and I'm not comfortable sharing anything I wouldnt be ok with, but still be aware. If anyone would like me to tag specific things, let me know! I don't have a very good tagging system.
<3 Please use tone indicators or be clear when joking. If you're uncertain if an ask you're sending might be interpreted wrong, no harm in a few parentheses! Lighthearted joking is preferred. If you're not sure where my boundaries are, sending an ask or a dm is totally fine!
Picture ID below the cut
My personal tags so far:
voids fantasy world (stuff about my OCS, races and world)
welcometovoidsart (my art),
voidsthoughts (personal/original posts where you can learn more about me),
voidsimportantshit (drawing tips, ways you can help Palestine, food recipes and money saving tips)
voidwritestoo (any writing that I've done, maybe for English class, maybe part of my fantasy world)
All in the tags below for easy access!
(ID: four pictures of a page in a sketchbook. The page has the words "meet the artist" at the top, surrounded by blue grape vines. One section of the page, highlighted with a dark blue marker, has the artists age: 17, height: 5'4, sign: gemini, and pronouns: he/him, they/them, it/it's. The next section, highlighted with a light blue marker has the word trans followed by a checked box, the word asexual followed by a checked box, the letter BLM in bold, and the words autistic and ADHD followed by checked boxes. The next two sections of the page are the likes and dislikes of the artist, highlighted in light green and dark green. The likes include fantasy romance novels, books, Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit, watercolor painting and mental health. The dislikes include TERF's, bigots, tomatoes, dental appointments and trauma dumping. Next to these sections is a drawing of the artist. He has light blue eyes, blond hair, glasses and is skinny with grey shorts and a green shirt on. Scattered around the page there are objects like a bird, a teddy bear, mushrooms, a book, a water color palette and brushes, plants, the sword Sting from lotr and the hobbit and the word therapy surrounded by sparkles and swirling purple marker. End ID)
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t1oui · 2 months
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random weasley-wood children headcanons (bc obviously im ignoring percy's canon wife, sorry audrey)
so in canon percy has 2 kids: lucy and molly ii. when i made up the weasley-wood kids i named the eldest lucy without knowing of the canon lucy's existence, so i just thought i'd give that as a fun fact. anyways onto the children
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lucille weasley-wood, better known as lucy (percy only calls her lucille when he's worried she's about to hit one of her cousins in the face with a bludger), is a ravenclaw. she's in the same year as lily potter and rose granger-weasley, and the eldest of the three (think of them as the new marauders without peter. basically, they prank people).
if it wasn't obvious from that bludger comment earlier, she's a beater for the ravenclaw team. she's been a beater ever since oliver taught her what the position was (so she was like 1, probably) because "come on dad, i get a bat".
lucy is generally a confident person, and has a bit of a reputation from her cousins (and her parents) for being a blabbermouth. every time there's a secret that needs to be kept, it's rose and lily's job to get lucy as far away from it as possible. she protests, but honestly, she knows it's for the best.
lucy ends up with henry, another ravenclaw in her year and the other ravenclaw beater (and the eldest of my 2 oc kids of dean and seamus). they bond over being extremely protective over their younger siblings (henry is honestly kinda scared of lucy but who isn't at this point).
she ends up playing professional quidditch for the hollyhead harpies and becomes an announcer after that.
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skye weasley-wood, the middle child of the three, is a hufflepuff and the only one who doesn't play quidditch (you bet oliver tried. percy told him to stop torturing their children after the fourth time lucy knocked skye off his broom). skye is, as some of you may have guessed, named after the isle of skye in scotland, which is where i hc oliver to be from.
skye is definitely more on the studious side, preferring to read than to do physical activity of any kind. in truth, he's rubbish on a broom. his favorite form of transportation is floo travel, even in adulthood.
skye doesn't have any cousins or family friends in his year, nor is he remotely connected to any hufflepuffs other than teddy (who is long graduated from hogwarts). luckily, in his second year, his younger sister and her friends decide to befriend him (read: force him to join their group because if they want to be better pranksters than lily, rose, and lucy, they need someone in hufflepuff on their side). skye doesn't really mind.
skye's favorite teacher is neville longbottom, and with the help of neville's plant knowledge, he helps out in some truly spectacular pranks. (lucy can't figure out if she's supposed to be angry or proud, so she torments him with an array of zonko's products before settling on both. skye, whose hair is green for the rest of term, is not as pleased with this decision as she is.)
despite his inability to fly and his extreme fear of splinching, skye manages grades rivaling percy's on his newts and decides to be an auror. one day, he takes percy's job as the head of the department of magical law enforcement.
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katie weasley-wood, named after katie bell, is the girl everyone says takes after percy the most. she's a slytherin like him, and even though she seems much more outgoing, anyone who knows percy knows that they truly are one in the same. she's a monster on a broom and ends up playing seeker for slytherin after albus graduates. (she's keeper in the year they're both playing, and she's surprisingly good for a 2nd year. at least, she's surprisingly good for the split second before people remember she's oliver wood's daughter.)
katie is not one to be outshone, so when she finds out that her older sister is part of a pranking trio, she gets together a group of first years (and skye), determined to be better. (and mcgonagall thought the weasley twins were bad.) she will destroy you, but she will do it with a smile on her face. be warned.
katie's favorite subject is defense against the dark arts. she loves potions, too, and history of magic can be fun (nobody seems to see how entertaining binns can be when he thinks everybody's asleep), but in dada, she gets to annoy her uncle harry. nothing is better than that. (he pretends he doesn't find her funny, and she pretends she doesn't know he's full of it.)
katie plays quidditch whenever she's home (always keeper, now), but she ends up following her uncle bill into curse breaking. she never does play pro like everyone thought she would. she pretends she doesn't see percy's smiles when she's telling him all about her success.
years later, katie and skye take over weasley's wizard wheezes. you thought it was bad before.
[dividers by firefly graphics]
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