#when i expected them to go ‘ha ha that is a funny comic patches you’re the funniest ever’

[patchw0rk-quilt]

that fucking glass joe bob l’eponge comic is making me irrationally angry and stressed out for some reason so i might turn off reblogs like the tantrum throwing baby i am

[yourbustedkneecaps]

here’s another piece of shit for your entertainment (ft: my favorite dickwad) and no i don’t go through these for formatting, that’s ao3 exclusive lmao

*do not repost*

fuck, i’m lonely

After being thrown through the portal with the kids, Philip (now a partial amnesiac) has to navigate his new life in the Human Realm. With his arm severely hurt and his memories a mess, he tries his best.

In return for not causing trouble upon coming back, God gives him a gift.

Thick red coiled around his arm as it bubbled from the fresh wound, tracing tears down to his elbow. His hand was caught on something above him, and if it weren’t for the fact his head was rolling and mind drowning, he would’ve looked up to fix the problem. Instead, he slumped, twitching so often as his nerves insisted he was still very much alive.

He gasped hotly, breath fogging in front of him. That… probably wasn’t natural, given the current warm season. His chest shuddered with every unmeasured intake and expel of air. He wondered why his brain was telling him he was dying when this was mediocre compared to everything else his 400 years of life had offered.

Someone threw themselves at him, knees crashing next to his own as they grabbed his face and patted his cheek, trying to wake him up. He grunted, failing to brace his head against the wall and hear their words.

Another pair of hands and another body and another— People who wouldn’t leave him alone no matter what noise he tried to make to get them to stop crowding him. He couldn’t tell if it was spittle or blood making it’s way down his chin, but part of him couldn’t really care.

He fell forward, into their arms, and listed to the side. He thought he heard a scream.

———

The children didn’t look so good. After being thrown through the portal door and a few nights of rest, they were finally beginning to fall into a routine of sorts when someone decided to show their face.

Philip was slammed roughly through a quickly collapsing portal of his own, going backwards into the house instead of out the door. The children rushed to see what was happening at the forests edge, stupefied at the flash of a a gone portal and the strangled cry from inside the house. They almost didn’t help him.

That said, Mrs Noceda was called and pulled out of work immediately, and the man’s wounds were cared for.

Watching him wake up was almost comical.

He was out for over a day, comatose on the couch until further notice and guarded by——at the very least——one child and two palismen at a time. Accessories and layers thrown aside, and his boots at the door, he was thoroughly patched up and set aside. So, head pinned to his pillow with nails, limbs to the couch, and right arm sling across his stomach in nothing but ointment swaddled in bandages, Philip woke up feeling like God himself sentenced him to death.

A cat, a bee the size of a tiny dog, and a very angry looking teen girl stared him down as he blinked crust from his eyes and turned his head from looking at the ceiling. His neck felt like a bucket of partially dried paint, still sticky on the wall it was put on. The girl——purple hair, fair skin, and a glare that would cower most others her age——raised an eyebrow, arms tightening in their folded state.

Philip blinked once, scrunched his face in throbbing pain, and tried to say something. The initial “Hello?” drowned in his chalky, closed throat, and died on his tongue as a garbled choke.

She didn’t look pleased.

“Keep an eye on him while I em get the others,” she murmured to the animals, turning on her heel and stalking out of his sight.

Others? Where on God’s green earth was he?

She came back quite quickly with two others, a reptile, and a bird. They, too, stood tall and intimidating over him.

“We don’t want any funny business from you, Belos,” the bespectacled girl spoke first. “You’re lucky we were willing to patch you up, but don’t expect anything more hospitable than that.”

His face betrayed his beating heart, stopping and squeezing at the name. He opened his mouth, coughed and cleared his throat, then spoke. “Who the hell…?” He blinked, squeezing his eyes shut with a sharp breath. “Who are you children?”

They shifted, the shortest of them locking eyes with the purple haired girl.

“No games, Belos!” Spectacles snapped. “Stay down, and stay away from Hunter and Vee, or else. Don’t move from the couch until Mrs Noceda gets back. We’ll be watching you.” She glanced at her companions and nodded.

Purple Hair nodded back. “I’ll take first watch until Luz gets back.”

The short one held up a dark hand. “I’ll call Mrs Noceda!” He ran off.

With that settled (whatever it was) they split alongside their animals to do whatever it was they offered to. Purple Hair and her cat stayed, alongside the bee. The cardinal, and reptile left with the other two.

Philip clenched his left hand, breathing steady and gazing back up at the ceiling. Whatever was going on, he was in no way able to deal with it yet. Not until he could think straight and sit up to speak. For now, his best course of action, apart from keeping himself from breaking down into an anxious episode, was to rest and listen for anything valuable. Anything that could help him understand the situation better.

For now, he relaxed into the cushions, counting his inhales and exhales, falling asleep. He didn’t catch the lights flicking off or the curious expression on the girl’s face as she watched him struggle to calm, but that wasn’t pertinent…

———

He coughed himself awake, choking through a gasp as he jolted forward and collapsed back.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t think you would wake up!”

He winced, finding a woman kneeling next to him, cleaning his cut arm. Round stature with an intense stare, she smiled, softening her eyes, and Philip shuddered back into the cushions.

“I’m just re-bandaging your arm so it doesn’t get infected,” she explained. She set aside the papery washcloth for a roll of fresh bandages and began to wrap his wound.

It… It wasn’t good.

From wrist to mid-forearm there was pink, torn flesh stitched up with clear, red crusted string. Dark blue and green bruises trailed from palm to elbow, like clotting sludge. His fingers shook and for but a second he couldn’t breathe.

A hand touched his elbow.

He looked up.

The woman——Mrs Noceda, he remembered——searched his face, waiting before taking the back of his hand. She lead his arm back to her, bandage left on the floor. “It will be okay, Belos. You will heal.”

He was sure he heard her, but after that he couldn’t quite focus. He stared listlessly as she wrapped his arm, tucking in the cloth her and there, and cleaned up quietly.

“I’ll be right back with some pain medication, alright?” She said over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back…”

What was he doing? What was happening? The last thing he really remembered— The most recent thing he remembered outside of his stay in this house was being thrown aside and… getting a concussion, probably. He pushed himself up from his half-laying position across the entire couch into something more presentable.

As promised, Mrs Noceda entered with a cup and a handful of pills. “You’ve been out for a while, so I’m sure you’re hungry,” she said, handing over the drink——a cup of milk——and the pills. “Drink this and swallow these. It’s for the pain. Would you… Can I get you anything to eat?”

He stared at the pills, then slowly came back to and looked at her. “I… No, thank you. Perhaps later when I am…”

“More awake?” She supplied.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Eventually the throbbing, piercing of his arm died down, and he fell back asleep without knowing. The sun had long since set when he was roused to lay down for the remainder of the evening, and he couldn’t help but think he’d possibly, maybe, be okay.

———

They settled into an awkward, strained routine. Philip would wake up, clean his bedding from the couch, and take a moment in the bathroom before most others awoke themselves. While he made himself food (often leftovers from nights prior) the other residents would be roused and go from bathroom to bedroom to kitchen, giving him time to finish eating alone and find something to do.

Perhaps read a book, or experiment with the new technology around this almost futuristic house, or maybe even do some daily chores. Whatever it was he did, he made sure to keep away from the children as they wandered the house or left and returned to the property.

Lunch was often the same way, where he’d either eat before or after them, waiting for their group to disperse before he made himself a small something to ingest alone. It was only dinners that were different. Mrs Noceda always had something homemade when she could (though with extra people in the house she had to take some extra working hours to provide) and made sure everyone got a seat at the table. The first time this had happened, it was at the request of Hunter and Vee.

Philip——after a few weeks of regaining some personal memories back——was in no mood to strain the already tense relationships around the house with his presence. Especially not over what should be the most relaxing times a family should have together. He was already struggling by himself, stressed out of his mind trying to figure out who he was prior to his fuzzy amnesia and constantly stepping on eggshells around the children who obviously didn’t like him, so why would he consent to sitting at the same table with the kids who wanted him killed? Not to mention his lack of self defense and the roiling, angry spirits beneath his skin. He’d rather eat his fill outside and sleep in the mud, thank you.

Mrs Noceda was having none of that, though.

It had been decided he was much more harmless than before, and it could be a good way to grill him for villainous intentions or nefarious plans. An easy way to keep tabs on him and remind him of who was in charge in the house.

Definitely not him, by any margin.

He soon relented, assisting Mrs Noceda and her charges in setting the table or preparing the food, keeping out of the way of those cooking. He wasn’t allowed to make meals for anyone but himself, though he could clean dishes or hand out tools, he found.

“You need to eat more,” Mrs Noceda told him one evening, filling his plate. His right arm was still out of commission, though beginning to heal. “You look like you could fall over at any moment!”

“Mama!” Luz, the strange, excitable young human of the group, complained. She was vehemently against Philip regaining any strength beyond what he needed to heal his wounds.

Mrs Noceda ignored her.

“I assure you I’m fine, ma’am,” Philip tried, holding up a placating hand. “It’s enough you’ve let me stay in your home, you needn’t—“

“I am aware of what I am doing for you,” she said, putting down the serving bowl. “You eat what you can and we will put the leftovers in the fridge for tomorrow. Do you need a drink?” She was up grabbing his cup in an instant.

“I’m— Thank you…” He gave up, accepting her help and dropping the matter. She wasn’t going to stop, it seemed, and he was too tired to argue. He’d eat, clean up, and leave for bed. He just had to show a little face first.

———

Mrs Noceda have him money to buy clothes and necessities. He was… not particularly looking forward to leaving the house. The children offered to take him on a weekend, during which she would be working a little overtime to get some extra cash to cushion their new needs in a very full house.

As of recent, Philip had been given a small box of clothes from who knows where to use until he could get some of his own. They were on the older side and smelt a little musty, like they hadn’t been worn in a few years, let alone washed, but he didn’t mind. He had been living off the land most of his life, anyway. What was a little discomfort now compared to the blurry, painful past he could only recall in his deepest dreams?

The day out was far from exhilarating, but the kids made sure to keep everything interesting. They dragged him to a department store or two, looking for base clothes, toiletries, and small accessories. Philip changed into something more modern looking and much easier to move in, before they left the department store. After that they stopped by a shop for a quick early lunch before heading to a place called “The Mall”. It was a very large place compared to the neighborhood where the Noceda house was, and much more active as well. It was reminiscent of… a workplace he used to frequent. Before he came home from the place. The realm under this one, whatever it was called.

He didn’t dislike it. Instead it was strangely nice to blend in with the crowd, milling from place to place as nothing but another person— Another stranger none needed to care for.

Willow, the ridiculously strong girl with glasses, offered to cut his hair back at the house——“Just a trim! Y’know, since the ends have grown out a bit.”——but he refused. They group shoved him into a salon, taking his bags away and speaking with one of the hairdressers without him able to intervene. Payback, he supposed.

The feminine hairdresser was very cheerful and over-talkative, prattling on about their social life and family and their newest romance and a one night stand they wished would come back (he didn’t ask about that last one) as they prepared his hair. Brushed, washed, and brushed again, they moved him from stool to sink and brought out their tools.

“Just a trim, right? Unless—! I’ve been wanting to try this new haircut and I think it would look great on you! Like, your face shape—” They moved his hair this way and that, scrunching and pulling and parting here and there to show him the new look without actually doing anything. It was apparently a trend with the younger generation and those very interested in cosmetics to get one’s hair styled that way.

“Just a trim, please,” Philip said as cordially as possible. He was trying to keep himself from falling into rude behaviors, but they were pretty persistent.

“Are you sure? I mean, your hair has very split ends and it’s cut unevenly…” They said, lifting and gesturing to locks of his hair. “I’m sure I could try and blend it, but I’m going to have to take off a couple inches to get rid of the yucky ends, y’know?”

He did not, in fact, know.

His eyebrow twitched dangerously. “Just cut it, please! Do whatever it is you have to go make it look…” He waved his hand. “Better!”

They stiffened, then relaxed, snatching up a comb and some scissors. “If you say so,” they shrugged.

They put up his hair in clips and some hair, the pulled some down and put the rest up and did it again and again, until they were framing his face and tilting his head to get the best look they could. As soon as they were done he thanked them and left to join the kids, Luz at the front and already paying.

Hunter moved up beside him, chatting with the dark skinned, small one. Gus, was it? His hair was trimmed as well, though much shorter than it was when Philip first saw him in the household. He bumped his shoulder, startled, and shrank away. “S—sorry…”

Philip rolled his shoulders, watching him out through his peripheral. “It’s fine. Your hair… it looks good.”

The child’s face scrunched, confused.

Philip walked out of the store, trailing Luz and Amity as they held hands, talking softly.

———

By the time they started to head home, Philip was done. The kids dragged him around the mall, curiously causing havoc wherever they went as they explored the building together, each a handful in their own right. He had to admit, he shared some of the same wondrous sentiment they did in this new, strange realm, but he was also an adult. And, unfortunately, that meant acting like one.

He wrangled them like a shepherd with cats, keeping them in eyesight and earshot as they wandered here and there, pulling each other around. He called them back to the food court for snacks when a duo wouldn’t stop walking, and kept his bags in check as he did so. Nothing was stolen, no one was hurt, and everyone was soon ready to leave.

Luz took them to a cafe in the town square before they went home, introducing them all to the wonders of hot and cold caffeinated drinks, pastries both sweet and savory, and the magic of people watching while they ate outside. It was very… domestic. Quite nice, even, if he disregarded the awkward situation that was ordering at the desk.

Who he could only assume was a waiter (though Luz explained they don’t have any here) came over with two cardboard drink holders with everyone’s beverages. They all already had their pastries, and were currently sitting at two tables, chatting up a storm. Philip helped the worker set down and hand out the drinks.

“We don’t normally have staff waiting customers,” they explained, passing Gus his drink. “But it’s almost closing time and you looked like you needed a little help.” They smiled and winked at Philip, setting his cup in front of him.

“Oh. Thank you,” he said. A bit taken aback at the obvious calm kindness they gave, he gently took his beverage, unsure of what else to do. It warmed his hand quickly, and he wondered why they made the drinks so hot in the first place.

They grinned, ready to step away. “If it’s alright, may I have your number?”

“My what…?” Philip asked. “My—my address?”

They blinked stupidly. “Oh, yeah sure.” Their facade melted into something joking but sweet. “Do you not have a phone?”

“Uhm… no. I’m afraid I don’t.” Oh, by the Holy Spirit, what was he doing? Why weren’t they going back inside?

They hummed, taking out a napkin and pen from their apron. “I’ve never had a pen pal before…!”

The glee in which they managed to put into that single sentence had him forgetting all past thoughts, grabbing the pen and napkin, trying desperately to remember the address of Luz’s home. It was Gus who saved him from looking like a fool.

“I remember our address! Here, let me help you write it!” He jumped up, holding on hand on the napkin to keep it from moving and began to recite it. Part way through, however, Willow hopped in to correct a mistake.

“Perfect,” the worker smiled as the two beamed back, proud. They took the proffered tools back with a look of curious pride at Philip. “Looks like you have some keepers here, hm?” They joked.

Philip, stupid with the feeling of speaking to another adult human, and such a kind one at that, barely registered their words. “Yes, they are…”

They smirked and walked backward, waving. “I’ll write you!”

Philip waved back. One glance up, and he raised an eyebrow at the sniggering children. “What?”

“Nothing,” they harmonized.

[puppypeter]

✨ All fics are complete! ✨

He Loves Me Cause I’m Cute, He Thinks I’m Pretty Funny | 2588 words 📱

He watches it back one more time after it posts, checking for typos in his subtitles and captions, and has to laugh again.

Steve fucking Rogers? His brain thought he could pull Captain America, literal superhero and America’s favorite sweetheart?

“Hello I’m a 35 year old amputee living in New York and I think that I could get Steve Rogers.”

OR

the one where bucky posts a tiktok and steve is utterly smitten.

Summer Slipped Us Underneath Her Tongue | 10712 words 🧳

Bucky is a tour guide who enjoys sharing the rich history and culture of each city they pass through with a bunch of early-20's college students who just want to know the cheapest place to get drunk.

Except for Steve, who asks Bucky for a personal tour around his hometown.

The rest is, as they say, history.

You Make My Heart Skip A Beet | 3853 words 🧑🏼‍🍳

“I made soda bread.” Steve lets out the 6’2” supersoldier equivalent of a squeak. “Oh, I love soda bread,” he says eagerly, rolling forward on the balls of his feet like he does when he gets excited. “My mom used to make it all the time when I was growing up.” The tips of Barnes’s ears turn red, and he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “I know.”

Ollie Meets Bagel | 5517 words 🥯

He was a skater boy, Steve said let's get bagels, boy.

Steve wants to start doing this twenty-first century thing properly. He gets help in the form of skateboarding, skateboarders, bagels, and Sam Wilson.

Taxi | 5113 words 🚕

Bucky Barnes was, he hoped, a good taxi driver.

He's so good, he actually tries to return lost property that ends up left in his car and... well. It has some unexpected consequences involving a National Icon.

Enough said.

Leg Day | 12157 words 🏋️‍♂️

“So talk to him,” Sam says.

“I can’t,” Bucky groans. “I can’t, Sam, I. He just.” He fluffs his hair up and stares at Sam, distraught. “I want him to bench press me.”

“Okay, so it’s serious,” Sam interprets. “Got it."

(Or: The one where Sam is Bucky's long-suffering roommate, Bucky is a hot mess of a millennial, and Hot Steve spends far too much time on the Lat Pull-Down machine.)

Love In Aisle Four | 2127 words 🛍️

When Bucky needs to swing by the supermarket after a long, hard day of work, the last thing he expects is to meet a cute grocery clerk named Steve…

Coming Up Easy | 45515 words ✍🏻

“Listen, I was just thinking,” Steve says, his face open, eyebrows raised in a tentatively hopeful expression. “Why don’t you come stay at my place for a while? I’ve got an office that I barely use, and a change of scenery might do you good, right? Help you beat that writer’s block?” With a crooked smile, he adds, “I promise I’m not a serial killer.”

While Bucky would normally crack a joke about how that’s exactly what a serial killer would say, right now, all he can do is blink at Steve in surprise, heart tripping over itself in his chest. Steve wants him to come and stay at his place. In Massachusetts. Just the two of them.

"Oh," Bucky croaks. "I- Wow."

“I mean, no pressure,” Steve says hastily. “Totally fine if you don’t wanna. I just thought I’d offer, in case it might help, y’know?”

“Yeah.” Bucky ignores the little voice in his head that sounds an awful lot Nat and Becca, telling him he’s setting himself up for heartbreak. “I mean, if you’re sure, that would be amazing.”

Anywhere The Wind Blows | 8845 words 👨‍🚒🎖️

After a catastrophic fire that shakes him to his core, Steve Rogers quits his job as a Brooklyn firefighter and relocates to a cabin in the remote Canadian wilderness, wanting quiet and solitude and to maybe never have to speak to another human being ever again. He gets his wish, more or less, until a recently injured Bucky Barnes is discharged from the Army and rents the cabin next door.

The Safer Course | 7918 words | Part 1 of Won’t You Be My Neighbor 🏡

When Steve moves to the suburbs in 2033, he intends to retire from superhero life.

He does not intend to fall in love with his pain-in-the-ass neighbor.

Every Year I Have You | 7064 words | Part 2 of Won’t You Be My Neighbor 🏡

Steve set the bar pretty high, as birthday presents go.

Bucky is determined to outdo him when July 4th comes around.

Beneath The Mistletoe | 21203 words 🎄

Bucky had a bet with his sister that if he didn’t have a boyfriend to bring home for Christmas by the time he was 25, he had to give her $200 and go blonde for a year. But now he's 25, it’s nearing December, and not only is Bucky as single as ever, but he’s also running low on cash. He doesn’t exactly want to bleach his hair, either.

At least Steve is willing to upgrade their relationship from best friends to fake boyfriends.

The Settler | 52203 words 🍞

“What do you want to do?”

Steve pauses and looks at them.

What he wants is to stay with them. He doesn't have any family left, they all died before he even joined the war and became... this. Captain America turned whatever he is now. But Natasha and Sam have become his family over the years. Not just because they're on the run together, fugitives and vigilantes, but way before that too.

He doesn't want to leave that.

But he knows that, realistically, he can't stay with them and they can't stay with him.

So he looks at them with a smile and lies. “I don't know.”

OR; In which Steve retires and finally finds a place to call home.

You Can’t Put Your Arms Around A Memory | 1148 words 🐈

"Alright, Bucky," Steve slows his steps, watches his neighbour stop at the bottom of the next flight of stairs. There's a canvas bag in his hand that Steve didn't notice earlier, cream coloured with the figure of a sleeping, black cat painted on it. "Have a good day."

He thinks Bucky's cheeks pink up a bit right then and there, but Steve can't tell. He's too distracted by his pounding, foolish heart, by the way Bucky smiles bashfully, and ducks his head. The way he seems like he wants to stay.

To Believe In Tomorrow | 3959 words 👨🏻‍🌾

Bucky's mornings at the community garden get a little more interesting when the new guy shows up.

Maybe This Christmas | 24873 words | Part 1 of Maybe ❄️

Bucky’s not going home for Christmas. But it’s fine. He’s spending Christmas alone in his apartment, but it’s cool. He’s not feeling up to seeing his family after his accident anyway, plus he has to work. He’s totally fine with it. But then he runs into Steve, literally, and suddenly his Christmas isn’t looking so empty after all.

-----

Hurrying was a bad idea. Bucky’s foot hits a patch of ice and slides out from under him in what would have been a comical cartoon banana-peel-like trip, if it wasn’t happening to him, and he braces himself to hit the ground. This is going to hurt.

“Fuck,” Bucky screeches, but as he lands on his back, it’s not the cold hard concrete he expected, but a solid mass beneath him. Oh god, Bucky thinks as he realises he smacked into the person behind him and took them down with him.

Maybe This Year (Will Be Better Than Last) | 133868 words | Part 2 of Maybe ❄️

Last year, Bucky Barnes met Steve Rogers. Well actually, he slipped and fell on him. What followed was the best Christmas either of them had ever had. But what happens when Christmas is over and life returns to normal? What happens after the Christmas miracle?

-----

Bucky should have known. He did know. When things seem too good to be true, they usually are. And Steve is the best thing that has happened to him in a long time, possibly ever, so of course it couldn’t last.

Maybe This Time (I Hope I Get The Chance To Say Goodbye) | 34561 words | Part 3 of Maybe ❄️

Steve and Bucky Barnes are happily married. They've made it through some hard times and come out stronger and happier, together. Then Steve gets called on to come out of retirement for the most important mission of his life and everything changes. Everything.

-----

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas…” Steve starts singing along softly, and Bucky chuckles, before leaning his head onto Steve’s shoulder, always happy when he’s in Steve’s arms.

“From now on, our troubles will be miles away…” Bucky joins in.

Dancing round their living room, just as in love as ever, their troubles seem light-years away, if not non-existent.

Sadly, they’re closer than they think.

The Unexpected Gift | 9504 words | Part 1 of When Winter Comes 🐕

Steve Rogers is fine.

After ending a long-term relationship with Sam Wilson, Steve moves back to New York. He's tired and lonely but depressed? No. At least, that's what he thinks.

From the window of his apartment, he watches a dark-haired man and his service dog sitting in the park, wondering what his story is.

The Winter Storm | 2218 words | Part 2 of When Winter Comes 🐕

"If I could give you one thing in life, I would give you the ability you see yourself through my eyes, only then would you realize how special you are to me."

After Bucky and Steve confessed their feelings for each other, life has its own twisted way to challenge the most profound love.

One January Night | 4213 words | Part 3 of When Winter Comes 🐕

Before going back to work, Steve Rogers still has things to learn: 1- Depression is a bitch and the battle against it isn't an easy one. 2- Dating a person with disabilities comes with its share of challenges.

Bucky Barnes Has His Shit Together (And Other Lies He Tells Himself) | 14159 words 🔒

You’d think a guy who owns one of the most successful bakeries in Brooklyn, has a million-dollar smile and that antiquated good ol’ boy charm, blond hair and blue eyes and biceps for days, would know what’s what.

But don’t let that fool you: Steve Rogers is a mess.

Obvious | 917 words ☕

"Oh, I have a prompt! So, it makes me laugh how painfully obvious Steve and Bucky's feelings are to everyone when they're in that pining, slowburn, does-he-doesn't-he phase. But imagine Steve and Bucky working in a coffee shop together and constantly bickering, nudging and playfully flirting with each other. And all the employees and patrons are so invested in their relationship and just want them to kiss already but no one realizes that Steve and Bucky have been married since they got out of HS."

[sixeyesgojo]

The dead reader made me sad how about something a bit funny but dark based of a comic Tapas called Undying Happiness (it’s been dubbed on YouTube too if you wants to go see it) where the main character falls in love with a guy who’s family has the ability to be able to regenerates wounds even from a skeleton. So do you think we can the cast react to a basically immortal reader?

I like this idea! I also checked out the source material and man, that was SOOO FUNNY lmaoo

Thanks for sending this ask, anon! I think my readers deserve some calm before the storm that’s about to come lol

Summary: undead!reader messing with Team Gojo because why not ;)

Characters: Team Gojo + Sukuna x undead!Reader

Content warning: major injuries (loss of limbs?), mentions of blood

A/N: This is the post anon is talking about: leaving them behind hc

Gojo Satoru

After a while, he will start making jokes about it. You’re not exactly amused at this fool joking around while you’re bleeding out. Gojo is still a little worried (it’s a secret, don’t tell anybody) because he’s firmly convinced that this technique has to have some kind of drawback but it does not. Or at least there hasn’t been any ever since you discovered this ability.

The first time, he would be slightly taken aback but not entirely surprised. You just lost an entire arm; blasted away until only your bones remained but you didn’t even flinch? How in the world?

Truth to be told, you were already kind of used to this. Having to deal with this frequently (including all the “Aren’t you more of a curse?” questions), you already half expected something of the sort of him as well.

However, after processing what just happened, he’ll just shrug. This man has seen more in his life than any other Jujutsu sorcerer ever could, starting from as early as his baby days, thanks to the six eyes. Nothing bothers him all too much.

He’ll just treat it as if you are using Reversed Cursed Technique, just like Shoko.

“Babe, what are you doing? Losing an arm again? Oh my god, that is sooo 2017. Come up with something new to shock me with!” he snickers. “Satoru, I swear you are doing this on purpose,” you got mad while holding the space your arm once held. The bloody substance dripping right through your fingers as the lost limb slowly regenerated. 

“It’s really no wonder people constantly ask me why I haven’t exorcised the curse who is sticking to me!” he laughs. You pout, “Rude! I’m not a curse.”

Itadori Yuji

The first time, he is absolutely freaked out. He tries to frantically stop the bleeding in the most clumsy way ever; hands shaking so much it would have the opposite effect. You? You’re calm and you try to calm him down by saying “it’s just an arm” and he goes “JUST AN ARM? THAT’S A LIMB THOUGH???” even more frantically. He already has a few screws loose up there and he knows it but hearing you say that so casually makes him rethink all his decisions in life. It takes him several minutes to calm down. Even though he is a sorcerer now and has seen his fair share of shit happening, including the sopping hole in his chest when Sukuna ripped out his heart, this tops all of it.

After a while, he will be more at ease but still very very worried about you. He doesn’t like seeing you get hurt, even if it’s just a small scratch. Yuji is very relieved when he sees the flesh and skin building back, may even be a little bit fascinated but also grossed out. He will definitely ask you lots of different stuff about it.

“Does it hurt when it does that?” he looks at your regrowing limb. “What do you mean, Yuji?” you give him a quizzical look. He points at your limb, “That. Does that hurt?”

“Well, of course losing a limb hurts but I have had this ability for the longest time, so I got used to feeling the pain. If you mean regrowing this, then no. It tickles a little, I guess?”

The look on his face was priceless.

Fushiguro Megumi

After a while, he will still be frantic at first but then it finally clicks. His head goes “oh, right.” and he calms down, the tension visibly leaves his body, because by now, he knows it’s not that big of an issue anymore. That does not mean he ceased to help you take care of it though - and he does a great job at it.

The first time, he thinks you’ll die on him. The boy is so frantic, his mind goes blank. His chest will break out of his ribcage soon, he feels, but then he sees your calm face. Utter confusion descends down on him; what the hell was happening? Why weren’t you screaming in pain? Why was your facial expression so calm? Maybe it was a shock?

But no, you were calm all over and simply said, “Whoops?”

Consider him confused for his entire life now. He doesn’t understand what’s happening at all and his mind is set on helping you nevertheless.

"Ugh, I’m bleeding all over your uniform. I’m so sorry, ‘Gumi,” you mumble as he patches up what he can. “That’s fine, I can just wash it later,” he bluntly states, his eyes hyperfocused on your wound.

“I’ll wash it for you! I owe you that, it’s the least I can do,” you offer. “Just hold still for now, so I can contain the bleeding - don’t want you to bleed out on me. It’d be a hassle.”

“Hehe, sorry,” you say sheepishly.

Kugisaki Nobara

After a while, she will simply proceed to beat the shit out of whoever did this to you first. She will beat them into a pulp and then exorcise them (in case it was a curse). It’s a little comedic for you to see her get worked up over this after seeing it so many times but at the same time, it melts your heart a little.

The first time, the girl rushes to your aid immediately, telling Fushiguro to handle this curse. “Are you okay?” she asks you and her voice is trembling audibly. It was a stupid question to ask, she thinks. But she doesn’t expect to see you stupidly grin back at her, “Yeah, I’m totally fine, don’t worry about me. This will take some time to grow back but it will.”

Grow back? What? She’s confused. Are you pulling a prank on her? It has to be a prank, right?

“No, this isn’t a prank, I’m serious here,” you laughed.

"You really think you can hurt them without facing repercussions, huh? You are so dumb; I almost feel sorry for how stupid you are, thinking that, when I am right here. Now let’s get ready for a game because I can and absolutely will drag this out; learn your lesson!” Nobara yells at the curse and you only chuckle.

Ryomen Sukuna

The first time, he just clicks his tongue in annoyance, looking at whatever hurt you with fiercely glowing eyes. There would be hell to pay for them. He is annoyed at whatever hurt you but he knows he can fix you easily with his Reversed Cursed Technique. This was so inconvenient, not fun. Quickly, he eliminates the source of your pain and turns to you. He had expected you to have passed out. However, once he sees the wound slowly closing up, a strange grin forms on his face and he starts hollering loudly, “What the heck is that, pet? That’s amusing.”

After a while, he will just sit back and watch as you handle it yourself: free entertainment for his bored soul. He may or may not be generous enough to speed up your recovery with his own Reversed Cursed Technique but I’d rather not count on it because it depends on how he is feeling after you finished the battle.

“Oh? You seem to regenerate a little faster now, even without my help. You take more and more after me, did spending all that time with me turn you into a curse now?” the King of Curses sneers loudly. “Heeey, I’m not a curse! But I would feel better if you helped me out with it instead of sneering at me,” you pouted. For a moment, he seemed to think, “No. It’s amusing.”

[jjkpls]

the wishlist (m) - 2

“Since when do we buy each other sextoys?”

> genre : light angst, fluff

> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

> words : 5k

> content/warnings : back at it again w/ the bff2l; one sided love, lot of pining; sextoys talk; explicit language; ambiguous infidelity; chaotic oc; clueless koo

previous - next

It all starts with the first box and the vague memory of a warm touch on your face.

When you wake up that morning, groggy from exhaustion and the sensation of having spent the night waking up, again and again, you sense something. You struggle to point out if you’ve dreamt or if it really happened, but there’s the lingering of a warm hand's trace, cupping your cheek, soothing the stress lines on your forehead, and softly brushing your hair back from your face. You can’t tell if it’s happened but it left a lovely sensation both on your skin and heart. 

You get up and out of bed, slowly stroll to your living room with a lazy hand raising to your head, meaning to scratch at the snake nest you expect to be sitting on it. Instead, your fingers are met with a rather neat braid you definitely didn’t go to sleep with as you were too fucking done with this day to even try and deal with your tight bun -the very bun that elongated your time to fall asleep by at least a good half an hour. The same fingers that caressed your face took care of your hair and you know exactly to whom they belong. 

Of course, giddiness ensues and the mildly serious feeling of mortification -you despise the idea of not knowing in what state he found you, in what state of ugly, of dishevelled, of smelly. There’s no room for embarrassment in this friendship, not this kind anyway, fortunately or not, he’s seen you at your worst (at a time when you didn’t care much if he did or not) so it counters, always a bit, the shame.

He hasn't left your side yet, has he? And he’s exposing himself to this face of yours, so why should you feel bad about it? He sneaks into your apartment at night just to brush your face and bring the covers up to your chin, tuck you nicely in as if he’s your mom or something, so why should you care. He doesn’t seem to mind. He never seems to mind. He’s the best of friends. The best of all the people you know and the best of your friends. 

And of course, naturally fitting this role, you’d find the morning of Christmas, a mysterious box you’ve never seen before sitting on your coffee table. 

The girls, your friends, have presents for you, you know they do, but yesterday you were working and couldn’t see them, therefore, the little celebration was reported and you didn’t expect, you wouldn’t expect them to come at night or early in the morning to bring you your gifts. It can wait (so they decided). 

But Jungkook is sweet like no one else is. 

And he came to wish you a merry Christmas even if you were too tired to wish him back and he left a present for you. 

There’s not a name attached to it but it’s obvious it comes from him. There’s just a post-it he stole from your desk, with a Merry Christmas written on it, the lines of the letters, round and neat, you’d recognize from any other lettering and a bunny with teeth as big as the eyes smiling at you, drawn next to it. 

The box is so pretty, you feel an actual pressure thinking about opening it, as if there is a certain way, a proper way, to go about it. 

And apparently, there is. You go wash your face and rinse your mouth, prepare yourself one of your good teas, tear the curtain wide open and slowly, almost ceremoniously, take a seat on the ground, right in front of it.

The box is neat. You don’t know what’s inside, probably a perfume or some kit for the bath you’d assume, but you already know that whatever is inside, even if it’s not of your liking -which is impossible, it comes from Jungkook-, will be balanced out by the appearance of this perfectly elegant, tasteful box that you’ll use again to stock anything, maybe your face masks, maybe nothing -it’ll just sit, looking good on a shelf. 

It’s a pastel blue, with a black rose drawn on top of it, the icon to a brand you absolutely don’t recognize. With fingers trembling with excitement you drag the box to yourself, it’s mildly heavy, for some reasons, it gives you a little rush of anxiety. There’s just a tiny black ribbon holding the box firmly closed. A tiny pull on it and it slips open. 

Slowly you lift the lid, a grin already plastered on your face, hurting your cheeks. You expect a blinding magical light to come out of it, with the sound of bells ringing near your ears and sense to suddenly knock into you as you’d understand what wondrous present is in front of you.

But none of it comes. There's just a thing hidden inside a black satin bag.

It’s not a perfume nor a bath kit and you’re confused.

A bit scared.

Honestly, maybe a little shameful part of you has guessed it. But the louder yet weaker rest of you can’t see it. It would be too... ludicrous. And wouldn’t make sense, would it? You’ve never actually seen any in real life so how would you know what the packaging would look like and how would you come to this conclusion now? And how, why, how would he, Jeon Jungkook, come about to offer you this?

Doesn’t make any sense. 

But somehow, when you pick up the courage to open the little bag and drag the object out of it, you hardly even gasp in surprise when you discover a dildo. You just let it drop to the table, thumping loudly the fake wood. 

Why did you guess it to be that and why did he get you this shit?

Scorching red seize your face and your whole being.

You are infuriated.

How dares he? You are mortified.  How dares he?

What does this fucking mean? 

A joke?

Is it a joke?

If it a joke then what’s the fucking point? It’s not fucking funny. It’s weird as hell and you can’t believe he came in the middle of the night, pretending to be Santa to leave you a fucking kidding present as if your miserable life needed that. 

And if it’s not then what the actual fuck? Does he think you’re that desperate? Does he have really no notion of boundaries?

Conveniently your phone lays centimetres away from the offending thing, you don’t even need to get up to grab it and therefore, you start looking furiously for his name in your recent call list. After only two rings as if he was just expecting your call, his bright hello reaches your ear. 

“What the actual fuck, Jeon?” He must hear the madness in your voice, both the anger and the hysteria. There’s a pause during which he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make a sound and you even check your screen to make sure he hasn’t hung up on you. 

“That’s- not- the reaction I expected.” He sounds sheepish. Mumbled words, lisped syllables, long pauses. 

“What did you expect?” You yell a bit, you can just picture him, dragging the phone out of earshot and winding, the same way you do when your mom who doesn’t get the concept of telephone screams in it each time she calls you. The realization hits you, that in your quiet little apartment, in this (for once) quiet morning, you are screeching like a banshee. You quiet down instantly, some of the anger soothed down by embarrassment. “Are you insane?” You whisper in his ear and comically, he starts whispering too, with the same alterations to his usually bright and open tone. 

“M’not. I just- you said that’s what you wanted so I got it for you.”

Now he’s making stuff up and blaming this insanity on you and that serves to raise a bit more the bar of anger -along with the loudness of your voice, “When have I ever said that I wanted a-“ You choke on your own saliva once your brain realizes that you’re supposed to say the word, out loud, to him. In an angry whisper, as if someone, your mother, for example, could be listening “fucking dildo!” You blush furiously at that and it’s ridiculous. Probably the reason why you didn’t own one in the first place and maybe shouldn’t yet. Because you’re a grown-ass woman of a quarter of a century, living alone and admittedly independent and responsible for your own existence, but you can’t even say the word “dildo” out loud to this asshole of a friend who apparently, and that’s new news, doesn’t have an issue talking about sex and everything related to it with you. 

“Y-you said-“ There’s a pregnant pause. You can’t know for sure since you’re not seeing him if he’s faking it or not but he sounds confused as hell. Like he genuinely doesn’t understand what’s wrong. Moron. “You said you wanted sex but not a boyfriend so I thought- it’s pretty much- it’s exactly what it is. Why are you so mad?”

The question in itself serves to drag you a little further over the edge. So much so, it clogs your brain with anguish and leaves you unable to give him an answer.

When he’s starting to talk again, maybe ask again his question, you just hung up, slamming your phone down on the carpet. 

You hear it vibrate to life twice before it shuts down completely. Good. At least he knows you well enough, still, to assume rightfully so that you won’t pick up his calls anymore. Not today.

You just have the time to pack the dildo back in its bag and inside its box, throw away your tea that tastes unbearably bitter and maniacally scrub your face in an attempt to get rid of the red patches that don’t want to fucking leave before the telling high beeps of your front door’s digital lock alert you. Your face is soaking in cold water, another attempt to cool it, your face and your troubled mind.

You mean to ignore him. Dipping your head further in the filled up sink, closing your eyes tight shut hoping somehow it’ll help you push aside the calls of your name better.

For a few seconds, it works. You can’t hear him anymore. You wonder if the furious pleas you were chanting in your head could have been loud enough to make the sound of the door slamming behind him as he would have left, completely quiet.

He’s such a try-hard. You hung up on him because he’s saying batshit crazy things and his first reflex is to barge in your house again. You really need to change your lock and not tell him. You can do that. You’re an adult and you have the right to your own fucking place. It’s not a fucking benevolent stay in, for fuck's sake. 

The cold water really seems to work. You feel better, light-headed, coming down after the earlier hysteria. And knowing that he’s left and won’t pursue this mess any further, for now, surely helps a lot. 

Except it doesn’t last for, as soon as your face leaves the water, your hands reaching clumsily for a towel that falls magically in them, one wipe at your eyes and your worst nightmare is standing right in front of you. 

“Fucking- Jungkook!” Burying your face back in the towel, drying your face as much as possible, maybe even trying for a second to suffocate yourself, you wish vainly that when you’ll take it off he would have disappeared.

He is still here though. Watching with dark eyes and a straight severe line replacing the cute button he owns for a mouth, he looks awfully serious for a guy that’s never really serious. Your towel ends up centimetres away from his face, he catches it right before it touches him. You hoped it would blind and confuse him momentarily, long enough for you to escape but of course, this guy would never miss a shot, even a surprise one. 

“Why are you like this?” He asks when you try and push him from the ribs, out of the door frame. You hate that you think about it. About his chest being so hard and warm and his fucking smell of sweat that you’d recognize amongst any others (pretty easily as any other makes you gag and this one, probably because you’re a primary animal guided by hormones, leaves you dizzy and wanting). He doesn’t budge until he decides to, mercilessly stepping aside to let you through. Because you’re an idiot, you don’t think and head for the living room and it’s only once you’re there, very aware of his steps following you, that the devilish object of your discord is right fucking there, obnoxiously sitting on the middle of your coffee table. You groan and squeeze your eyes tight.

What meditation technique, an extra effective one, could you use right now before you definitely lose it and throw yourself out the window?

Before you find one, you end up clinging to the opposite wall, forehead pressed to it, back to him, in a vain attempt to suppress yourself from the situation. You might look a little insane or at best, somehow on edge, but who cares at this point?

“Jungkook, if I don’t pick up your call, do you think I want to see your face?” 

“But why though?” His tone is still harsher than usual. You notice it and you notice you don’t hate it either. What a little bitch you are. If you like his usual self, with the bright smile, soft words, boisterous laugh, dainty manners, you can’t deny that this rougher version of him, genuinely pissed off as you’ve never seen him, tickles your fancy. You’re fucked. “Seriously these days you- you’re such-“

“I’m what?” You bark, swirling on your feet, expression distorted by an offence he hasn’t even made yet. You completed the sentence he’s never finished with terrible words that you’ve never heard him use talking about anyone: bitch, hysterical, cunt. 

“You’re trying to pick a fight with me all the fucking time, I don’t get it!”

Now you feel terrible. You’re still bothered by the raw edges of his tone, it’s literally sending electric shocks to your lower tummy. But his eyebrows have dropped and his fiery dark eyes have turned shiny and sad, your heart hurts in your bosom.

Ugh.

You’re such a bitch. 

“I’m sorry. I know I’m insufferable. I’m on my period. Sorry.” You send a mental apology to womanhood. You're just an idiot lacking imagination. 

Jungkook frowns, his eyebrows dancing in all kind of ways, before they settle for an, unfortunately for you, attractive finale, one straight down, one tilt up. He stares at you, dubious. 

“For three weeks. You’ve been on your period for three weeks.”

The first thing you take notes of is the fact that he dated it way shorter than you would have. Honestly, you found yourself becoming a weirdo with inappropriate feelings that reindeer you into an asshole for at least a month and a half. Before that, it was extremely tamed, totally under control. You’d just notice his handsome face and cute smiles and nice smell, thinking “oh yeah that’s right. He’s kinda attractive. How funny I never really noticed.” And slowly it progressed to not being able to handle him touching you without having something close to a panic attack.

The second thing you note is that he doesn’t believe you. His stare is insistent, turns a bit dark as he lingers, studying your own eyes with judgment in his. He’s frowning even more, looks down at the floor and sighs so deep, heartbreakingly so. He looks hurt that you’re lying and don’t want to share what's really been up with you. If only you could be a better liar. 

“It happens sometimes, all women are diff-“ 

He just sat down on your sofa, eyes fixed on the blue box. Before you can finish your sentence, he sends you a glare that awfully looks like a threat. You shut up. He doesn’t believe you anyway. He knows you and your periods (sort of) way too well. He knows you’re in pain the first day, you’re a bit tender on the following ones and he takes it upon himself to be gentler and not try to play WWE with you on those but you don’t turn into a mean dragon. This much he knows for sure. 

There’s something he’s seeking for within the box. He’s grabbed it, holds it now in between his fingertips, piercing virtual holes into it. It’s probably the answer he didn’t find in your eyes. 

It makes you flush furiously. Seeing his pretty hands with his long fingers touching it. Here’s the reason, he would have caught it on your cheeks if he wasn’t so busy looking for it elsewhere. 

“I really thought that- you’d like it.” He sounds so saddened. You’re caught off guard. Again. So this present wasn’t meant to be a joke. It is a genuine one. It makes sense that he’s hurt then. You’re shitting all over his gift but how could you not? How could he believe that you could just accept that for a random gift? Slowly he makes the top of the box slide up, pout sucked in in concentration, dimple out. Your heart seems to stop at that. He’s not going to take it out, is he?

He can’t take it in his hands.

You’ll die if he takes it in his hands. 

Fortunately, he just opens the box, looks at the satin bag, looks at it with a pained expression as if he feels bad for the thing, then closes it back. 

“The woman at the shop said that it’s one of the best ones, for starters.” He sulks like a child. Bottom lip all plumped out, shiny eyes under curved eyebrows.

Jungkook looks up at you, ultimate sad puppy look on.

“She said the size and the texture were perfect if you’ve never used one before. It wouldn’t be too... what was that again?” He asks aloud as if you’d know. And you’re mortified. On behalf of him. The concept that he’s not embarrassed right now and that he went to an actual shop, browsed through the shelves and asked an actual saleswoman for help is absolutely insane. Unbelievable if it were not for the sincerity he’s dipped in. “And I picked blue because I know you like this colour. It matches your planner, doesn’t it?” He adds as if he’s not sure when obviously he knows.

It is surprisingly very close in shade. And so what? He expected you to love it so much, take fucking aesthetic pictures with it and your planner sitting on your fake marble desktop, next to Diego the succulent? What an idiot. And for how fucking long did he talk to that woman?

Silence hangs heavy between you. You watch as he scowls some more, mumbles under his breath while staring with despair at the box.

Slowly, resolute to be the better friend you have not successfully been these past weeks (months), you leave your protecting wall. Taking a seat on the carpet, on the opposite side of the table, you do your best to ignore the blue patch invading the bottom of your vision and try to give him the softest expression you can come up with at this moment. 

“Why are you so butthurt?”

His curiously perfect round eyes raise in a swift motion, pouty lips agape in a silent little gasp. 

“Sorry.” You apologize before he even gets to respond because, maybe, you could try harder to be good and nice to him. 

“Because it’s a present.” He starts at a very slow pace. He pauses between words like he’s addressing a dim, dim brain. And he might be honestly. But he’s one to talk. How can he not see an issue? “That I’ve looked for and bought for you. That’s why I’m butthurt, what do you mean?” 

“But- since when are we buying each other-“ You need to grow up. There’s no one else but him hearing you and since your last conversation about it, when he too was embarrassed, he’s able to say it just fine apparently. Still, you whisper the following, “sex toys?”

“Since you turned twenty-five and said you were interested in it.” His right-hand raises from the box to start flapping the air and you know it means bad news. He’s upset. When he needs his hands to further accompany his speech, it means he’s a bit too taken by the conversation. And in this case, you don’t feel like it’s a good idea for him to be. “When you were fourteen and into Legos, I bought you a set of Legos.”

Hardly makes sense. 

“You’re just going to pretend it’s a random present?”

“It’s not random. I put thought into it.” His eyes are digging up intensively in your own. It might be desperation that leads you to remain still, allow him to look. Hopefully, he won’t dig deep enough to find stuff he shouldn’t. “Why do you hate it? I thought- I don’t know- you’re a- flourished single woman and-“

Flourished? Really? The words don’t come out of your mouth but he reads them on your face and an adorable smile cracks open the mask of gravity.

“Jungkook.” You owe him an effort. Maybe you should look into why it requires an act of inhuman courage for you to admit your shame. It might be because if he were anyone else, you’d be embarrassed by the present for five seconds because clearly, you’re still half of a fucking child but soon enough, you’d probably be enchanted by the thing. Who doesn’t need a good sex toy? You definitely do. You thought about getting one for a long while but never got to it for some reasons and here’s one offered to you (in a very pretty shade of baby blue).

The thing is you don’t think about anyone sexually except for him (and his friend Jimin, once in a while, just by curiosity because the guy is a very sexual being). If you don’t even consider them in this light, you don’t have to think about them using it, do you? But he’s all you think about, unfortunately. And you’re friends. And it feels like one step closer to your fantasy while simultaneously one step closer to betrayal. And he certainly is not offering you this wishing for you to keep close in mind the fact that this is his. His present. He knows about it. Maybe can think of you using it and liking it without any further implications. Because obviously, it’s not like that for him. “It's awkward. How can you not see that.”

“Is it? What is?”

“First of all, we don’t- we- don’t even talk about... it. And suddenly you’re buying me- this?”

“Yeah, I realized that too!” It’s too much enthusiasm. Eyes too big and hands not leaving the air. You can already guess his next sentence. It’s probably going to be a terrible suggestion. “I talk about sex all the time with the guys,” Your eyebrows jump to your hairline at that. You’re not even that surprised but the formulation could probably be fixed. “and you talk about it with your girls, right? But we’ve known each other the longest and we never talk about it. Isn’t it fucked up?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘fucked up’-”

“Well, I would. I am.”

“Don’t you- don’t you see that you’re a boy and coincidentally you can easily talk about it with the guys who happen to be boys and I am a girl, right? And I-“ Who would have thought? It took you fifteen years to finally be giving him the beginning of the talk about the birds and the bees. You would have given it to him sooner if you’d have known how far behind he’s been. 

“But what if I need girl advice-“

“I’m sure Jimin knows a whole lot about girls, Jeon.”

“From a girl point of view. Real girl advice.”

“Jungkook-“

“If I ask what the G spot exactly feels like, what-“

“Jungkook!” 

He’s amused, the fucker. He’s not as clueless as he sounds. But the crooked grin on his face is too telling. He might just be messing with you. Usually, when he’s just playing he wouldn’t insist so much, he wouldn’t take the conversation this far so surely, there are some genuine intentions. However, he's still having way too much fun.

With his frowned nose, and squinting shiny orbs and stupid bunny teeth. 

“You’re just embarrassed, aren’t you?” You might have terribly loud red streaks painting your cheeks that you try naively to cover with your hands. He can see it all and silently, he nods his head, looking like he’s reached the final touch of his experiment. “How? What happened to the teenage girl who spent her nights writing dirty stories about Harry Styles?”

Horror.

How the fuck-

“How the fuck do you know about that?”

“You showed me!” He defends, hands high above in the air like a soccer player claiming innocence. “You did! You don’t remember?” No, you don’t. But you can tell he’s not lying. Apparently, young you was quite the fearless bitch.

What happened indeed? 

Years happened. A growing sense of self-preservation along with them. Undesired feelings for an idiot with a bunny smile. An inappropriate sense of shame along with those. 

“Anyway. So it’s a bribe for girl advice?” You ask, chin pointing to the box. Jungkook looks down on it, drums his fingertips lightly on the top before he looks up, beaming. 

“Sort of.” Shrugging, he adds with a shifty eye that telltales a certain vulnerable sincerity. “I just wish for us to be able to share everything. Be comfortable like before.”

“Before what?” He stares for a long time, mouth shut. He then blinks the moment away and for the first time, you might believe ever, Jungkook looks like he might have a secret too. 

“Just before. Back in the days, I mean.” He simply explains. His attention is back on the stupid box. He’s staring at the rose on top of it. Fingers playing with the corner of it. 

“Back in your old days.”

“You’re older than me. So you really don’t want it?” Here he comes again with the sad puppy face. Why would it be breaking his dumb little heart to refuse a dildo from him? What kind of insane parallel universe is this? “Is it like a 'men are fine but little Jeon Jungkookie still has cooties so I can’t accept his present, it’s gross'?” 

“Something like that.”

“Oh.” Defeated, he sighs. Another one of those soul-harming sighs. “Fine. I’ll get it refunded and you’ll buy yourself something else with the money then.” 

Is he really going to make you do that?

As if the question is even to be raised. He can make you do anything. 

“No, Guk, sorry. It’s fine. Sorry.” You start, hands clasping over the box you drag your side of the table. The only way you can do it is if you don’t actively think about what’s inside. “I’ll keep it. Sorry.”

“So you kind of want it?” He is grinning from one ear to the other. You can feel him giddy and excited, kind of jumpy on his seat and really, you don’t see any difference with the excitement he portrays each time he gets you any kind of presents and you tell him that you like it. 

“I won’t use it.” It’s almost a threat. Eyes squinted in severe slits, index finger millimetres away from poking his eye. “It’s a gift so I won’t make you get a refund, that’s rude but- I won’t use it.” After a second of seemingly deep reflection, he breaks out in his loud, annoying boyish laughter. Eyes watery at the corners and hands clapping like a stupid seal. “I’m serious!”

“Sure.” He’s still cackling, the idiot. “But you should. The lady said it’s a best seller too.” 

“Great. I don’t care.” 

He has his eyebrows high, a twitch in his wide grin, and the amused black orbs. He doesn’t believe you one bit. “Course, you don’t.”

The idea that he sincerely expects you to use it might drive your delusional brain for a loop. He just wants to be the best gift-giver, the best Santa, and wants you to make good use of whatever he's got you. But how can he not consider that you could not use something like that, to pleasure yourself, when it’s directly related to him, your best friend? It’s weird as hell. It can’t be just weird to you. 

Unfortunately, there’s no one you can come up with the question to have them agree with you. You already know what the girls will say. They’re even worse than you when it comes to Jeon Jungkook and your ambiguous (on your side solely) friendship. They’ll say the ship is sailed and start buying themselves bridesmaid matching dresses.

They don’t understand. It’s not like they’ve grown up with someone like him. Someone rather simple, authentic and kind, so much so, so much more than most people, that it turns him complicated because so different from other humans you can meet. There’s nothing to be read in between the lines with him. It’s always lovingly honest, blatant, generous.

He doesn’t mean anything else behind the gift besides a “have a good one!”. 

And you didn’t mean anything else but the truth when you said you wouldn’t use it. 

At the moment, anyway, you meant it.

A/N: hoping it makes sense and is not too raw, edited it at midnight TT; may i manifest a sugar daddy that would pay me to stay home and write fanfiction for you guys all day :). i really hope you like it, and hope also that you can handle the secondhand embarrassement because even i struggled. let me know what you think of the series so far, sending everyone reading this an infinite amount of virtual kisses and hugs, take care of yourself, love yourself and others a lot, BYEE.

tag list: @moon-asia​ @btstrasht​ @jkbangtan7​ @taehugger​ @kaepjjangiya​ @daggerbeneathmygown​ @cuteipat​  @jinsalpaca​

PLEASE ASK TO BE TAGGED IN THE COMMENT FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER! TY <3

[annabethy]

december 19: slipping on ice

in which Percy and Annabeth can’t stop slipping on ice, and it’s only a little bit funny

Percy tries his best to be a good husband. For the most part, he thinks he does a pretty amazing job at that role. Even this morning, he’d managed to wake Annabeth up gently, and he’d stayed with her for a bit in bed, letting her rest in his arms while they watched old episodes of Friends.

He’s a nice person. He really is.

Still, when Annabeth follows him outside to the car, dressed adorably in a pair of jeans and his sweater, and she slips on the ice along the walkway, he can’t help but laugh at her.

“Are you okay?” he asks, but he makes no effort to move. He’s still laughing, and she’s staring at him, a bit insulted.

“Go ahead,” she says. “Laugh some more.”

Percy tries to catch his breath, but it’s hard to do when she’s still sitting on the floor, appearing quite content with where she is, and glaring at him. He opens his mouth to say something, but instead, a choked sound comes out. “Give me a second.”

“I can’t believe you’re laughing at me.”

“It was funny,” he tries. He tilts his head, eyeing her. She really does look adorable with her flushed cheeks and pouty lips. “Come on. You would laugh if it was me.”

“I would not,” Annabeth argues. “I would be concerned for the wellbeing of my husband.”

“Well, now you’re just making me look bad.”

Annabeth smiles, and Percy feels incredibly warm.

“Do you need help getting up?”

“Yes, please.”

He’s still smiling, but he manages to stifle his laughs as he gets closer to her. He has to walk over the sidewalk to get to her, and he does his best to stay out of the snow that’s piled along the borders. Annabeth watches him carefully, biting on her lower lip, and he’s a bit confused what she’s looking at.

“Hey, Percy.”

He steps over another pile of snow. “What?”

“Don’t slip,” she teases. “It would be awfully embarrassing for you, considering you were just making fun of me for that.”

He rolls his eyes fondly. “I’m not going to slip.”

Yeah. Right.

It’s comical, really, the way he slips the second that he tells her he won’t. He hits the ground with a hard thump that knocks the breath out of him for a moment. He doesn’t even bother trying to stand up—he just flops onto the ground on top of the patch of ice he’d managed to miss while Annabeth’s laughter fills his ears. He should have known with the way that she was staring at the ground in front of him.

“What was that?” she asks him, snickering.

Percy groans.

“I’m not going to slip,” she teases. “Nothing to say now?”

“My dignity is gone,” he says.

​​

“That’s what you get.” Annabeth sticks her tongue out at him. “Don’t make fun of your wife next time, and maybe you won’t fall.”

Percy sits up now because he’s pretty sure he catches someone staring at the two of them on the ground from one of the apartment windows. They probably look odd, sitting on ice, but he doesn’t want to get up entirely because Annabeth is still smiling impossibly wide, and he wants to keep looking at her smile, even if it’s directed at him.

“I wasn’t making fun of you.”

“Ha! You definitely were.”

Percy inches himself closer to her, and his clothes get slightly wet in the process, but it’s worth it when he’s able to flop on top of her and pointedly press his cold nose into her neck. She squirms beneath him, but she still holds him close, giggling when he lifts his face to pepper kisses around her forehead and cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Percy says earnestly. “I wasn’t making fun of you. It was just funny.”

Annabeth hums when he sticks his nose back against her jaw. “Full disclaimer: I was making fun of you when you fell.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

“Really, I should be mad at you because it’s your fault I fell.”

Percy lifts his head. “What did I do?”

“Ice is just frozen water, and you have control over water, so you tripped me!”

Percy snorts. “Hold on a second—”

“That’s so rude,” Annabeth scolds, pinching his side until he yelps. “You tripped me because you thought it would be funny!”

“Did I trip myself too?”

“Only to trick me into thinking this wasn’t your fault.” Annabeth brushes her lips against his. “Did I uncover your ploy?”

“Mh-hm.” Percy kisses her once because he can’t help it when he’s looking into her eyes from this close up. “How did you discover my ultimate plan to make us both fall on ice?”

Annabeth stretches her neck when his lips duck lower, and she lets out a content sigh when he kisses a trail to the base of her neck, featherlight. “It’s because I’m brilliant.”

“And pretty,” Percy adds. He bites at her clavicle. “And my favorite person in the world.”

Annabeth threads her fingers through his hair. “And someone you like laughing at when they get hurt.” Percy’s lips disconnect from her neck with a pop. “What!?”

“Don’t think a couple kisses are going to make me forget,” Annabeth warns. “I will never forget how cruel you were, even when you’re—Percy.”

He gives her an innocent smile when she pulls him away by his hair so he can’t put his mouth on the skin of her neck anymore. “I promise to never laugh at you again when you fall, even if it’s funny.”

“It’s not,” she says, but she touches her foot to his and her eyes shine in humor.

“But it will never be funny,” he finishes. “It didn’t actually hurt, did it?”

“I’m alright,” she promises. “Just offended you thought it was funny.”

“It was the way you looked at me that was funny,” he says. “Your eyes were so sad. You looked like you were going to cry, and it was just adorable. Besides, you laughed at me, so we’re even.”

“I laughed because you told me you wouldn’t fall, so sure of yourself, and then karma hit you.”

“I guess I did deserve that,” he says, laughing. “Let’s call it even, yeah?”

“I don’t know about even, but…”

“Think of it as a couple bonding exercise.”

“There’s nothing like bonding in the emergency room when we break a bone.”

Percy scoffs playfully and stands when a family sidesteps them on the sidewalk. He holds out a hand for her to grab, and she takes it. It’s difficult, pulling her up while standing on a patch of ice, but he manages to do it. He holds her waist tightly as they waddle off the strip of ice, and they both end up laughing when they nearly fall again.

“We’re not going to make it out of here without falling,” Percy whispers into her ear.

She turns her head slightly so he can hear when she speaks, but she’s still mainly looking forwards. “It’s alright. If we fall again, we can just stay down and make out for a bit. The ice will melt eventually.”

Suddenly, he’s not too worried about slipping on the ice again.

[meruz]

Aforementioned long ask post please excuse me while i try to figure out tumblr's new text editor. I’ll get into the art meme questions first and then the rest at the end.

Ok first of all thank you all for sending in questions! Giving me an excuse to talk hehe. I’ll address these in number order. Here’s a link to the ask meme for reference but also I’ll restate the question for ease of reading.

1. When did you get into art?

Super cliche answer but I don’t remember a time where I WASN’T the weird art kid! I started keeping a dedicated sketchbook when I was about 12? But here’s a page from my kindergarten journal about what I want to be when I grow up.

2. What art-related sites have you ever signed up for? 

LOL this is a weird question. Not sure why so many people want to know. Anyways I definitely had a dA. more than one dA account. I used to browse oekakis when I was a kid but I think I was only signed up to some small ones that internet friends owned. What else...? Mangabullet,Tegakie, Paintberri, iscribble back when that was a thing, instagram if that COUNTs, I used to post art on livejournal and dreamwidth too. Patreon, I guess. Gumroad, inprnt, bigcartel, storenvy all for selling stuff.

In terms of resources.. I have a schoolism account that I’m sharing with friends. Used to take classes on coursera for free. I signed up to textures.com for work recently haha. I can’t remember if I ever had an account on posemaniacs. Did they have accounts...? I definitely used to visit all the time.

3. Show us your oldest piece of art you have on hand.

Alright here’s me actually logging into my old deviantart account. These are from September 2008 So I was 13 years old. I don’t have a deviantart account from before then because 13 was the required age for having an account and I didn’t want to lie about my age because I wanted people to be impressed by how young yet clearly incredible at art I was LOL.

4. What defines your artistic style?

You guys are probably more equipped to answer this than me but uh... I wanna say... Focus on colors. And... a slightly heavy hand? Like confident... not always well-considered mark making HAH...

Also I think I have a pretty healthy mix of american comics/manga influences. I feel like people who are into american comics always think my art is too manga and people who are into anime/manga always think my art is too american. And I’m taking that as a good sign.

5. Do you practice other styles/have you tried other styles in the past?

I like to think I switch it up a bunch! I mean, these are pretty different, right?

I think I’ve mentioned this before but one thing I really took away from art school is that, for an illustrator at least, art style shouldn’t be consistent. Your greatest weapon is changing the aspects of your style based on the task, the emotions and message you want to illustrate etc. So depending on the project I’m working on, the fandom I’m drawing for, whether I want something to be funny or serious or dramatic, I’ll change things about my style all the time.

One thing I don’t rly post on here is really tight polished work and that’s because I do that for my day job haha. If you’re not paying me... I’m probably not gonna color in the lines.

6. What levels of artistic education have you had?

I have a whole ass diploma LOL. Bachelor of Fine Arts in Illustration. from the Rhode Island School of Design. And I had a great college experience tbh. Besides the student loans. If any of you guys are thinking about art school feel free to e-mail or message me questions or concerns, I’ll be happy to help. Be as honest as I can be.

7. Show us at least one picture you drew or sketched recently that you did not put on a public site.

heres the wandavision kids. Uhh what else do I have...I feel like I’m rummaging for loose change here...

assorted valentines prep doodles

8. What is your favourite piece that you have done?

Well, obviously this is gonna change all the time and generally it’s gonna be my most recent piece LOL. So yeah, why the hell not. I’ll say it’s this one. I have a pretty short memory which I count as a blessing for an artist. I don’t dwell that long on older work and it keeps me moving forward.

10. What do you like most about your art?

I like that it’s something that only I would make! I had this thought fairly recently and I wrote it down in my sketchbook, it’s pretty cheesy and rambling but it felt revolutionary at the time:

So yeah. I like my art best when it’s the most me and for me. And I like it least when it feels like I’m just making something for social media or for other people’s expectations or whatever.

14. What do you like drawing the most?

Kids in baggy clothing are like my go-to LOL idk if that’s obvious. but also I like being challenged so lately I’ve really loved drawing multi-character compositions, environments, weird angles, etc.

oh i LOVE drawing the underside of shoes lol. And bandages. People that are kinda beat up.. I think it comes from getting a bunch of cuts all the time. I’m always patching myself up and I want to patch characters up too.

15. What do you like drawing the least?

mmm I try to find something to like in every drawing but lets see... I don’t like doing commissions of people’s dogs. Just because it’s normally like... a family friend and my mom volunteered me without my consent and I don’t even really know what they’re expecting me to draw and I don’t even get to meet the dog. Also I’m not that great at dog anatomy. Trying to learn though.

18. What is your purpose for drawing?

This could have a million answers! Uhhh to GIT GOOD??? But also to express myself... and also to make money... I mean it depends on what the drawing IS. I draw fanart mostly to connect to people in the fandom so if you ever see me drawing fanart please take it as like an open invitation to talk to me about the character haha. 

20. How would you rank your art? (poor, mediocre, good, etc.)

Good!!! I have a lot of self-confidence primarily born out of ignorance and a short attention span. If I don’t think too hard about how many other artists are mindblowingly unfathombly good... its easy to think I’m good too! LOL

In all seriousness though, I think the opinion a person has of their art is like a crazy balancing act, right? Like you have to think you suck enough to want to get better but also you have to think you’re good enough to not want to give up. I think we’re all walking that line, I know I am! But also I’m a glass half-full type of person so. Most of the time I feel good about it.

22. List at least one of your “artspirations.”

This is a good question because I’ve been trying and failing to put together one of those “influence map” memes for like a full month now. What’s giving me a hard time is I feel like none of these are actually really obvious “““influences”““ in my art? Like it’s hard to see a lot of them in the work I make...? But idk maybe you guys’ll see what I can’t.

And these are just a couple! God there’s so many more. I could talk about other artists for ages, from all different genres of art. Daumier, Rockwell like every illustrator out there, Dana Gibson, Alex Toth, Hiroshi Yoshida, a lot of the Brandywine School. Lots of current working artists too, Karl Kerschl, frikkin Masashi Kishimoto lol, Jake Wyatt, Richie Pope, Edouard Caplain, Matt Cook, Sachin Teng, - lots of big internet artists, Sophie Li, Freddy Carrasco, Milliofish, Angela Sung... like all my friends from art school too. I could just keep going but I’ll stop for now lol.

24. Do you have a shameful art past? (recolour sprite comics, tracing art, etc.)

I mean if that’s how we’re defining shameful?? sure LOL. It’s not sprite comics but I used to do pokemon sprite recolors all the time. And I used to trace manga panels and color them... Granted this was all when I was like under 12 yrs old so it’s not even embarrassing. Can you really call it shameful when a 7 year old wets the bed or whatever? Not really. In fact some of these are cool as fuck. Look

25. Draw a picture!

Man I’m so tired now but here.

I used to get a lot of compliments for drawing people smiling lol but I don’t think I’ve drawn a lot of smiling lately.. here’s proof I’ve still got it.

OK MEME DONE. onto the rest.

I read this ask first thing when i opened my computer in the morning and it made me really emotional.. I’m so glad my sketches could help you!!

I think a lot of artists on social media talk about the struggle of making art but imo not enough people talk about the joy! Like I know it’s corny but. I really meant what I said at the beginning of that sketchbook about re-contextualizing art around process and progress > product and perfection. I think its super important..! The strength of messy, unfinished, and energetic art! For the feeling of it, for the love it!

That's crazy!!! I hope you like 'em. The whole line of x-books is really good rn imo.

Hi! I totally have the answer for digital stuff on my faq lol. But in terms of drawing on paper.. it varies! I tend to use sketchbooking and any on-paper doodling I do as a way to loosen up/warm-up or experiment. But right now my go-to aresenal is:

from top > bottom

- kuretake no.55 doublesided brush pen

- tombow fudenosuke

- muji 0.38 ballpoint

- medium size poscas

- grey tombow double brush pens

- good ol bic mechanical pencil

not EXACTly sure which inking you referring to from my sketchbook but if I had to take a guess it'd probably be the kuretake no55. That's been my main inker, lately. Great for sketching with the thin end too.

You can print out and eat my art if you like. Just please don't mass produce or re-sell. <3

Thanks! I've come to accept that my art is always gonna be sort of gestural and painty naturally. It's getting it to tighten up enough to be legible that's hard lol...

uh yeah lol I agree actually. I think yolei is great.

I assume these asks are related? LOL

1) Yeah totally true. I love David.

2) I don’t take requests, sorry! But if you want to commission me to draw Legion i would be MORE than happy to. Just e-mail me at isellhotdogs@gmail.com.

<33333333333333333333333333

[shield-sheafson]

Chapters: ¼ Fandom: Batman - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown & Jason Todd Characters: Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown Additional Tags: Found Family, Fluff, Light Angst, Homelessness, Cass knows like 8 words rip, slight crime, Jason Todd and Cassandra Cain meet earlier, Cassandra Cain and Jason Todd are Siblings, but not blood siblings in this just two kids who adopted each other, street siblings au Summary:

Professional street urchin Jason Todd is struck by an uneasy feeling and suspects someone is following him. That someone is former child assassin Cassandra Cain, who, with nowhere else to go, is taking a leap of faith.

—

This is my take on the Street Siblings AU by @a-sketchy-character​!  I told them earlier that I’d write something for it, so here I am owning up! Of course, you can read their comic based on this au @streetsiblings.  Of course, @greytoiletpaper also wrote one (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27100699/chapters/66175306) and Experimental_Muse wrote this one (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27037882).  Go check them out!  Since this is such a popular concept, I hope I do a good job.

—

Jason pops another M&M into his mouth, rolling it around on his tongue instead of chewing it. He has no idea why someone would throw away a perfectly good bag of candy, but he’s not going to think too hard about it. Maybe he’s imagining it, but he can feel the strength coming back into his limbs. He feels less sleepy, too.

He tucks the empty bag into the pocket of his frayed jeans, already regretting finishing them. Now that he’s eaten something, what else is he going to do with his day? He hasn’t found any cigarettes, which is a pain, since it’s so cold that his nose feels numb and he could really use some warm smoke to fill up his aching lungs.

Maybe he’ll go to the library. He’s still too small to kick out for loitering, right? Just as he turns to leave the alley, Jason feels a shiver run up his spine. He whips around, raising his fists defensively. Nobody’s there. This doesn’t calm him down. Jason squints as he peers into the dark, wet alley, looking for any sign of movement.

“Hey,” he says in the deepest, roughest voice he can muster. “Think good and hard about what you’re about to do, buddy.”

What is the invisible person about to do? Jason isn’t sure, but he wants them to think good and hard about it. He hears a scuffle and nearly jumps out of his skin only to realize that it’s just a rat migrating from beneath the dumpster to a pile of cardboard boxes.

“What are you playing?” Jason asks. This voice is making his throat hurt. “Is this some kind of joke?”

Nobody answers. Jason weighs his options and decides that the best choice is to make a run for it. He nearly slips on a patch of slush in his haste to get out of the alley. Even when he’s a safe two blocks away he still has an uneasy feeling.

—

A couple of hours later, Jason has shaken off that gross feeling and has settled down outside the 7-11. He used to go here a lot– when his mom was around, it was where they got their groceries. Sometimes she’d splurge and they would split a can of Yoohoo. Even though he doesn’t have any money to go in with, something about the worn bricks and the smoky smell is comforting.

A gaunt man with dark circles under his eyes and a scraggly gray beard joins him, sitting gingerly on the damp ground.

“Afternoon,” he says cordially.

“It’s dark out,” Jason says. He’s not sure what time it actually is. Days and nights tend to blur together. They’re basically the same, though nights tend to be more dangerous.

“Damned if it isn’t,” the man says. “What’s a kid doing out this late?”

“Anywhere else I’m supposed to be?” Jason asks, scowling.

“Just askin’, just askin’,” the man says, raising his palms. “I’d just get somewhere safe if I was you. Some guy’s been– what?”

“What?” Jason repeats after him. “What’s going on?”

“Just thought I… It’s not safe for kids out there lately, is all I’m sayin’.”

Jason sighs and shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, dragging down the edge of his hoodie. “Is it that big a deal?” It’s never really safe out there, but he’s always gotten by fine. “You’re not a kid, so you’re fine.”

“Nothin’ wrong with a little empathy,” the man says.

Jason rolls his eyes and walks off to find another place to lurk.

—

It happens the next day, too. Jason has the unpleasant feeling of eyes on his back when he covertly removes a woman’s wallet from her purse and he’s certain someone is about to yell “Stop! Thief!” but nobody does.

When he walks proudly out of McDonald’s with a bag of french fries bought will ill-gotten money, he expects someone to ask for one. Of course, he would have said “no,” but it’s almost disappointing when there’s nobody to answer. He’s not disappointed enough to be really put-off, though. He still stuffs his face wholeheartedly.

Maybe he’s just being paranoid.

—

Jason has been sleeping rough lately. The condemned buildings are already full of squatters, and he knows better than to accept “help” from people who offer couches to young boys. With nowhere inside to sleep, he’s been hiding from the sleet in a cardboard shelter he built in an out-of-view area between buildings and lined with newspaper.

Of course, it’s not usually safe to build a fire when your whole house is so flammable, but he’s risking it tonight. He has a pile of yet more cardboard and newspaper on the other side of the alley, but it’s damp and he’s having a rough time getting it to set alight.

“Come on,” he mutters as he clicks the lighter yet again. It’s a nice one (his mother had liked it a lot) but it doesn’t seem to be doing the trick. Jason curses under his breath as the edge of the funnies page smolders and blackens without actually catching fire. Garfield stares at him judgmentally. That’s when he hears it.

A light “thump,” soft but unmistakable. Jason’s head snaps up. He’s afraid to turn and look. At best, it’s another bum looking to share his fire. At worst, it’s…

“What are you looking at?” he says harshly, still not turning his head. “Go find somewhere else.”

The presence at his back doesn’t go away. He feels frozen in place– he’ll admit it, he’s afraid. He knows someone has been following him. He doesn’t know who or why. He hasn’t had a moment where it’s not on his mind, and now his mysterious pursuer is right behind him. His only option is to protect himself.

Jason very slowly reaches into his pocket for the worn switchblade he’s carried since he was nine. His hand trembles as he wraps his fingers around the cold handle.

A hand is laid on his shoulder. He shoots up, pulling the knife out of his pocket and spinning around to face the person behind him.

Before he’s able to do anything a small, strong hand wraps around his wrist, stopping the freed knife in its path. His arm is yanked forward and a palm is shoved under his chin, forcing his face up. He just stands that way for a second, too shocked to move. His opponent doesn’t try to do anything else; they just keep him stuck with his chin pushed up and his arm stretched out, knife useless.

Slowly, cautiously, the hand under his chin lowers, though the grip on his wrist is still tight. He gets a good look at the person who’s apparently decided to hold him hostage.

They’re a kid. They’re (she’s) a little girl, much shorter than him, with big, serious eyes and a mouth covered by a heavy scarf.

“You’re really small,” he says through the hand that’s still partly covering his mouth. “What the fuck.”

She assesses him, eyes darting from his face to his free hand to his battered shoes. Slowly, she loosens her grip and lets go of his chin, releasing him. She takes a step back, body tense and ready to attack or dart away at any second.

Jason clicks his blade back into its case and slides the knife back into his pocket, not looking away from the girl’s face. She has dirty black hair that hangs in her eyes and thick brows. Her nose is delicate and rounded. If she hadn’t just had him in a painful hold, he would have assumed she was harmless.

“Why have you been following me around?” he asks. She doesn’t answer. “What do you want from me?” Again, no answer. Jason sighs (a puff of mist from his mouth). “I’m Jason.” He holds out his hand. Hesitantly, she grips it. Her hand is cold and thin. She still doesn’t say anything.

The girl lets go of his hand and points to the lighter on the ground. It glints at him in greeting.

“What?” Jason asks.

The girl squats on the ground and retrieves the lighter. She hands it to him and points at the pile of cardboard and newspaper.

“Wanna make a fire?” he asks. “There’s garbage in there, so it’ll stink.”

She doesn’t nod. She just points again expectantly.

“'Kay,” Jason says. “Can you talk at all?”

The girl doesn’t respond. Jason shrugs and crouches by his fire heap. The girl plops back on her bottom and crosses her legs.

It takes a while to get it to light. It’s a little embarrassing failing again and again with someone there to watch. Finally, one of the dryer pieces of paper goes alight and spreads to one of the bigger pieces of cardboard.

“See? It does work!” Jason says. Does he sound defensive? “It usually works fine,” he adds. This doesn’t make him any less embarrassed. He puts the lighter in his pocket with the switchblade and holds his hands out, taking in the heat. The girl pulls down her scarf. In the flickering light, he can see she’s smiling at him. She holds out her hands too, and they sit in silence for some time.

—

Jason realizes he’s awake before his eyes open. He’s aware again that his nose and fingers are cold and the back of his hair is wet from the damp concrete. His eyes flicker open and he sees that it’s daytime, pale gray and foggy. He rolls over, realizing with some consternation that he’s not even in his box hut. Anybody could have come and gotten him while he was asleep. He’s lucky they didn’t. He shouldn’t be so– what.

Someone is a few feet away from him, sitting up with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, looking at him thoughtfully.

Jason scrambles backward, scraping his hands on the rough concrete. He bumps his head on the brick wall behind him. It seems that the bricks knock some sense into him because suddenly the events of last night come back to him and he feels like an idiot.

“What are you doing?” he asks, rubbing his head.

The girl scoots over to him and pats his shoulder. Ah. She’s still not talking. Jason sits up straight. He pats her shoulder back. She smiles.

“So, do you just want to hang around here?” Jason asks, even though he knows she won’t answer. “In this alley?”

The girl just looks at him. This is starting to get frustrating.

“Just– just stay, I guess,” Jason says, standing. He points at the ground. “I’ll be back. I’m gonna go get something to eat.”

He backs out of the alleyway, raising his palms as though he’s trying to calm a wild animal. He turns around when he’s certain that she’s staying. He puts his hands in his pockets and releases a breath of relief. Something about that girl makes him nervous. What’s her game? Is she just stupid? He wraps his fingers around the lighter and somehow feels a little more secure.

Jason settles outside a coffee shop and crosses his legs. Dozens of people walk right past him, ignoring his grubby face as they head to work.

“Hey, miss,” Jason says, making eye contact with a woman in a blue pantsuit. An almost fearful look falls on her face as she realizes she’s been wrangled into an interaction with him. “Got a dollar?”

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I don’t carry change.” She scurries off, nearly slipping in her high heels on the icy sidewalk.

“'Scuse me,” Jason says to the lady with the corgi on a leash. “That’s a cute dog you have there.”

“Thank you,” the lady says apprehensively. She walks a little faster.

“Wait!” Jason says. “Can I pet him?”

“S-sure,” the lady says. She turns and walks the dog up to Jason. It smiles stupidly at him. Jason stretches his hand out and it sniffs him with its wet nose. Jason rubs it between the ears. Even though this is for selfish reasons, he appreciates its attention.

“Can you spare seventy cents?” Jason asks. “For a bottle of water?”

The lady, with nowhere to escape to, reaches into her purse, takes out a dollar, and drops it into Jason’s open hand. Jason thanks her sweetly. When she walks away, he can’t hide his shit-eating grin.

Jason manages to gather up seven dollars before the coffee shop’s manager comes out and says “scram.” Jason smiles appeasingly as he leaves. He knows better than to get in a fight with someone without holes in their shoes.

At the convenience store, Jason buys an energy drink and a hot dog, like usual. Then he remembers someone is waiting for him and adds a plastic-wrapped breakfast sandwich. He’s wondering whether the stupid girl is a coffee person when the cashier starts giving him suspicious looks, so he grabs another Red Bull and pays quickly.

It’s kind of nice shopping for someone else. Even if it’s a little sad to think about the last time he was shopping for two. He whistles quietly as he walks through the glass door when– oops.

“Watch where you’re going!” he snaps.

The girl steps back and smiles apologetically.

“Oh… It’s you.” The door swings shut behind Jason. “I’d ask you to stop following me, but I don’t think you understand what I’m saying.”

The girl tilts her head. Maybe she does understand? Whatever.

He gestures for her to follow him. The convenience store people don’t like it when he hangs out right by the door. It creeps out the customers.

There aren’t as many people on the sidewalk anymore; they’ve all gone on with their days. Jason notices that the girl skips a little on her shorter legs to keep up with him. She isn’t wearing socks, he realizes. That can’t be good in this weather.

They stop to sit on the front steps of the law office. Jason pulls the food out of his plastic grocery bag and hands the sandwich to the girl. She takes it gratefully. He takes out his hot dog and realizes that the jostling while he was walking has deconstructed it. He shrugs.

“I’m guessing you’re new around here,” Jason says. “You’re not supposed to just latch on to people.”

The girl starts tearing greedily into her sandwich.

“I do pretty well on my own. I’m not gonna babysit you, you know.”

She nods. Again, Jason isn’t sure she’s taking in what he’s saying.

“Seriously. You can’t hang out with me. I’m busy.”

She smiles. Jason rolls his eyes.

“I like being alone.”

The sandwich is gone. She points to his hot dog.

“I mean, I guess,” he says, handing it to her. She looks at it for a second. A guilty expression falls on her face and she hands it back. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Cassandra,” she says.

“Wait, you can talk?”

“Jason,” she says, patting his shoulder.

The snow is dirty, but the sun glints off it prettily. Jason hates to admit it, but he’s in a pretty good mood right now.

[organabanana]

red || harley quinn/poison ivy

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Harley Quinn (Comics) Batman - All Media Types DCU

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence

Relationships: Pamela Isley & Harleen Quinzel

Characters: Pamela Isley, Harleen Quinzel

Additional Tags: Past Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel, Abusive Joker (DCU), blood (plenty), Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Femslash February 2021, Femslash February, Sex

Series: Part 1 of the Femslash February 2021 series

Summary: A breakup, a healing process, color therapy at Arkham, and a series of life-changing realizations by Harley Quinn, with help from Poison Ivy.

Notes: Written for prompt #1 of Femslash February 2021: Red. Written around Issue 1 of Harleen: Black + White + Red by Stjepan Sejic which is an absolute masterpiece. I feel like this can be read even if you haven't read the comic but honestly it's super short and you should go read it because it is a work of art.

[ao3 link]

She doesn’t kill him.

She could kill him. That’s important to note. She could kill him. But she chooses not to. And for once — for the first time since this whole nightmare started — she doesn’t do it for him. It’s not because she loves him so much she can’t bear to kill him. It’s not because she thinks maybe one day they’ll get things right.  

No. She doesn’t kill him because she doesn’t want to kill him. She wants him gone but not dead. Well — she wouldn’t necessarily mind if he happened to die. Have Bats forget his self-imposed limit and finally kill him. No, she wouldn’t mind. She just doesn’t want to kill him herself.

They stick with you, you know? The people you kill. Even if they deserve it. She would know. And she doesn’t want to carry his death around for the rest of her life. She just wants him gone.

So she stands there, bleeding and panting and struggling to catch her breath as she looks down at his unconscious body. That’s her blood on the knife by his hand. On his knuckles and splattered on his face, and you know what?

“You know what, Jay?” She says out loud, because why not? It’s not the first time her blood’s ended up all over him. Not the first time or the second or the tenth or the fifteenth. She kicks the knife away from him for good measure, even if the bleeding crack on his temple makes it clear he’s not gonna be getting up any time soon.

Still, though. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s tricked her. 

Wouldn’t be the first time she’s let him trick her.

Because, you know what?

“I’m smarter than you think.”

So she stands there, Harley Quinn, with her blood-stained mallet and her blood-soaked harlequin costume, looking for all the world like the psychopath her Arkham file says she is. And — just look at her. She wouldn’t need to be a psychopath to kill him. To kill the man who turned her from a promising young psychologist into his peppy murderous sidekick. The man who’s kept her in a sadistic cycle of toxicity (both literal and emotional) for all these years.

The man who — for fuck’s sakes — just tried to kill her with a butcher’s knife.

(Though that last one might have been self-defense, to be fair.)

What she’s getting at — and she’s getting at something, she swears, that’s why she hasn’t moved yet — is that even the most even-tempered, mentally stable, never-even-heard-of-Arkham woman would probably consider killing the man who put her through that. It’d feel empowering, even. 

But here’s the thing: Harley Quinn is smarter than most people think.

You don’t just forget all your training and your doctorates and your research just because you’ve spent several years  on a murderous spree with your sadistic lover, you know?

So she knows she wasn’t a helpless damsel in mental distress being manipulated by the handsome criminal mastermind.

Oh, no.

She chose to get involved with him. She chose to give into the want and the danger. She chose to keep going back for more because somehow, in some dark and twisted corner of her reptilian brain, the little moments when they were good were so amazing — so perfect — that they made everything else worth it. She chose to pull a trigger and kill a good man for him.

And now she chooses not to kill a bad man.

For herself.

“And that’s fucking empowering, Jay.”

***

She goes to Poison Ivy’s lair because… well, because where the hell else is she supposed to go? She can’t walk up to Gotham General’s ER and ask for some stitches and painkillers unless she wants to be back in Arkham within the hour. She doesn’t have her own place. 

But she has a friend. So here she is.

“Hey,” she says as soon as she walks into the greenhouse-slash-evil eco-terrorism lab, “door was open.”

No, it wasn’t. It’s just Harley knows the combination to get in. Didn’t steal it, either. Ivy volunteered it. Harley’s always kind of suspected there was some pity involved in that decision, but she’s not gonna be picky about the deep unspoken motives behind the actions of the single person in this God forsaken city that’s been consistently good to her. 

The second Harley steps further into the room and the gentle warmth of the grow lamps hits her, she sees Ivy’s face change from her usual unreadable near-smirk to sheer horror, and she knows she must look even worse than she thought she did. She knows for a fact it’s not easy to shock Pamela Isley.

She gives Ivy a couple seconds to try and come up with something to say, but words seem to fail her, so Harley decides to just cut to the chase.

Heh. Cut .

“I broke up with him.”

There’s a sort of unspoken rule between them that says his name is forbidden when it’s just them.

“Did he do all that?” Harley swears she can see the exact moment Ivy’s worry makes room for something that looks almost like rage. “Did he do that to you?”

Harley shrugs and manages a wink even if the cuts on the bridge of her nose sting when she does. “Should’ve seen the other guy.”

The joke falls flat, as expected — Harley’s pretty sure some of Ivy’s ferns have more developed senses of humor than Ivy herself — but Ivy finally manages to stand up and get moving, which is good. Harley kinda needs a hand. And medical attention.

“I won’t know how bad those really are until I’ve cleaned them up.” Ivy says, already opening the cabinet where she keeps all her medical supplies.

It’s funny because Harley’s been here a million times, and she’s been patched up by Ivy just as many times before — not always because of Jay, sometimes it’s one of the batlings getting frisky — but she never realized until now that Poison Ivy doesn’t need medical supplies.

Ivy can heal herself. She can synthesize her own meds. She keeps that cabinet stocked just for Harley. That’s friendship, right there. Right?

With a bottle of alcohol in one hand and a box of gauze in the other, Ivy makes her way back to Harley. But instead of getting to work right away, she stops and looks up and down Harley’s body. And for the first time, Harley looks down, too. At the blood-soaked stretchy fabric of her costume, at the gashes everywhere with cuts underneath. 

She’s a mess and a half, isn’t she?

“Let’s just—“ Ivy shakes her head and leaves the alcohol and gauze on the nearest flat surface. That won’t be enough to fix this. “Let’s just get you in the shower.”

The next minutes feel like she’s watching them from outside her body. Like she’s watching infamous eco-terrorist Poison Ivy, of all people, carefully peel off her costume and guide her into the shower stall through a television screen. Like it’s not really happening to her.

But it is. Happening.

So when Pamela Isley doesn’t even hesitate before walking into the stall right along with Harley? Harley feels that. She feels it when Ivy grabs the detachable shower head and turns on the water and tests it on her own skin, first, just to make sure it won’t be too hot or too rough on Harley’s. She feels the cool water washing over her skin, and the gentle touch of Ivy’s fingertips as they scrub at the dried blood, and she watches the water turn red as it swirls around her feet and down the drain.

And it’s a bit too much, you know?

This whole thing.

Almost killing the man she loves (still, even if she’s decided that’s not a good enough reason to stay with him), and breaking up with him for good, and the amazing contradiction that is a woman with poisonous skin touching Harley more gently than anyone ever has before.

It’s really no wonder she starts crying.

“This one will need stitches,” Pamela says, like she can’t hear Harley’s sobs or feel the way her body shakes. Because Harley’s already naked and bleeding and in pain, and Ivy pretending she doesn’t know she’s crying feels like being given a bit of her dignity back. And she fucking needs that right now. “Most aren’t too deep, though.”

Ivy keeps talking, narrating what she’s doing even if Harley knows for a fact she normally works in silence. But Ivy knows Harley needs it. So she talks about how the cuts on her face will probably leave some scars, and how the deep one by her bellybutton will need stitches, too. And when the water starts running clear because there’s no more blood to clean but Harley is still crying, Ivy starts all over again.

“This one,” she says, voice even and soothing in a way nothing has felt in years, “this one will need a couple stitches,” her fingertip gently taps the skin right next to the cut on Harley’s hip, and there’s something oddly heartwarming in the knowledge that that little tap would’ve killed anyone else in the world, but not Harley, “most aren’t too deep, though, Harl.”

***

She stays at Ivy’s for a couple nights at first, just because she has nowhere else to go. Then she stays for a week because you can’t really find a cute little one-bedroom rental in Gotham overnight when you’re in-between jobs as a psychotic murderess.

Doesn’t look great in applications, you know?

One week turns into two and then three and then suddenly it’s been three months and she’s pretty sure she’s living with Pam now. Which comes in handy, because she’s pretty sure she’s working with Pam now, too.

It’s funny because their criminal interests don’t seem to align at first sight. Harley mostly likes the chaos and the action, and Ivy just wants people to stop polluting the air. But they work well together. Ivy picks the targets and Harley the method, and it’s fun. It’s fun and it’s freeing and — listen, she knows she’s still killing people, okay? But it’s for a good reason, and she’s her own boss. It could be worse. She could’ve joined a pyramid scheme.

And living with Pam is nice. They get each other. They really do. Pam is hermetic, which makes Harley want to poke and prod and figure her out, but she respects Pam enough not to do it. And it goes both ways, too — in three months, Ivy hasn’t mentioned that first night even once.

It takes Harley three months, two weeks, and four days to realize why Pam always seems a bit surprised when Harley goes for a run or a walk or really any one-woman activity outside the lair and then comes back like she said she would.

It happens one night when Harley feels that familiar urge to blow off some steam by doing any kind of physical activity and leaves their home for a run around the park. As usual, when she comes back Ivy looks a little surprised. Like she was expecting her to not come back, for some reason. But then Harley notices something else. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of detail. The smallest, subtlest kind of sigh. 

Pam isn’t just surprised Harley’s back. She’s relieved .

And Harley knows why, of course. She knows Pam’s waiting for the other shoe to drop — for Harley to forget she’s better than the Harley from three months, two weeks, and four days ago and go back to him. 

“Y’know, Pammy,” Harley says, walking over to sit on the very edge of Pam’s desk, “I really like it here.”

She could’ve said more. She could’ve acknowledged the mammoth in the lair and point-blank tell Pam she’s not going back to him. But for some reason, that feels like intruding, somehow. It feels like telling Pam she’s noticed the sigh and the relief. And she figures her best friend deserves the same kind of privacy she gave Harley that first night.

“I figured. You know, since you won’t leave.”

Pam’s kidding. As it turns out, she does have a sense of humor — it just happens to be a bit subtler than what Harley’s used to. Most things about Pam are subtler than what Harley’s used to.

“I couldn’t do that to ya. You’d miss me way too much if I left.”

“Feel free to test that theory. I could use some quiet around here.”

Harley grins. Something wide and genuine in a way her smiles haven’t been for years. Pam wants her around. She doesn’t want the quiet. She wants Harley in her space, making noise and turning straightforward plans into complicated (and often dangerous) adventures. 

For a split second, a thought forms in her brain. Something — something she nearly manages to fully process, but not quite. Something about the reason why Pam wants her around. Why Harley doesn’t want to leave. Why she sometimes thinks about asking Ivy to touch her again, like that first night. For no reason.

But the thought is gone as quickly as it appeared.

“I’d break your heart, Pam-a-lamb.” Harley hops off the desk and winks at Ivy and doesn’t chase after the thought because she’s not feeling particularly adventurous tonight. “I’m a better friend than that.”

***

Six and a half weeks later, Harley realizes Ivy is in love with her.

She’d say she realizes she’s in love with Ivy, too, but she tries to be honest with herself and it’s more acknowledgment than realization at this point.

It doesn’t happen at the best of times. It could’ve happened at home, for one. That would’ve been convenient. Maybe even outside during a night walk or something. But no. Of course she has to have her big realization in the middle of breaking into a building that’s chock-full of guards ready to protect a CEO with appalling recycling habits. 

(Or whatever he actually does. All she knows is it pisses Pam off, and that’s enough for Harley to be down with murder.)

It happens when they’re up on the roof, waiting for the guard on the top floor to finish his round so they can sneak in and do their thing. They’re hiding in the shadows, standing close together even though there’s plenty of room and it’s not cold at all. It just feels better to be close, that’s all. 

“He’s gone,” Harley whispers as soon as he disappears into the elevator, “do your thing, Red.”

And so she does. Pam places her palm on the skylight they’ve been looking through, and a vine starts growing around her arm and toward the glass. It’s not the first time Harley’s seen Pam use the Green. Obviously. It’s not even the hundredth time. But for some reason, it looks particularly enthralling tonight.

“I love watching that,” she breathes out, even though she’s not sure why.

“Watching what?”

“That. You.” It’s only when she reaches over to place her fingertips against the growing vine that she realizes she’s never really touched Pam. She’s been touched by Pam, of course. She’s prone to needing medical attention. But she’s never touched Pam. 

And it feels like kind of a waste. Since she’s immune to her poison and all.

So from the vine — which feels more alive than any plant she’s ever touched — Harley slides her fingertips down until she feels warm skin instead. And that’s when she sees it. Pam doesn’t move a single muscle — she doesn’t even look at her — but there’s suddenly a red rose blooming on the vine.

“Oh, Pammy .” 

Harley can’t stop smiling. Who cares if they’re about to kill an eco-unfriendly asshole and there are a million things that could go wrong? Well, she cares. Ivy cares, she’s sure. But this feels much more important than murdering some rich guy right now.

“Red, I lo—“

And that’s when it happens. Listen, she’s never happy to see Bats. Never. But of all the moments when he could’ve showed up to surprise them before they can finish a job?

Right when she was about to confess her love to her best friend is about the worst possible time.

Maybe that’s why the whole thing doesn’t go as smoothly as it usually would. This happens at least twice a month, after all, so fighting Bats feels more like a dance than any sort of true fighting at this point. But she’s still rattled from the sheer enormity of what nearly happened, and when they’re about to escape Harley trips over her own feet and finds herself looking up at the big guy himself.

Ugh.

On the bright side, she knows Bats won’t risk letting her go to go after Ivy as well, so, you know. Small victories, right?

“Don’t make me wait too long, Red!” she calls out, just because she knows it’ll piss him off. Pam doesn’t need Harley to tell her to get her out of Arkham as soon as possible. And tonight Harley’s figured out why.

***

“Stop grinning like an idiot and come on !”

  “Thirteen days,” Harley says, tone mockingly offended even as she pants and struggles to catch her breath. They’re home, finally. Even if they found the lair, which they never would anyway, the Green would keep them out. “What took you so long, Ives?”

Ivy rolls her eyes. Thirteen days is nearly two months less than the time it took them to get out the last time they were locked up together, so it’s no wonder she knows right away that Harley’s not serious at all.

“You know I like a solid plan. I’m not much for winging it.”

“Yes, you’re boring, Pammy. I know.”

Ivy scoffs and sits down on the couch in the middle of the room. Well -- she collapses onto it, really, if Harley’s being honest. A quick glance around their home, with every surface covered in plans and maps and more clutter than Ivy would ever allow, lets her know her best friend’s probably spent the last thirteen days and nights planning her rescue.

If Harley could sprout a vine or two right now and make a couple roses bloom, she would.

“Are you all right?” Ivy looks at her, tired eyes studying her from head to toe. “How was it?”

Harley shrugs. “It was Arkham.” They’re both familiar enough with the place. Sometimes the person in charge is more sadistic, sometimes they have a more gentle approach. Either way, it’s gonna suck. “They have a new therapist. She does color therapy.”

Pam lets out a quiet chuckle. “Color therapy, huh.”

“Mhmm.” Harley tilts her head. Pam looks like she’s balancing on the edge between being awake and asleep. Like if Harley just kept her mouth shut for a couple seconds she’d completely pass out. “Would show me colors and ask what they made me feel.”

Should she feel bad for continuing the conversation? Maybe. Pammy does look exhausted. It’s just Harley’s missed her for thirteen nights because of Bats, and before that for over four months because of her own obliviousness, and for years before because of reasons not worth thinking about.

So excuse her for feeling a bit greedy about their time together right now.

“Did it work?”

“Sure did, Pammy. I’m just here to pack up my shit and join the batgang.”

The sound that comes out of Ivy isn’t even a real chuckle. It’s a sort of hint that maybe under different circumstances she would’ve laughed, but right now the best she can do is a half-smile and a quasi-snicker.

Harley’s pretty sure she’s never loved her more.

“Don’t fall asleep yet, Red. We’re talkin’.”

“We’re always talking, Harls.”

“Not for the last thirteen days, we haven’t.”

“C’mere,” Ivy pats the empty space next to her on the couch, “what do you want to talk about?”

It’s not the first time she’s sat next to Ivy on a couch, so she knows her gesture was meant to encourage Harley to sit somewhere on the couch but keeping a respectful distance. Personal space, and all that.

Of course, that was before. That’d feel downright ridiculous now. So she sits right next to Ivy, feeling the warmth of her skin through the rough fabric of grey Arkham sweatpants. 

“Wanna know what color they wanted to know about, Pammy?”

Harley decides the brighter green across the bridge of Ivy’s nose counts as a blush.

“Hmm…” even Pam’s hum sounds more alert than before, like she’s suddenly realized this isn’t just another rambling midnight conversation on the couch, “black?”

“For Bats? Nope.” Harley’s fingertips trace slow lines along Ivy’s fingers, across the back of her hand and towards her wrist. When she finally looks up, she realizes Ivy’s watching their hands, too. “Guess again.”

Ivy swallows and lets Harley wrap her fingers around a green wrist, moving Ivy’s hand to rest on Harley’s thigh.

“Blue?”

Harley giggles. “Blue,” she repeats, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to Ivy’s shoulder and smiling when it makes Ivy’s fingers flex and squeeze Harley’s thighs, “why would blue mean anything, Ive? Nothing’s blue.”

“Your eyes are blue.”

“Maybe they’ll ask you about blue, then,” Harley shifts closer, chin resting on the spot she just kissed, “what does blue mean to you, Ms. Isley?”

Ivy stays silent for a handful of seconds, thumb mindlessly brushing against the Arkham sweatpants Harley suddenly wishes she’d taken off before sitting down.

“Chaos.” 

Harley rewards the teasing smirk on Ivy’s face with a kiss to her jaw. “But in a good way, right?”

“Hmm,” Ivy pretends to think, “sometimes.”

“ Most times.”

Ivy doesn’t argue. Harley has a feeling the true answer is always, anyway, so this is meeting halfway.

“I’m good for ya, Ive,” Harley says, shifting closer so she can tuck red hair behind Pam’s ear and kiss the spot right by her earlobe, “and you’re so good for me.”

“Harley--” It’s somewhere between a sigh and a breath but there’s an edge of something serious underneath. Something that makes her tense slightly with the fear of this becoming a whole conversation about things that make you sob in the shower or sigh with relief when someone gets home.

“Shh,” she whispers against Pam’s ear, “guess again.”

“ Harley .”

“Please, Pammy.”

A sigh.

“White.”

Harley shakes her head, letting her nose brush against Pam’s skin. She smells like freshly cut grass and jasmine and a field after the summer rain. When she takes in a deep breath, Ivy’s scent fills up her lungs and makes her wonder if she’ll ever be able to smell anything else.

She kinda hopes she won’t.

“You know I know you’re avoidin’ the obvious on purpose, yeah?”

Ivy turns her head and looks into Harley’s eyes for a second, and then two, and then she leans in and steals the air from Harley’s lungs.

Her lips taste like rosewater and something Harley can’t pinpoint. The kiss is slow and steady and demanding , increasingly deep in the kind of unrushed way that makes Harley feel almost surprised when she suddenly finds herself straddling her best friend’s lap.

Ivy kisses her like a woman who’s been waiting for so long the concept of time doesn’t mean anything anymore. Like the wait has been so long the reward should be, too.

“Ive--” Harley pants, struggling to catch her breath when there’s no room for air in her lungs anymore. Ivy’s lips are flushed red, kiss-swollen and parted to let out warm puffs of air. “Pammy, I--”

“Green,” Pam says, voice low and quiet and as soft as her hands slipping under that ugly Arkham shirt. Her fingertips trace the scar by Harley’s belly button -- that needed a couple stitches a lifetime ago -- and keep climbing up, up, up until they’re grazing the underside of her breasts. Harley can’t breathe, but what a way to go. “Did they ask about green?”

Harley shakes her head, teeth catching her bottom lip as Ivy’s hands cover her breasts.

“They didn’t ask about green .” Pam says, one eyebrow cocked in question as if the pressure of her hands isn’t making Harley’s back arch to push pebbled nipples against Ivy’s palms. “Should I be offended they didn’t make the connection?”

The sound Harley makes was supposed to be a giggle, but it turns into a moan halfway through and honestly she doesn’t really care.

“Pammy…”

There’s something building up inside her -- something big and warm in her chest, pushing against her lungs and her heart. She’d say it’s love, but it’s too solid for that. Love is chaotic. It knocks your life off-kilter and makes you feel like you’re walking on a tightrope towards someone but the slightest gush of wind could push you off. Love hurts but it’s worth the pain. Love isn’t like this, steady and warm and solid and relentlessly there . That’s not what love is like.

Right?

“What is it?” Ivy’s voice is as soft as the brush of her thumb against Harley’s nipple. 

It’s like someone’s suddenly helped her off that tightrope and told her it was supposed to be a nice little path all along.

That it’s not supposed to be a lonely walk towards someone, either. Ivy’s already right here.

Harley opens her mouth to say it out loud -- to tell Ivy about this amazing discovery she’s just made -- but she changes her mind. Ivy knows, anyway.

“You still haven’t guessed the right color.”

Ivy smiles. 

“You said it was the obvious. I already guessed the obvious.”

As amazing as everything feels right now, Harley’s never been the best at delayed gratification, so she finds herself pulling one of Pam’s hands down and out from under her shirt to bring it up to her lips instead.

“The other obvious, Ives,” Harley wraps her fingers around Ivy’s wrist, thumb pressing against the pulse point there as she watches Ivy’s pupils dilate with each fingertip Harley kisses, “the… metaphoric obvious.”

“The metapho--” Harley smirks when her lips wrap around Ivy’s middle finger and the breath catches in Ivy’s thoat “--rical obvious?”

“Mhmm,” her voice vibrates around Ivy’s finger before she lets it go with a wet ‘pop’, “c’mon, Pammy. Guess again.”

But Harley doesn’t think Ivy remembers her own name, let alone what they were talking about. Her fingers dig into the flesh of Harley’s breast and her eyes look so dark they may as well be black when Harley’s tongue licks a path up a second finger this time.

The only sounds she can hear are their labored breaths when she guides Pam’s hand down and under the waistband of her Arkham sweats, and then something halfway between a sigh and a moan when slick fingers slip between slicker lips.

Harley’s hands rest on Ivy’s shoulders, holding on for leverage as her hips begin a steady roll to the rhythm Ivy’s fingers set between her thighs.

“Keep going,” Ivy’s fingertips press up against her clit and Harley’s eyes flutter closed, hips rocking with more purpose than before, “don’t stop.”

Ivy leans forward, teeth gently nipping at the skin of Harley’s neck, and Harley swears if she didn’t know she was immune she’d think she’s under some kind of botanical spell. But no. No, this is just Ivy, as it turns out. Ivy finally thrusting two fingers inside her and making Harley move one of her hands to fist in soft, red hair.

She rides Ivy’s fingers with abandon, feeling Ivy’s tongue against her neck and Ivy’s hand on her breast and Ivy’s heartbeat somehow in her chest, and she’s amazed to realize she doesn’t feel like she could die for this. Like she could kill for this. Because she will never need to.

She feels like she could live for this, though. 

Has she never been in love before?

“Red.” Ivy’s voice comes muffled against Harley’s neck just as she shifts her hand to press her thumb against a swollen clit. 

“What.” Harley can’t even manage to make it a proper question. “Wh-- Fuck , Ives.”

“Is it red?” Ivy’s panting, struggling to push the sound out like she can’t quite decide whether she wants to speak or keep doing whatever black magic she’s doing to Harley’s neck.

“Harder,” Harley’s fist tightens in Ivy’s hair, “so close .”

She doesn’t know what does it. It could be the flick of Pam’s thumb against her clit, or the feeling of Pam’s nails against her breast, or the hickey Pam’s leaving on Harley’s neck. Whatever it is, it makes Harley come with Ivy’s name on her lips and her muscles clenching around Ivy’s fingers until she collapses against Ivy’s solid frame.

“We’re not done yet,” Harley mumbles, shuddering slightly when an aftershock of pleasure jolts up her spine, “don’t you dare fall asleep.”

She feels Pam’s chuckle against her neck even before she hears it.

“I’m not going anywhere, Harls.”

There’s a deep sigh, but this time it comes from Harley instead. “I know.” And she does. She knows .

“So. Was it red?”

“Mhmm,” Harley kisses Pam’s shoulder, “wanna know what red feels like, Pammy?”

She feels Ivy nod against her neck.

“Safe.”

[pagingevilspawn]

Can u write a one shot where jolex's toddler gets bitten by a poisonous spider and they react quickly to help her and has alex calming jo down as she starts freaking out

WARNING: THIS IS SO BAD! Okay, you asked for spiders. That meant doing research. So I looked up poisonous spiders and I saw pictures of spiders. So dear anon, you get a sting instead, because spiders are terrifying to look at and I couldn't glance at it without feeling like they were crawling all over me ;) enjoy! this is the shortest thing i’ve ever written, yikes. 

(another installment of the “payton loves evan peters too much series”)

float like a butterfly, sting like a bee

Jo Karev rested in the chair that sat on the back porch of her house, overlooking the backyard where she watched her three year old son run around with the family dog Muffin. The now full grown Golden Retriever chased after the slobbery green tennis ball the little boy had thrown into the bushes with a great deal of clumsiness, nearly tripping over his own four paws on the way. Jo lets a small laugh escape her lips, picking her glass of lemonade up from the table beside her and taking a leisurely sip, savoring the cool taste it still held since the ice cubes had yet to melt completely.

It was an unusually warm day in Seattle, temperatures reaching eighty-eight degrees despite the fact that it was only spring break, not even summer yet. The sky was clear of any clouds and the light blue proved to be comforting while she sat outside. School had been out for a few days now, so she had heard the neighborhood kids playing around in their yards, a large difference from the usually close to silent street. Only her and one other family on the block had a child that wasn’t in school yet, so the outside noise levels had steadily increased since the rest of the kids joined in on the early morning activities. More than once she had heard a couple of pre-teens race down the streets on their skateboards. Not that she minded, she loved seeing all the kids enjoy themselves, and she loved it even more for her son. Growing up she never had a life like this. It was refreshing to know that her baby boy wouldn’t grow up the same ways she and Alex had.  

A large grin paints her lips as she watches her son try to hug Muffin, since he had quickly gotten bored with playing fetch. Not to mention, the little boy always hated how wet the ball got after it had been in the dog’s mouth. Jo couldn’t blame him, she felt the same way. Alex teased them both relentlessly for it, frequently making sure to toss the slobbery ball in their direction, just so that they would need to be the ones to tear it out of the golden’s mouth.

A small kiss on the top of her head tears her gaze away from the scene in front of her, looking up to meet her husband’s eyes. He, like her, was still dressed in pajamas, despite it already almost being eleven am. They both had gotten the day off and were relishing in the free time they got to spend by themselves and with their son. 

“Kyle, careful.” Jo chastises the boy as the little Karev almost falls face first into a patch of flowers. She sees Alex sit beside her on another chair out of the corner of her eye, his brown hair messy and out of place falling into his eyes, a cup of coffee clutched in his right hand. He had gotten up the same time she did that day, eight thirty on the dot, also known as the time their son came bouncing into their room, jumping up and down on them until they finally gave in and didn't try to go back to sleep. Alex had a long night, not getting home until close to three am, only to wake up a few hours later with a bunch of paperwork he needed to do. She had a feeling he had fallen asleep halfway through, since he looked like he had just gotten out of bed. 

“Morning” he greets her, taking a sip of his drink, watching her from the side as he does so. His wife was beautiful every single time he looked at her, but something about seeing her make-up free, hair pulled up into a messy bun, and oversized clothes was when he always thought she looked her best. Then, he could see the light freckles she had sprinkled on her nose, something he had found annoyingly cute the first time he first saw them (he teased her about them way too often for her own liking). 

Jo hums in response, reaching for his hand and quickly entangling their fingers. A quiet peace settled around them, the only sounds in the air were Kyle’s laughter and faint voices of kids down the street. She closes her eyes and leans back into her seat, feeling the warm sun hit her face, causing a small smile to appear from the heat. Moments like these were rare, no matter how much they both tried to make them happen. They were both constantly getting called into cases, Jo even more so since she had switched to OB and now not only delivered babies, but preformed fetal surgery on them as well. Spending time with their son together was tough, since they worked late nights and had complete opposite schedules some days, so they grasped onto days like these and held them close. 

Ask either one of them, the scene in front of them was almost comical. If someone were to tell Alex Karev ten years ago that he would be married to the love of his life and have a three year old son he would’ve thought they were crazy. The same goes for Jo. When she was just an intern she was fearful for her life, her identity, knowing that at any second Paul could find her. The wide-eyed twenty-six year old would’ve never expected she would’ve gotten to such a happy place in her life. 

It was essentially a perfect day. The sun was out and Kyle was enjoying himself with Muffin, both Jo and Alex had time to relax and not stress about upcoming surgeries or patients back at the hospital. But of course, their perfect bubble popped when they heard a wail come from the corner of the yard, where their son was clutching his upper arm, face red and puffy as tears streamed down it. 

The two sprang into action immediately not only their parent side, but the doctor side coming out in a split second, jumping out of their chairs and dashing across the lawn, a hundred of different scenarios running through their heads by the second. 

Did he break his arm?

Trip and fall?

Get a deep scratch from a bush?

Hit his head?

Twist his ankle?

Run into something?

Jo gets to him first, pulling the little shaggy brown haired boy into her arms and wiping away his tears, his pink lips trembling as he tries to put on a brave face. He was always a show off around his mom, ever since he was born, constantly trying to earn her praise and make her laugh until she had tears coming out of her eyes. (It surprisingly wasn’t that hard of a task, Kyle was quite the comedian, as it turns out.) 

“What happened baby?” Jo coos, sad hazel eyes looking to Alex, who was trying to peel the boy’s tiny hand away from his arm. 

“A w-wasp.” Kyle buries his head into the crook of Jo’s neck, a few stray tears making its way down his face and onto the collar of her ratty old t-shirt that was actually her husband’s. She sees Alex let out an audible sigh of relief alongside a small chuckle, but Jo just sends him a glare. Harsh? Yes. But her baby boy was hurting, which was no laughing matter in her book. She didn’t care if Kyle had a papercut or had broken his leg, she would react the same way. 

Alex uses the end of his shirt to remove the stinger from Kyle’s arm, making sure to pick it up and toss it to where the three year old wouldn’t be able to step in it. “I’ll go get some ice.” he murmurs, ruffling the little brunette’s hair before jogging back to the house, returning a few minutes later with a bag of ice wrapped in a layer of a thin paper towel.

“Here you go buddy,” he places the ice pack on the slightly swollen red area, seeing his son wince slightly at the cold. 

Jo rocks him back and forth in her lap, placing tiny kisses on the top of his head, listening to his quiet sniffles. Her strong boy, never wanting anybody to know that he was hurting. Granted, it was just a wasp sting, but Kyle had gotten barely any injuries except for a scrape on the knee here and there from running around. For only three years old, he was surprisingly agile, differing greatly from his parents, since Alex practically tripped on anything in his path and Jo was prone to stubbing her toe at least once a day. (Her record was five just at the hospital; one gurney, a nurse’s counter, a doorway, a couch, and a table in the attendings lounge. She had lost count once she got home.)

Jo feels uneasy, protective mommy instincts kicking in and flow through her like a rapid river. “Should we take him to the hospital?” she runs a hand through the boy’s hair, untying any little knots that had formed from his mini adventures. 

Alex snorts, chuckling to himself. Real funny Jo. 

He feels a pair of eyes on him, looking up tentatively to meet his wife’s narrowed slits, glaring at him harshly. He raises his eyebrows, “You’re joking right?”

That only seems to set Jo off, as she opens her mouth in offense. He knows he’s about to get a lecture.  

“Are you joking?” She questions, her tone borderline terrifying as she sends daggers to her husband. 

Alex sighs, running a hand down his face. “Jo, it’s a bee sting.” he puts his hands behind him, leaning back onto his palms, ignoring the grass was still partially wet, despite the fact that the sprinklers hadn’t been on for over an hour and a half now. (Their grass seemed to not have the ability to absorb water, which might actually be because of the soil and not the actual grass itself, but who knows.)  

“And how do we know he’s not allergic!” the brunette argues back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, gaze never wavering from his. 

“Jo, he’s not allergic.” he says exasperatedly. He knew for a fact that he and Jo could go at this for hours. More than once they’d been able to turn a thirty second argument into a two hour back and forth, switching the subjects more times than they could count, but somehow it always still came back to their original topic of discussion. He loved those fights, and he knew she did too. They thoroughly enjoyed getting to pick apart the other’s brain in something other than a new surgical procedure, suture technique, or way to get Kyle’s clothes to not look like they had been thrown in a pile of mud by the end of the day. All couple’s had their thing, and theirs was bickering like they had been married for sixty years. 

But as much as he loved those fights, he didn’t want another one of those right now. All he wanted to do that day was spend his free day off with the two most important people in his life without a care in the world. Of course, part of that had already gone down the drain, since his son had a swelling red spot on his arm and his wife was pissed at him. 

The woman glares at him, “You don’t know that”.

Alex sighs, “Jo.” he deadpans. “Is he wheezing or having trouble swallowing?”

Jo looks away, avoiding eye contact as she purses her lips. “No.” 

“Is there swelling on his face, throat, or tongue?” He hears Jo’s voice get quieter, still making sure not to look at him. 

“No.” 

“Is he experiencing dizziness, hives, a rapid p-” 

She cuts him off, throwing her hands up and sighing in defeat, “Fine! He’s not allergic.” she mumbles, causing Kyle to look up at his mom, nerves etched onto his face. 

“Mommy why are you yelling?” he questions, placing his small palm on her cheek. Jo takes his hand and pretends to eat it, making the little boy shriek with glee as he squirms in her lap like a wiggly worm. 

“Daddy was just being a big butthead because Mommy was worried about you. Weren’t you being a big butthead Daddy?” Jo smirks at him, more than glad to have her son on her side. Kyle was a momma’s boy since birth, and it didn’t seem like he had plans on changing anytime soon. Thank god, because she didn’t know what she would do when Kyle stopped coming to her for nightly cuddles. She supposed she had a few more years until that happened though, much to her relief.

Alex playfully narrows his eyes at her, taking Kyle from her hold and standing up with him latched onto his hip. “Yep, I was a big butthead. Don’t say that word though bud, it’s not nice.” 

The boy grins, his smile toothy and crooked. “Then don’t be a butthead.” he says matter-of-factly, wrapping his arms around his dad’s neck as the three make their way inside the house, Muffin trailing not far behind, wet paws making small spots on the wood. 

Alex laughs, giving Kyle a pat on the back. “I won’t be a butthead buddy. I won’t be a butthead.” He gives Jo a smile, taking in the way her eyes light up at the sight of her two favorite boys joking and playing around with each other. 

Alex leans closer to Jo, whispering so Kyle couldn’t hear them. “I’m the peds surgeon Jo, which means I'm always right.” he smirks triumphantly. 

The brunette’s mouth opens wide, partially scandalized. She slaps him on the arm, the grin never leaving her face as they enter the kitchen through the backdoor. “Asshole!”

[lucacangettathisass]

JOUST (Chapter One)

SUMMARY: Following a mix up that would only be funny if it were happening to an anime character, my Japanese host family turns out to have only a son, who I will also be rooming with at his school, Shiratorizawa Academy. Christ knows how it could get any worse from here.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: None

TAGLIST:@youidiot91 @meemsx @squishyrobbie @total-insanity @oneshotofvodkaa @moons-and-stars-and-shit

NOTES: I really want to thank everyone who has shown an interest in this fic, it really means a lot! I can’t gaurantee an upload schedule as things are weird rn, but I’ll try to upload as often as possible. So, without further ado, here it is!

And if you want to be added to the taglist just lmk!

CHAPTER ONE

Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,

Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven,

Whiles, like a puffed and reckless libertine,

Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,

And recks not his own rede.

-William Shakespeare

And the rest is rust and stardust

-Vladimir Nabokov

The oddness of the situation truly didn’t come to me until after I had landed in Sendai Airport, which of the two airports I have been to, was definitely the bigger and nicer one.

After flying for essentially twenty four hours, I was eager to stretch my legs, and I had to hold back my groans of satisfaction as I was finally able to move my body outside of the confined space of the plane. I navigated myself through the crowd, taking great pains to avoid colliding with anyone, and apologising if I accidentally got too close, until I came across an empty patch of floor beside a wall, where I proceeded to stand. At that moment in time, anything seemed better than sitting.

Alone and away from the crowd, I dug into the Kuromi sports bag on my left shoulder, resting my My Melody carry-on against the wall, pulling out the folder I had made that contained the info on my host family, reading through it for the umpteenth time.

The Goshiki family, consisting of the father, Hideaki, his wife, Mayumi, and their son, Tsutomu.

That was the odd thing that had suddenly struck me. There was no mention of a daughter of any kind, or any other female relative that stayed with them. I had been too full of excitement and nerves to really think about it before, but now that I was, it did seem odd.

‘I wonder why a family with only a son would host someone from an all girls school.’ I tried to think of an explanation, but my brain was so fried from the flight that I could barely muster up anything. So I shrugged, put the file back, and went on to find the luggage check in.

When I arrived at the luggage carousel, I was surprised to see a family of three there, holding up a sign. A sudden, strong feeling came over me, and I looked up at their sign. It read Welcome Cody Smith, in tall, proud kanji. This was them, it had to be. So, seeing little other options, I approached them.

“H-Hello?” My voice cracked a little due to nerves, and I quickly cleared my throat, scrambling to remember the Japanese I had learned. “I’m Cody.” I bowed quickly, and as deeply as I could manage without completely falling over. “Thank you for welcoming me into your home.”

There was a pause, and I felt my face heat up in the heavy silence. I slowly stood back up, looking over their confused faces.

“I-I’m sorry.” A middle aged man, who I assumed to be Mr Goshiki, said, rather awkwardly. “We...well we were expecting a uh…boy.”

I blinked, trying to quickly translate what he had said in my head, and process it. “Oh.” I said, because I really didn’t know what else to say.

“Hideaki!” His wife scolded, clearly unimpressed with her husband’s bluntness. She turned to me and smiled kindly, although even I couldn’t miss her blush. “It isn’t your fault honey.” She assured me. “Tomu, say hello.”

I turned my attention to the son, who struck me as having intense Rock Lee energy, and not just because of the bowl cut. He looked serious and determined, with a furrowed brow, like he was about to go into battle or something. He bowed, just like I had, but with...conviction, somehow, if that were possible. “I am Tsutomu Goshiki!” He declared, so loudly that a few people were staring. “And I am honoured to be your host brother!”

Startled, and even more sure of the Rock Lee comparison, I could only stare down at him, a boy who I knew was the same age as me, yet seemed to want to carry himself with the dignity and seriousness of a man his father’s age. “Oh. Um. Hi.” I only barely managed to get the word out, a little bewildered at what I considered to be an over the top greeting.

He remained in his stance, upper body perfectly parallel to the ground, as I continued to stare. I saw him lift his head a little, and his eyelids flicker. I tilted my head to the side a little so I could actually see him without my chest obstructing my view. We maintained eye contact for a few seconds, before he stood up right again, practically snapping his body into position with such speed and force that I actually felt a slight breeze. “Let me help with your luggage!” He said as a declaration again, as if this was something deadly serious. “Which bags are yours?”

“Uh, they haven’t shown up yet.” I nervously glanced around, noting all the looks from strangers.

“Calm down now Tomu.” Mrs Goshiki said, with a mother’s fondness, clearly used to this. “I’m sure Cody is tired.”

“Coco.”

“Hm?” Mrs Goshiki turned to me.

I started to blush again, and I looked down shyly. “I uh...I would prefer it if you called me Coco.”

“Oh. Alright then honey, sure thing.”

I looked back up at her and smiled gratefully. “Thanks.” I looked back at the luggage carousel, watching as one bag after another made its way around on the conveyor belt, waiting for mine.

“There you are.”

I walked up to the conveyor belt, hand outstretched to grab the bright pink, Hello Kitty suitcase.

“Let me!”

Before I could react, Tsutomu suddenly appeared, yanking the suitcases. “Is the other Hello Kitty one yours too?”

“Uh, yeah, but I can-”

Thunk!

I stood there, somewhat awkwardly, as Tsutomu stood there, one of my suitcases in each hand, looking so serious that it made the situation comical. “Allow me!” He said, already walking on ahead. “As your host brother, it’s my job to help you settle in and make things easier for you.”

Deciding that it would be more trouble than it was really worth to argue, I quietly followed, trying to ignore all the curious eyes. ‘I wonder if he would’ve done that if I was a boy.’

-

During the car ride back to the Goshiki residence, I listened as Tsutomu told me all about Shiratorizawa Academy. Since I was arriving only a month after the beginning of the school year, I hadn’t missed much, but I would still need to work hard to catch up.

(“It’s a really tough school.” He had said. “But you wouldn’t be sent here if you weren’t able to hack it, so I believe in you.”

“Thanks.”)

But he spent most of his time talking about the volleyball team.

Being utterly ignorant to all things volleyball, I had a hard time keeping up. I got that he was an outside hitter-whatever that meant-and that the Shiratorizawa team was considered to be the best in the whole Miyagi Prefecture. And, what’s more, their captain and ace player, Wakatoshi Ushijima, was considered the number one ace among high school volleyball players, and was even selected for Japan’s under 19 Youth World Championship team. Despite my lack of knowledge, even I was able to tell that that was a big deal.

“And this year we’re going to go to nationals and win!” Tsutomu said excitedly, and with such conviction that I wouldn’t be surprised if that alone won them first place. “Hey! You should see us practice!”

“Oh, uh, I don’t know.” I said, honestly surprised by the suggestion. “I don’t really know anything about volleyball so....”

“You can still just watch.” He insisted. “And I can introduce you to the guys so you’ll know more people.”

“Tomu…”

Tsutomu turned to face his mother, who was looking over her shoulder at us. Evidently, the use of the nickname was enough to get her point across.

I looked out the window, resting my forehead against the glass, watching a city I had only seen in pictures and video go by me.

-

I woke with a start, eyes wide, looking around so quickly that I banged my head. “Ow.” I looked up, and saw that I had hit the glass of the car window.

“Good timing.” Mr Goshiki said, the first words I heard him say since the airport. “We’re here.”

I blinked and nodded, stifling a yawn as I got out of the car. I went to the back to get my luggage, but Tsutomu already had it covered, taking my suitcases up to the impressively sized house. While I was reeling from his speed, Mr and Mrs Goshiki took my sports bag and carry-on respectively, leaving me standing in their driveway.

I had no other choice but to quietly follow them, up the path, and to the door, taking my shoes off immediately upon entering.

“You’ll mostly be staying in Shiratorizawa’s dorms.” Mrs Goshiki said. “But during the holidays and, if you like, the weekends, you’ll be here with us.” She went up the stairs, followed by her husband and son so, naturally, I went with them.

“This will be your room when you’re here.” She said, opening the door to a spacious bedroom. It was sparsely furnished, with only a bed, a small bedside table, a bookcase, and a reasonably sized vanity. “You can decorate it however you want.”

“Thank you.” I somehow managed to find my voice again. I turned to face the entire family and bowed again, a little deeper this time, hoping it would be enough. “You’re all very kind.”

Mr Goshiki chuckled. “It’s fine, you don’t need to bow.”

I straightened up, mumbling a small and embarrassed “Sorry.”

“We’ll leave you to get unpacked.” Mrs Goshiki said. “You’ve got your own bathroom through there,” she pointed to a door on the left wall, “and Tomu’s room is right across the hall. Hide and I will be down the hall on the right. You get yourself settled in while I prep dinner.” She gave me one last comforting smile and with that, the family filed out, Tsutomu closing the door behind him.

I let out a deep sigh, looking around the room, and back down at my bags.

‘Better not unpack too much if I’ll be staying in a dorm.’

-

About two hours later, there was a knock at the door, making me pause in my arranging of the closet in my new room. “Yes?”

“It’s Tsutomu.” His voice was a little muffled by the door, but I could definitely tell it was him. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Alright, be right down.” I got up and went over to the door, only to find Tsutomu was still there when I opened it.

“Did you need help with anything?”

“Oh, ah, no. I’m all good.”

Tsutomu looked like he was about to press the issue, but he seemed to think better of it, and simply went on ahead down the stairs. “My mum made ramen, don’t worry it’s vegan like you put on the form.”

“Cool.” I blushed, remembering filling out that field and now wondering why I did so, when I knew that it would no doubt be a hassle.

I followed Tsutomu into the dinning room, and the two of us joined his parents at the table, big bowls of still warm ramen in front of us. After a quick prayer we tucked in. I had no idea if Mrs Goshiki had any experience with vegan food before, but if she hadn’t, that made the ramen all the more impressive.

The noodles weren’t too firm, nor was the broth too rich. The mushrooms were perfectly tender, and there was just the right amount of vegetables and tofu to balance everything out. I already knew that I was going to find out Mrs Goshiki’s recipe and learn how to make it.

“So what made you decide to do this exchange?”

I looked up at Mr Goshiki and shrugged, swallowing down the noodles and mushrooms. “Just felt like something different I guess.” I idly swirled the broth around. “And, I mean, I’m interested in Japan, so I figured I would take my chance.”

“Really? Why Japan?”

‘Don’t say anime and look like a weeb don’t say anime and look like weeb don’t say anime and look like a weeb I swear to fuck if you do that shit I am shutting this whole operation down.’

“Mostly how different it is from New Zealand.” I said. “An entirely different culture in an entirely different continent, I don’t know, just the usual curiosity I guess.”

‘You live another day.’

-

Dinner passed with regular small talk, with the Goshiki family getting to know more about me and vice versa. I offered to help Mrs Goshiki with the dishes, but she insisted I ‘go right to bed and get some much needed rest’.

The only problem was, despite the fact that it was the middle of the night, I was still wide awake.

‘I guess this is jet lag.’

I stared up at the ceiling, waiting for my eyelids to droop, and for sleep to take me, but alas, it proved to be as evasive as ever.

Sighing in defeat, I got out of bed, went over to the bookshelf, and got back under the blankets with My Melody, and began to re-read Hamlet, again.

[pedropascalssimp]

Surprise!

Pedro Pascal x reader

Request:okay sad mood? happy request. okay so. get this. pedro’s at comic con. his girlfriend (or wife or i dunno) surprises him during the photo ops and he’s like ‘JALSKIDD WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE IN NEW YORK’ and i have no other ideas i’m sorry 👉👈🥺

Summary: y/n (pedro's girlfriend) decides that after so many weeks apart she can't go another day without seeing him. So she gives him a surprise visit while he's filming for his new show.

Warnings: its short. fluff and more fluff?

A/n: I hope you don't mind but I decided to make it be the reader surprising him on set of the mandalorian.....😶👉👈I'm sorry

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

It's been weeks since you last saw pedro in person, his job keeping him away from you. And although you was happy for him and his new project, it left you feeling alone. But you kept those feelings to yourself not wanting to worry your beloved boyfriend considering he was over the moon about his new role.

And to be honest so was you.

The smile that lit up his face when he realized he had the part in the TV show the mandalorian he was so excited, he even done a little victory dance which your heart nearly exploded over considering his dancing is adorable, And dorky.

over the last two weeks he has been calling you every chance he gets, and throughout breaks of filming he texts you sweet little things and such. That's something you love about him, he always tries his hardest to keep in contact with you, making it his goal to let you know how much he loves you. And you do the same thing.

Like right now, you was laid on the sofa as some show was playing on TV, but your attention was on your phone as you wait for his usual call, the cellphone setting on your chest as you patiently wait.

And as you expected it rang, his contact photo popping up making your heart do flips. You quickly sit up and grab it, answering it with a smile.

" hello!? " you say excitedly into the phone, hearing his giggle on the other side.

" hello mi amor, how is you're day been? " he replied, you could practically hear the smile on his face as he spoke, his voice making you softly sigh in contentment and lay back down on the sofa.

" it's been alright, I nearly burnt the appartment down trying to cook ramen noodles on the stove " you tell him, he laughs on the other end, a soft amused smile playing on your lips.

" I wouldn't doubt it, you're cooking skills are terrible, No offense! "

" hey! You said you love my cooking! " you pout, a little frown on your face, you thought he actually liked your....good cooking skills.

" but that's only because I hadn't eaten all day when you fixed me a meal..." he laughed, the sound a beautiful melody you could listen to for eternity.

You scoff as you sit up on the sofa and start flipping through the channels on TV, " and that's why we either eat take-out or you cook mr. Pascal " you grumbled.

" because I'm a better cook? " he asks amused, you giggle.

" of course you are " you tell him honestly. He chuckles, but that chuckle turns into a little sigh as his end gets quiet for a moment.

" Te extraño tanto mi amor " he says in a quiet manner, that's when you detect the tiredness in his voice. You sigh as well and put the TV remote down. Your heart fluttering at his accent you love so dearly.

" I have no idea what you just said, except for the end part, I understand that " you say in a whisper, a sheepish smile on your lips.

He chuckles with a sigh, " I said I miss you " he explained.

" I miss you too pedro, and sadly even you're terrible dad jokes that always seem to make me laugh for some odd reason, even though they're not funny.... " you tell him, he chuckles once more making a small smile appear on your face.

" and here I thought you actually appreciated them! " he jokes with fake betrayal making you laugh out loudly.

" I do! ...." you trail off with a teasing grin.

" I since a but somewhere in there " he states. You giggle and decide to continue.

" but...There really not that funny. " you reply as he gasps dramatically.

" how could you not find them funny!? " he exclaimed. Just as you was about to reassure him that they was somewhat funny, he cuts you off. " I have to go y/n, duty calls." he said sadly making you sigh. You wished you could talk to him longer, but you knew he had to go.

" okay, I hope you have a good day and I love you Pedro. " you say. You can hear him letting out a exhausted huff.

" I love you more y/n, I'll call you tonight bye. " he mumbled into the phone and hanging up.

You sigh and hang up as well, already missing the sound of his voice. You wished more then anything to just hug the man tightly, kiss every inch of his face and tell him how much you love him. But you still had a while until that moment comes.

Unless....

You smile widely as the idea that has just ran across your mind causes your heart to pound in excitement. Without a second thought you pull your phone back up and start sorting out your plan.

___________________________________________

To long, it's been to long since Pedro has slept peacefully or held his love, telling her how much he loves her. He misses going to sleep gazing into her beautiful y/e/c eyes, waking up in her arms as she snores softly. He misses giving her kisses, tight hugs and their usual little cuddles they can't go a day without.

He doesn't know if he can go another day without her.

As Pedro changes out of his mandalorain costume and into his normal clothes putting his black glasses on, he prepares to leave the set and go get some rest in his hotel, after he calls y/n of course.

Right when he opened the door he was greated by a grinning Gina. Confused he goes to ask her why she was standing outside his dressing room and not leaving set until she literally drags him out of the room and throughout the building.

" Gina?! Do you mind telling me what's happening right now?" he asks, she only smiles at him.

" it's a surprise Pedro" is all she said before they reached the area of the building where they usually have lunch breaks.

And that's when he sees her, a smile on her face and eyes glued to her hands nervously as she waits fot Gina get back. His love, his y/n.

Pedro literally feels his heart flutter at the sight of her. And when she looks up to see him, her heart melts at the sight of him, his adorable glasses and big smile on his face. She runs to him, his name falling from her lips in glee.

He meets her halfway and engulfed her in a tight hug, spinning her around as he lifts her up. She giggles at him. Once he stops spinning and puts her back down he brings his hands up to cup both her cheeks and look deep into her beautiful eyes, her eyes gazing into his coffee brown eyes with so much love.

" ¡Mi amor, te ves tan hermosa! ¿No puedo creer que estés aquí " he rushed out excitedly making the woman's face glow with happiness. Her arms around his neck as she giggles up at him.

" I couldn't handle not seeing you for another day, I needed to see you Pedro..." she explained, he smiles down at her with his adorable smile. She then quickly leans up, softly capturing his lips with hers in a soft kiss. He smiles into the kiss and closes his eyes. Both souls forgetting about Gina being in the room.

But she quickly walks out the room grinning with amusement at the love birds.

" I thought you was in New York!?" he asks his girlfriend with a smile, after they broke the kiss. She sighs dreamily up at him.

" well I was until I decided to pay you a visit " she says with such love as she adoringly kisses his nose, but he pulls her in for another short but loving kiss. His lips against her soft ones as they moved together perfectly.

As they pull apart y/n softly smirks at the man. While he leans his forehead on hers. " so.... About what you said about my cooking skills?" she asks with a playful tone.

He rolls his eyes and chuckles, " at least I didn't make fun of you're jokes like you did mine." he muttered accusing y/n on how she talked about his dad jokes. A pout on his face.

She then rolls her eyes and laughs at him. Slowly dragging her hand across his shoulder and up to his slightly scruffy cheek, admiring his gorgeous eyes and little patches of hair she absolutely loves. It was in this moment she realizes how lucky she is to have this man in her arms, her heart swelling at the loving and adoring look in his eyes as they flicker across her face.

" I missed you so much y/n..." he whispers, his voice soothing to hear in person and not over a phone.

" I missed you too pedro" she smiles at him as she tries not to get overwhelmed by this man, finally being with him again just amazed her and him both.

They both stared at each other as they stood in the lunch room of the building he worked at, the love around them visible to anyone who walked by. The two souls talking away at what their lives was like when they was away, talking about how much they missed each other.

And when they went back to pedro’s hotel room and cuddled the night away, Pedro finally fell asleep peacefully. Because now he had his beautiful y/n.

___________________________________________

A/n: okay so this is pure garbage.

Also the translations is this: (I miss you my love.)

(my love you look so beautiful, what are you doing here?!)

Also I'm not sure if it's accurate considering I used Google translation... So...

I hope u dudes enjoy this trash I've thrown together!

[jornthur]

“Unshaken” Chapter II

Originally posted: March 13, 2020

Arthur Morgan x Reader, Slow-Burn Romance

Summary: You save a mysterious man who is dying on a mountain. Finding out he has Tuberculosis, you use your knowledge and skills with herbs and natural remedies to save him from death and help nurse him back to health. As he slowly starts to recover, you can’t help but wonder: Who is this man? Why had you found him the way that you did, beaten and ill? Only time, patience … and perhaps love … will tell.

•••••

A large buck.

Arthur narrowed his eyes as he saw the creature in the distance, its head bent to the ground as it nipped at the blades of grass. He could’ve sworn he’d seen it before, but where the hell was he this time?

He looked around, taking in the hazy surroundings. The forest was thick with tall trees and wild foliage, the flora consisting of many different and beautiful colors. He could hear birds tittering high up in the branches as the sun’s rays shined through the trees’ thick canopies.

Was he dreaming again?

Arthur tried moving, taking a single step forward —

The buck jerked its head up from where it was grazing, looking over in his direction, directly into his eyes.

Arthur froze, his entire body going still as he looked into those eyes …

They were his own.

A single heartbeat sounded, and suddenly he felt a strong pull as he was sucked right into the stare.

Arthur jerked awake, his eyes opening as he let out a hard gasp. The sudden inhale caused a sharp pain to stab through his chest and he grimaced, letting out a deep groan.

He blinked, a mysterious bright light nearly blinding him. With a grunt he grimaced as he made an effort to lift his head. Sunlight was shining directly on his face, and he couldn’t see a damn thing. His vision was so blurry and he blinked a few more times in an effort to clear it up. Looking around, he tried to take in his surroundings.

Where the hell was he? The last thing he remembered was the feeling of the unforgiving rocky ground. Now he felt nothing but soft cushions beneath his body.

Arthur looked down and noticed that a thick wool blanket was covering him up from his shoulders down. He seemed to be lying on a large couch … in someone’s house?

He tried to move, but his body didn’t obey. It felt almost as though his limbs were completely paralyzed, as if he’d been drugged. His entire body might as well have been a limp wooden board.

Gathering up all the energy he could, he gradually brought his hand up from his side and lightly gripped the hem of the blanket. Lifting it up slowly, he looked down and saw that he was naked from the waist up, and his entire upper body had been patched up in several areas with thick bandages. Some more bloody than others.

What the hell had happened?

Voices started drifting into his head and he looked around, trying to figure out where they were coming from. He took in the cobblestone fireplace on the other side of the room, a full bookshelf, a couple sitting chairs — whose place was this? There was an open doorway across the room, and the voices seemed to be coming from there. The voices sounded like a man and woman — arguing?

“We can’t afford to be takin’ care of this stranger, Y/N! We’re barely gettin’ by as it is.” The man’s voice sounded angry, having a slight southern touch to his accent.

Stranger? Were they talking about him?

“For the last time, Austin, his name is Arthur! And you need to quit your complainin’!” A woman’s voice that time. Her voice had a somewhat southern lilt to it as well, similar to the man’s but a bit stronger. Who were these people?

Arthur squinted, trying to recall what had happened. He had no clue where he was — how did he get here? No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t seem to remember a damn thing.

Arthur frowned, suddenly realizing that the woman had said his name. How did she know it?

“I don’t give a damn what his name is! You’re wastin’ all our resources on a stranger who’s on the brink of death as it is,” the man snapped.

“This man needed help, Austin. What was I supposed to do? Just leave him there?”

The man named Austin seemed relentless. “You could’ve been killed, Y/N! It could’ve been a trap, what if it’d been an ambush? What would I have told Pa if you’d gotten hurt?”

Y/N … he could’ve sworn he heard that name before. A blurry image of a woman’s face flashed through his mind, and he groaned as the vision caused a sharp stabbing pain in his head.

“I’m sick and tired of arguin’ with you on this, Austin. Nothing bad happened, and I don’t know what else to tell you. You need to get over this already!”

The voices stopped then, and the woman Arthur had been hearing suddenly appeared in the doorway across the room. She stilled right in her tracks, seeming to notice that he had woken up.

•••••

You were getting weary of Austin’s squabbles.

No matter how many times you tried to make your brother see reason he absolutely refused to hear it. Austin had completely lost all rational thought when it came to Arthur’s presence in the cabin, and he took every opportunity he could to remind you how stupid he thought you were for what you did.

You were tired of his behavior, though. Of course, you knew Austin loved you — though he sure had a funny way of showing it sometimes — but his over-protective nature could get a little grating, more often than not. However, he was family, and you couldn’t blame him for wanting to keep you safe.

Still, though, his bellyaching was getting rather annoying. For the past three days Austin had been constantly on your back about you taking the injured man into your cabin and caring for him, and his anger was really starting to irk you.

Really, what else could you have possibly done?

This man … Arthur … he would’ve died on that mountain had you not found him. He’d looked so defenseless, so cold and weak, lying on that unforgiving ground. You knew deep down that you would not have been able to live with yourself had you just left him there.

You turned away from Austin, ready to storm right out of the cabin. There would never be any persuading your brother, and you could no longer stand to be in the same room with him anymore.

Planning to step outside to walk off your frustrations and get some fresh air, you abruptly halted in the doorway to the sitting room at the sight before you.

Arthur was awake, his eyes staring directly at you from across the room. You smiled and walked over to him, kneeling down by his side so that you were face-to-face. “Mornin’, Arthur,” you said in a gentle tone, “How’re you feelin’?”

He didn’t answer right away, seeming to examine you further with his blue-green eyes.

After several seconds passed, he opened his mouth but Austin suddenly came rushing into the room, addressing Arthur with an aggressive tone, “If you dare try anythin’ stupid, cowpoke, I’ll make sure you — ”

You’d had enough, you snapped your head around and glared at your brother, “Get out of here, Austin! Go check on the horses, clean the stables. I don’t care, just get the hell out!”

Austin gave you a pained look, “Y/N, I don’t want you near this man, especially when he’s awake,” he said, adding the last part through gritted teeth. Then he lowered his voice, his tone sounding worried, “What if he tries to harm you?”

You almost felt the strong need to roll your eyes. “Does he look like the sort of man that would try to harm me?”

Austin shot his gaze at Arthur and then back at you, “Yes.”

A short laugh escaped you at the disgusted expression he was making. You couldn’t help it, your brother’s lack of hesitation and how quick he’d been with his answer was almost comical. “Austin, the man is unwell and drugged. He’s not going to try anything on me, not even if he wanted to.”

Austin looked a bit skeptical, but finally gave a reluctant nod. “Fine, I’ll be outside choppin’ wood and takin’ care of the horses,” he shot another glare at Arthur as if in warning, adding darkly, “Shout if you need anythin’.”

You let out a sigh, and gave your brother a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. Just let me take care of him, please.”

Austin let out a hard grunt, then turned away and left the cabin through the front door, finally leaving you and the conscious Arthur alone.

You looked back down at Arthur to see that he was staring up at you with a confused expression on his face, those thick brows drawn down tight over his blue-green eyes.

“I’ve got — ” he took a deep breath and let out a long groan “ — so many damn questions.” Another big breath, his chest rising and falling as he flinched. He sounded exasperated, his tone dark and rough, “What the hell’s … goin’ on?”

His voice was much stronger than it had been before, having a heavily accented western drawl to it. It was deep, heavy … how in the world could any man possess such a voice?

You shook yourself away from that thought, focusing on what he’d just said. “Can you remember anything about what happened?” You asked, reaching out and lifting up the thick blanket to examine the old bandages.

Arthur just shook his head in response, “No … can’t say I can.”

After he’d given you his name the other day, he’d passed out soon afterwards from the drug you’d given him. You’d gone to work immediately on examining, cleaning and dressing the wounds on the rest of his body. Since then you’d changed the dressing a couple more times, and now it looked like it was time to do it again.

“Where am I?” He asked you as you stood up to walk into the kitchen and wash your hands in the sink.

The drugs that were being given to him were messing with his memory, but that was to be expected. The anesthetic on top of the herbs you had been treating him with for the past few days were having side effects on him, temporarily clouding up his mind. The medicinal properties tended to have strange and similar side effects on animals you’d treated in the past, making them behave rather strangely.

Treating a human … it was almost foreign.

“You’re in our cabin,” you answered him, “just north of Roanoke Ridge, we live right above Cerberus Falls, near Brandywine.” Once you finished drying your hands with a fresh cloth, you went over to your office, gathering fresh medicinal supplies from your desk.

“How’d I get here?” He asked, taking another deep breath. He let out a hard cough, and you looked over your shoulder to see that he was trying to sit up.

Rushing back over to him, you quickly set the supplies on the side table and placed a hand on his chest, gently pushing to urge him to lay back down.

“You need to lie still.” Keeping you tone soft in an effort to soothe him, you wondered about his last question. Had he forgotten everything from the other night? “We heard gunshots and my brother Austin and I found you on a mountain near O’Creagh’s Run.” You urged him down with your hand until he was lying flat on his back again. “We brought you back here, and I’ve been taking care of you for the past few days — but you have a long while until you’re well enough to get back on your feet.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, as if he were trying to remember the events of that night. “You found me on the mountain?” He asked, his voice graveled.

“Yes.” You took the blanket off of him and set it on the floor, getting to work on taking off the old bandages. “You were extremely weak, you were bleeding and having trouble breathing.”

Those last words made his eyes widen, as if he was suddenly frightened by something.

Instantly Arthur tried to sit up again, his upper body shooting up and startling you, but you quickly overcame your surprise and tried to get him to settle down. Placing a firm hand on his chest, you pushed him back down, trying to get him to relax. “Please, Arthur, I need you to stay still.”

“Get away from me, woman,” he snapped, struggling against your hold. You weren’t all that strong to hold such a large man down, but the state he was in helped in your favor.

You glared at him then, “My name is Y/N, not ‘woman.’ Everything is alright, Arthur, please calm down.” You were trying to keep your voice low in an effort to calm his nerves, but it wasn’t helping. “Please, you really need to rest.”

“No,” he said firmly, almost sounding fearful as he let out another cough. “I got TB, I don’t want … you gettin’ sick cuz of me.”

His unexpected words touched you, almost taking you aback. Here he was, hurt and bare, and he was trying to put you before his own health … even though he barely knew you.

“Arthur, it’s alright,” you said softly, “You won’t get me sick. I got treatments to prevent that from happening.”

Arthur suddenly stopped his struggles, his head turning back to you with a mixed look of surprise and confusion plastered on his face. “Treatments?” He asked, his voice matching the expression he made.

You nodded, “Yes, I’m a doctor that specializes in experimenting on natural remedies for diseases. Tuberculosis is one of them.” You began washing his wounds and redressing them with fresh bandages. Some of them were still more raw than others, but they were already looking much better than they’d had before.

As you worked on securing the bandages, you felt Arthur’s gaze on you. You tried to ignore the stare at first as you finished patching him up, but it went on for so long you couldn’t help but start to feel a little uncomfortable.

“What?” You asked, finally allowing yourself to look up at him as you finished the last patch.

“You … you treat TB?”

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded, “Yes, kind of … though this is my first time doing it on a human.”

His squinted at that, so you were quick to jump in and explain. “It’s the same process. Most species’ lungs are similar to each other,” You started rambling, talking faster and faster as you pretended to be busy with checking his bandages, even though they were already secure. All the while you could feel his scrutinizing gaze on you. “You were about to die, so I didn’t see the harm in trying to treat you — I gave you different doses based on your size —and I … and I needed to flush your lungs out with a special medicine — I just had to use slightly different doses — I mean, herbs because different species tolerate different herbs and I thought that maybe with a human I could — ”

You heard a deep chuckle and looked back up at his face.

He was smiling at you.

That grin had you stop in your tracks and lose all your train of thought right then and there. It was like nothing you’d ever seen on any man, causing a shiver to go through your body.

Arthur took another deep breath, and spoke his next words softly, “So you been treatin’ my TB, huh?”

After a few heartbeats passed, you nodded.

Arthur’s grin widened, but then quickly faded as a thought seemed to occur to him. “How the hell — ” his chest rose and fell, “ — d’you know all this?”

You lifted a brow at his question, “What do you mean?”

“The herbs … natural remedies, as you put them — ” His body convulsed as another coughing fit took over, and he turned his head away until it passed. He didn’t need to since you took some medicine yourself to fight off any possible bacteria, but you appreciated his kind thought. He turned to face you again, “How d’you know … how to treat somethin’ like this?”

You grabbed the hem of the wool blanket and pulled it over his body, tucking it just over his shoulders. “My father, well he was a busy man, but he had a lot of love for animals. My mother was a doctor like me, though I swear to you you’d think she was an herbalist around the clock. Her passion in life had always been about plants and researching their different properties. What they could do, what benefits they gave … ” You laughed then, thinking back, “She would always come to me excited whenever she found something new that a plant or flower could do.”

You thought back to your childhood, unable to hold back a smile as you recalled the memories.

Having grown up on a plantation with a large farm that your grandmother had owned, you knew a lot about all kinds of animals thanks to your parents. Your father had taught you all about the animals and how to take care of them, while your mother would always teach you about all the plants she’d found and what she’d discovered about them.

Your parents had taken in so many sick animals, both wild and owned, caring for and nursing them all back to health. They’d found great joy in aiding the creatures, and you enjoyed learning what you could from them.

Life had been so simple back then.

But … all of that had come to a crashing end when a gang of outlaws had raided your home in the dark of night.

You instantly lost your smile then, the terrible memory flooding your mind against your will.

Both you and your mother had been in the kitchen discussing chores. Your father had been out of town on business with a client, and your brother had been riding out in the country with his horse.

Several of the plantation’s guards had been killed before anyone was able to send out a warning, and the outlaws had managed to break into the house, tying up you and your mother as others ransacked every room as if they’d been searching for something. They’d interrogated and beaten her, only to kill her with a shotgun right in front of you.

If it hadn’t been for the lawmen charging in when they had, you had no doubt the outlaws would’ve done away with you as well. They’d gotten away, though, riding away on their horses and disappearing into the thick forest across the fields.

You felt a tear roll down your cheek. Your brother and father had been absolutely broken at the news when they’d come back. To hear that the woman you all loved more than anything in the world was now gone, and the outlaws responsible for her death had never been found.

No one had ever found out what they’d been after, and since that night, you and your family had never been the same.

And of course, having lost your mother due to a gang, you’d grown up despising outlaws with every ounce of your being to this day. They were monsters. Killers. Thieves. All they ever did was hurt and destroy innocent people and their families.

Your mother had found a passion in saving lives.

You wanted to do the same, and so you’d dedicated your life into carrying on her work.

Gathering yourself so as not to get carried away with your emotions, you took a deep breath and forced a smile, looking back down at the man lying on your couch. “They taught me everything I know, but my mother was the one who encouraged me the most.”

Arthur looked at you for what felt like ages, the silence stretching between the two of you as those blue eyes of his seemed to study you for the longest time. Finally, he took a deep breath, “Your mother sounds … like she were an amazin’ woman,” he said softly.

You didn’t know why, but this man’s deep western drawl and what he said comforted you somewhat.

Nodding, you replied softly. “She was.”

He gave you a gentle smile as if to try and comfort you, “I’m real sorry, Y/N.” His soft tone seemed to melt your nerves, helping you to relax a small bit.

You returned his smile with another one of your own. “Well, she’s in a much better place now.”

“I’ve no doubt,” Arthur replied.

There was another long moment of silence, and it seemed to go on forever, the clock on the wall making the only sound in the quiet room.

Shaking yourself mentally, you stood up quickly and cleared your throat, quickly changing the subject to switch up the mood, “It’s time for another dose.”

Arthur raised those dark brows of his, “What’re you talkin’ ’about?” He asked, your sudden change seeming to have surprised him.

Walking over to your desk again, you grabbed the same vial and an empty syringe, a bottle of alcohol along with cotton and gauze, and finally a spoon and a pot of honey. While you gathered everything you explained it all to him. “You need another shot to help treat your Tuberculosis, Arthur. All of this is supposed to help kill off the bacteria that’s still left in your body. Once that’s done, your lungs and any other effected areas you have can finally start healing.”

“How d’you know all these things?” He asked.

“I had a few farm animals and a couple horses while I was growing up that were struck with the disease,” you answered, “both my mother and father showed me how to do the treatments on some of them.” You came back over with everything, kneeling back down by his side.

“Of course, horse lungs are much bigger and more resistant to Tuberculosis, but that made it easier for us to examine them so we could treat it. Unlike the smaller animals. They were a bit more difficult,” you stated. “My mother made a journal at that time to take notes whenever she would perform these treatments. All the research that she and Pa ever did she wrote down in that journal. It’s now in my desk, and over the last few years I’ve come across other animals struck with all kinds of diseases, including Tuberculosis. Her journal has guided me through all of my treatments.” You met his eyes then, “I haven’t failed in curing one yet.” You added lightly, trying to give off a bit of humor to lighten the mood.

But the effort was in vain, as Arthur just looked at you, almost as if he were questioning the situation. “And I’m the first … human you’ve ever treated?” He asked skeptically, almost sounding concerned.

“Well,” you said with a bit of annoyance from the doubt in his voice, “You were about to die so I guess there was no harm in me tryin’, was there?”

That succeeded in making him let out a sudden burst of laughter, which Arthur regretted instantly. You flinched in sympathy as the pain ran through his entire body. “Son of a bitch,” he swore through gritted teeth, cursing more underneath his breath.

You gave him a sympathetic smile as you prepped the syringe, drawing the liquid from the vial into the barrel.

“What the hell’s that?” He asked you as he stared at the vial of medicine as if it were alien to him.

You almost wanted to laugh at the expression he was making as he stared at the syringe with a strange look. “This is a special remedy that I made myself to treat TB. I need to insert it into you arm now, if that’s alright with you?”

Arthur didn’t answer as he just stared at the needle for the longest time.

“Arthur?”

He seemed to be thinking about whether or not he should trust you.

After several more seconds passed, he finally gave you a small nod, “Sure.”

The way he said that single word sent a shiver down your spine.

Letting out a small sigh, you smiled at him. The fact that he was trusting you like this, especially with putting something he didn’t know of in his own body, it meant a lot more to you than you thought it would.

You gripped his wrist gently and turned his arm until it was facing palm-up. “Alright, Arthur, this is going to sting a bit,” you said as you began prepping his inner arm, rubbing the alcohol into his skin to disinfect the area.

Arthur didn’t say a word, only giving you a small nod.

Once you found the large vein, you brought the point of the sharp needle to his skin and pushed it in. His whole body jerked, and he let out a deep grunt of pain, his eyes squeezing shut as his lips pulled back over his teeth in a hiss.

“Almost done,” you said as you pushed down slowly on the plunger, letting the medicine make its way into his body. After it was empty, you took the needle out and patched him up immediately. “Now don’t go messin’ with that, Arthur,” you said in a firm voice, gesturing at the bandage, “It needs to sit there for a few hours so don’t you go makin’ a mess.”

Arthur chuckled at your authoritative voice. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied teasingly, making you blush.

You couldn’t help but let out a small giggle from his playfulness as you put the syringe away. “Alright, now for the fun part,” you teased back as you picked up the honey pot. Lifting the lid and dipping the spoon in, you scooped out a heaping dose of honey and held it out to him, close to his lips.

“And what’s this for?” He asked, not opening his mouth to take the honey even though he knew you expected him to.

You nearly wanted to roll your eyes as you smiled again. “It’s honey.”

Arthur shot you an annoyed look, “I know it’s honey, dammit.” He snapped, “But why … are you givin’ it to me?”

“It’s a natural remedy to help kill off Tuberculosis bacteria,” you replied impatiently, pressing the spoon to his lips in an effort to get him to open them. “Now open up, here comes the choo-choo train — choo-chooooo!” You made train noises as you moved the spoon around in the air like a train coming down the tracks. Destination: Arthur’s mouth.

At that very moment the look in those blue-green eyes of his would’ve set a forest on fire. “I ain’t a little kid, missy,” he growled at you, that deep western drawl of his sounding dark and threatening.

“Oh, I know,” you replied, completely unphased by the threat, “But where’s the fun in treatin’ you like an adult if you’re not gonna act like one?”

He growled at that, and with great reluctance parted his lips and accepted the honey as you placed it in his mouth. You waited for him to swallow. Once he did, you took out another spoonful and held it out to him. He took five more more after that, each bite either more or less stubborn than the last. When he was done, you placed the lid back on the honey pot and placed it on the side table.

“All finished!” You said to him cheerfully.

Arthur just snorted at you and looked up at the ceiling. “And how long you been … torturin’ me like this, Y/N?” He asked in an accusing but playful tone.

“A few days now, though it hasn’t been easy. Had to feed that honey to you through a tube to make sure it made its way to your stomach.”

He grimaced at that, looking disgusted. “Really wish you hadn’t … told me that part, ma’am.”

You gave him another sympathetic smile, “Well, Arthur, I don’t think we need to do that anymore now that you’re back with us again.”

He chuckled softly at that, the low laughter rumbling deep in his chest, “Let’s hope not, … honey.”

•••••

— To Be Continued

[johnkrrasinski]

Coffee with Cream

Chapter 2: Dream of You

full masterlist

series masterlist

Pairings: Frank Castle x reader x Mad Sweeney

Word count: 2,693

Warnings: cussing, mentions of alcohol, street fight, men being men. 

Summary: Two men, one diner and little old you. Working at a diner had never been your dream job but, fate had a funny way of bringing two contrasted men into your life.

a/n: hey guys! as you all know my obsession over frank castle and pablo schreiber had been exploding these past couple of months. and so, me and @nellblazer decided to write a good old threesome fic involving these two bulky men. hope you like it. enjoy!

You laid in your bed that night with a romance novel that you hadn't had the chance to pick up and finish in awhile due to the weariness of working double shifts. It's the same old pattern for the last few years; you'd get up early for your morning shift at the diner, rushed back home to take a little break, and possibly enjoy your catnaps before your second alarm rings for your night shift. 

And then when the night was ending, you'd take another bus to get yourself home, take a shower and eat your takeout or heat up your frozen pizza, and went to bed. For years, life was merely a repetitive cycle of humdrum. You barely had time for yourself due to your relentless endeavour to stay afloat. 

Living in Brooklyn when you come from a middle-class family means that you really had to fight tooth and nail to pay the bills and fill your fridge. You were raised to be an independent and hardworking person by your parents and that's why it wasn't much of a challenge for you to work double shifts at a diner when you could've taken one. You taught yourself to push through your boundaries in life, and you were aware that sometimes it's not always convenient but at least you were proud of your own effort. 

That also means you didn't have time to swipe right and left on Tinder and find yourself a date. It was nearly impossible to find a decent guy in Brooklyn, let alone trusting a dating app that could possibly be utilized by creeps or murderers to find their next victim. Although your co-workers had suggested it many times to you, you refused to present yourself to the angels of death just simply you were desperate to get laid. 

But tonight was different from the others. It was comical, really, how one, well, two, actually people could walk into your life, okay that was dramatic, walk into a diner and elevated the sour mood that you had grown used to in recent years, and made a difference. A good one.

You couldn't remember the last time you had a genuine smile on your face. You also couldn't remember when was the last time you felt butterflies in your stomach. And here you are, lying in bed, replaying the scenes that took place earlier. In the daylight when the bustle was in full swing and in the nighttime when the city was placid.

You barely knew anything about them and you had only met them in less than 24 hours, but, you could still remember the way Frank Castle made you feel when his brown eyes stared intensely into yours as he shook your hand. The quiet yet magnetic force that he exuded only compelled you to learn more about him. In the brief conversation that you had earlier, you knew that he was a wanderer of a man.

He'd been hoping from one place to another, but he was thinking of staying in Brooklyn for a while and you were hoping that nothing changes his mind about that. You were really hoping that you'd see him again real soon.

And then, your thoughts drifted to the second man that you encountered with earlier. His auburn hair burned the lights in the room, causing a small fire that you didn't light up. But his amorous words had left you starstruck in a way that you didn't know was possible. You weren't one to stumble on a brazenly flirtatious man but something about him was too tempting to be overlooked. And the fact that he had this eccentric thing for coins made you wonder... What else has he got up in his sleeve?

Sweeney hadn't been able to get you off his mind all night.

The grumpy server who'd taken over had definitely not been a patch on your sunny optimism or brimming curiosity. He couldn't remember the last time a girl was so interested in his stories. Usually he got brushed off as a leering drunk or just a plain old letch but you'd entertained him, asked questions and given him a form of fresh cream to boot, all for him. A form of worship as it was.

You hadn't realised it of course, nobody ever believes in gods these days unless they're the Big Three or the Norse pantheon. Little old Sweeney with his Celtic cohort was hardly going to register on anyone's radar. I mean, fuck, nobody could even say his actual name right, let alone believe he was a god.

Even so, he felt refreshed, more refreshed than he'd been in years and when he got absolutely blasted on whiskey, the feeling was not the same as it was. The crippling existentialism was gone to be replaced by joyfulness and he sang most of the way home, thoroughly amusing everyone on his way back with his rude songs. He even danced with an old lady like they used to do in the twenties which he thought had made her night as she blushed furiously and began saying it'd been a while since she'd danced with a young man in the street.

Sweeney was having the time of his life, precisely up until he got in the alleyway and his loud singing got him into trouble.

There was a group of thugs hanging around in the middle, trying to sort something out but Sweeney didn't care to venture too close to find out what precisely.

“-Well I called me wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me, who owns that thing in your thing where my own thing should be!” he belts out, stumbling slightly in their direction and he sees the flash of irritation on their faces.

The next thing he knew he was getting dog piled on. Bodies seemed to leap on him from every corner and all he could think about was protecting his coin at all costs so he sent it in the Hoard, the magical hiding place for his treasure and once he'd taken a few harsh licks to the gut, he tried to pull himself together to fight back.

Drunken brawling was his speciality after all.

He wasn't expecting it when a couple of the gang members were yanked off of him. He took the opportunity to jump back to his feet, delivering a haymaker to the nearest lad who's cheek splintered under his weighted punch. The kid dropped to the floor like a stone, howling about his face.

The next man behind him, he twisted and grabbed around the middle, running them backwards to the edge of a dumpster before letting go and watching his head clang noisily off the metal as they fell backwards.

Oh it had been a good long while since he'd had a fight. He missed the adrenalin, he missed the cracking of bones and the taste of blood. It spoke to his soul that was millennia old when the world was war, ale and feasting.

Sweeney finally looked up to see that another man was fighting with him, a shorter man, stockier and well built, a nose that'd been broken at least once and the buzzcut styling of an ex-military man. The newcomer shifted his position and Sweeney saw a painted skull on his chest. His first thought was that Baron Samedi was expanding his worshipper's network but it didn't make sense for the Baron to recruit a soldier when he preferred his company to be a little more love and less war.

Who the fucking hell was this guy?

“You okay?” the man asks gruffly as he sees Sweeney staring at him. “Get out. Run.”

“I ain't fuckin' runnin',” Sweeney wrinkles his face in offence. “Do I look like a pansy to you?”

“You look fuckin' drunk is what ya look,” Skull Man counters, elbowing an attacker in the mouth. “I'll handle it. Run home.”

“Callin' me a coward?” Sweeney squares up. “I don't run, boy-o.”

“Really?” Skull Man raises an eyebrow. “Ain't the time for pride, Big Red. Fight or don't fight then. I don't care. Just stay outta my way with that one.”

He points to the man who Sweeney had knocked out on the dumpster. His eyelids were fluttering as he started to regain consciousness.

“What's it worth to ya?” Sweeney shrugs.

“Are you fuckin' kidding me?!” Skull Man storms over, coming up until he was chest to chest. “I save your ass and this is what I get?”

“Didn't ask to be saved, lad.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, right back.”

Just at the point where Sweeney is curling his fingers into a fist, ready to give a good old right hook, he's hit hard in the head from behind and goes down onto his forearms, scuffing them with pebbles and dirt. He scrambles unsteadily to his feet, feeling a little trickle of blood oozing down the path of his hair and sees Skull Man beating the living shit out of the dumpster guy before finishing him off with his bare hands.

Sweeney, meanwhile, jumps back into the fist fight, taking down every other gang member who'd dared to get back up. They make a break for it, running desperately down into the other alleyways and out of sight.

“You'd better run!” Sweeney bellows after them. “You'd all be fucked if I still had my spear. I WAS A FUCKING KING ONCE, YOU CUNTS!”

“I've heard some drunk talk in my time but you...” Skull Man shakes his head. “You're crazy, huh?”

“I'm a god, mate,” Sweeney holds out his arms proudly, swaying on the spot.

“Sure ya are.”

“And what the fuck are you, murderer?”

“Nobody you need to know about. You ain't seen me. I don't exist. I'm just taking out the trash of this city.”

“Oh aye? Are ya? And what did he do?”

“Shot up a playground.”

“Oh...” Sweeney tails off, looking at the dead man on the floor. “Well....good then. Good work. Bastard deserved it.”

He holds out his hand and Skull Man shakes it warily. Sweeney got the sense the guy didn't interact with people much because the handshake was stilted, unsure.

“Got a name?” Sweeney asks. “Or are ya hellbent on being mysterious?”

“It's Frank,” the guy replies after a pause. “But I was-

“-Never here, I got that,” Sweeney snorts. “I'm Sweeney.”

“Sweeney the God. A'ight, go on home then. I got clean up to do.”

“Nice fightin', by the way,” Sweeney calls over his shoulder. “See ya around, Frank.”

“I fuckin' hope not,” comes the quiet response.

Sweeney didn't care though. He was too elated to care. Good booze, a good fight and the promise of going back to that sweet little diner where you were.

He'd have to come in earlier just to spend more time around you. He wanted to know everything about you and more than anything, he wanted to see your smile again.

A god he may be but your smile was absolutely magical.

He sang the whole rest of the way home, already looking forward to tomorrow.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Skin, Bone, and Scales

(Read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

This is just 75% fire figurative language

Word count: 6098

TW: Blood and pus, minor body horror (as in: sunburns and peeling skin)

———————

“Oh my god, you’re like a tomato with hair!”

The peculiar call caught Anne’s attention as she was changing into better shoes for rehearsals. She furrowed her eyebrows in both complexity and amusement, recognizing the voice as her little cousin. A smile formed on her lips, shaking her head at what could have possibly elicited such a strange comment.

When she walked out to the room they rehearsed in, she quickly realized what the context was and that it made perfect sense.

—

Joan had never been so hot before.

Her skin was baking, studded with blisters and boils along her shoulders and forearms and back like scales, as if she were a reptile and not a fleshy mammal. Her limbs were sacks of hot stones and smoldering embers that she had to drag around with her, and her ears simply felt as if they were lit on fire. Her cheeks, however, were by far the worst. It was like someone was holding hot iron to the sides of her face and wouldn’t let go, no matter how loud she screamed.

To put it simply, Joan felt like a roasted lamb on a spit, rotating slowly above hungry flames. Sometimes, she had fallen into their orange-gold mouths. She could almost feel the flaming tongues licking at her skin.

So, yeah. Joan wasn’t all that comfortable at the moment. And Kitty’s loud, obnoxious comments about it certainly didn’t help at all.

“It’s, like—peeling,” Kitty felt the need to declare openly. She reaches for Joan’s shoulder, but her knuckles get swatted, and she pulls away. “Oh, gross!” She laughed. “Did you put anything on it?”

“That’s not your business,” Joan hissed. The fire that has lit in her stomach flashes higher, and she could almost feel whorls of smoke wreathing out of her nose and ears. “Stop trying to touch me!” She hit Kitty’s hand away again. “And stop looking at me like that!”

As much as she hated it, she didn’t blame Kitty or anyone else for staring- she would have, too, if it were one of them that came into work glowing neon red from head to toe.

“Sorry, I don’t speak lobster!” Kitty laughed loudly and then finally backed down. She spread her hands in front of her in a peace offering. “It's just funny!”

“It really isn’t.” Joan grumbled more to herself than to the girl in front of her.

“I told you to put on sunscreen,” Jane helpfully spoke up from where she was doing some warmup stretches. Joan dared to shoot her a distasteful look.

“I did!” Joan cried woefully.

“Not enough.” Kitty giggled. ”Make sure you do next time! We don't want you animorphing into a lobster!”

Joan scowled at her grinning face and imagined what it would be like to blow hot embers in her eyes. She erased the thought quickly- not because it made her feel bad for thinking something so morbid, but because she didn’t want to give the pink queen that much of her attention.

“Moving on,” She rumbled. Her throat and nose ached in a fierce, raw way as if they had been scraped out with a jagged branding tool. She lumbered sluggishly over to the piano in the far corner and delicately touched one of the cold, smooth keys, almost expecting it to melt beneath her fingertips. When it didn't, she sat down at the bench and considered it safe for her to play. “Let’s begin.”

—

The scaly blisters that are bristled across Joan’s back prickle painfully against her shirt. She wanted to scratch them so badly, but she knew her nails would sink in like a heated knife in butter the second she barely brushed the bumpy skin. It would be a mess of pus and blood that she wouldn’t be able to hide since she was wearing a simple white tank top (she couldn’t bear to have anything touching her shoulders, and white did reflect sunlight, so she thought it would be fine). So, she just had to grin and bear it.

But she couldn’t even fucking grin! Smiling pulled the dry skin around her mouth taut, to the point where it felt like it was cracking and flaking off. She was constantly licking her lips because of this, which set off tiny flames in them each time she did so (and didn’t help at all, mind you).

What’s worse- she felt something welling up within her. It was an uncomfortable sort of sensation like someone had released thousands of fire ants inside of her. It took her so long to realize that this was how she usually felt with a fever because of how hot she already was.

Joan blinked her eyes quickly, suddenly feeling very dizzy. She stared down at her hands resting on the piano keys and thought she saw light grey smoke hissing from underneath her fingertips. She gingerly raised her fingers and saw no damage- she must have just imagined it.

She sighed and scratched her itchy knuckles. A new stinging pain shivered through her tendons at this stupid decision, like thick, globby fire leeches were suckered on her skin and dissolving it into a soupy, gory mess. She squirmed awkwardly in her seat at its oppressive tingling and tried to keep her eyes open, but it felt as if a talon of fire was pressing into the socket, so she had no choice but to squeeze them shut. Sweat beads on her brow from the exertion of her simply trying to ward off the unwanted sensation and right as she thought she started to feel a little better...

Blinding pain.

“Hey, are we gonna get to my song or what?” Cleves had been saying loudly. “I’ve wanted to try out this new move-” And then she slapped Joan’s shoulder in a friendly way.

But it came off as a lot less friendly to Joan.

Flames burst through that shoulder, sprinting fast across her rash and setting the scales ablaze with fresh agony. It welled up in her throat like she was about to vomit molten lava and clouded her eyes with smoky hazes that usually came with near-unconsciousness. Her teeth dug into her chapped lips, cracking them with the pressure, but she wasn’t able to hold back a yelp.

“What the FUCK?!” She cried. She was half expecting fire to come out when she spoke, but no trace of flames appeared in her mouth. They remained deep inside the furnace that was her scorched body.

Cleves grimaced, although there was still amusement glinting in her eyes. She lifted her hand, and a comically pale print was momentarily left on Joan’s bright red shoulder before being devoured by the sunburn. It securely plated its blisters and scales back over the mark, spreading like a crimson wildfire until it was inflamed and itchy once again.

“Whoops- sorry!” Cleves said. She was genuinely apologetic, but it seemed worthless because she was still laughing about what she did.

“Are you- mmmmm.” Joan gave up on arguing, instead of turning to a much better option- grumbling like a teenage fire dragon that just got part of its hoard confiscated by its parent fire dragons for accidentally eating one of the sheep that was supposed to be saved for the fire dragon dinner.

(She didn’t like being a fire dragon. If she were ever to draw Killer Frost as a fire dragon, she knew it would throw a fit or come out of the sketchbook and strangle her with its bare claws.)

“It’s—fine. It’s fine!” Joan finally snapped. She glared down at the piano, not wanting to see everyone else’s expressions. She knew that would be finding this funny, and that made her want to shove hot coals up all of their noses until it turned their faces into a charred, tarry goop and they couldn’t smile or smirk or laugh anymore. “Let’s just move on!”

Her voice was coming out too loud. It was biting, but not in a cold way. It came out in a smooth, warm, sunny way that nobody could take seriously. They saw her as a baby sheep that was trying to bleat at a butterfly in its flower patch.

But she just saw herself as a sheep with its wool on fire.

Smothering, encompassing, suffocating, asphyxiating- the white-gold flames press in on her. She’s a ball of fire, fleece ablaze, hooves smoldered, horns like pillars of pyre. She opens her mouth to scream, and flames come pouring out. Her insides are bloated with smoke and ash, charred and singed, and she can taste their tarry remains on the sediments of her shriveled, black tongue. When she hooked her nails in her neck and tore open holes, thick streams of smog so grey they looked black come floating out.

Joan was screaming, clawing, burning two inches away from everyone’s faces, and yet they were blind to the golden inferno embracing her body.

( “They think it’s funny,” Killer Frost would probably say if it weren’t hidden beneath the hellfire consuming Joan’s entire being. “They think it’s just a little sunburn. Nothing more. But if it were Kitty that was as red as a fresh apple in spring...”)

Her subconscious’ distant words are drowned out by the overwhelming sound of the incendiary. Torches are sent flaring through her nerves like pinpricks of hot needles before extinguishing enough for her to realize she had been playing the piano throughout that entire conflagration.

Somehow.

Joan breathed out a soft, shaky breath. That feverish feeling reignited itself once again- or maybe it’s always been there, and she just hadn’t noticed. At this point, as her brain was melting inside of her skull, she didn’t know much anymore. She was working purely on muscle memory, but that would soon go, too, as her tendons and nerves and muscles would dry up from the heat and become stiff, fragile, prettified remnants of what they used to be.

She gulped dryly, as there was barely any saliva left in her mouth, and it felt as if she had just swallowed igneous rocks. They landed heavily in her stomach and set the bile into an uncomfortable simmer. She began to worry if the lining would catch fire and burn her from the inside out or melt open holes and douse all her other organs in the boiling acid.

Joan swallowed again, and whatever flaming creature had been trying to crawl its way up her esophagus and out through her mouth raked its claws down her throat on its way back down. Then, she coughed and was surprised to not see a plume of ash come out.

God, she needed water. She needed to get out of these clothes, too. Her legs were nowhere near as bad as her back and shoulders, but her pants were rubbing the scarred flesh uncomfortably raw and she would just prefer to have them off.

Joan bounced her knee, feeling miserable. Her skin was melting off of her bones, her stomach was boiling, she was running a fucking fever, she was somehow shivering, and, good lord, was the heater on or something?!

She couldn’t take it anymore.

Joan stood up, wincing as she felt crackles and flickers and pops go off in her legs. She walked on eggshells on the way to the bathroom after calling a break- if those eggshells were on fire and actually pointy lava rocks.

Right about now, Joan would really prefer actual eggshells because, what the fuck, were the soles of her feet sunburnt, too?!

She careened into the bathroom, clipping her shoulder on the corner wall in the process and sending that smoky haze from before momentarily hissing across her vision. She braced herself up against one of the sinks, pressing her palms down on the smooth, cold granite as hard as she could to soak up the coolness, and glared at her puffy, inflamed, red face in the mirror.

God, no wonder everyone was laughing at her.

She was like a poor immolation to the overpowering pyrolatry. A lamb to the slaughter, a ram to the flames, a ewe to the end of a burning knife-

A piece of charred meat in the mouth of hungry flames.

Joan slowly eased herself back, removing all the weight she had been putting on her hands. It felt as if she were rubbing bituminous coals against her palms, so she turned on the sink and let it run over her hands and fingers and wrists. She carefully dabs some of the cold water on her hot cheeks and sighed softly in content. For just a brief, fleeting moment, the stinging seized and was snuffed out by a torrent of coolness.

That lasted for only a few seconds, though. The water ran warm when it dribbled down the sides of her face, much to her dismay. It was stupid of her to think she could even get a moment of comfort.

As if to prove that, Joan’s back tingles again and, this time, she didn’t care about ignoring it. She reached her arm around and under her tank top and scratched fervently at one of her shoulder blades, hoping to relieve some discomfort.

Her efforts, of course, did the exact opposite.

Joan couldn’t help the startled cry that escaped her lips. She ripped her hand away, and it came back wet and sticky and absolutely dripping with pus and blood.

It was as if her touch was heated- the minute her nails came in contact with her shoulder blade, the flesh peeled back, blisters popped, and fluids came angrily billowing out of the abscess like hundreds of wasps from a destroyed hive.

Joan dissolved into pathetic whimpers as tears came streaming free. They were gasoline on her flaming cheeks- increasing the stinging until it felt like holes were being melted open in the sides of her face, and she frantically squabbled to wipe her eyes. The rough brush against her cheeks agitated the inflamed flesh, and it punishes her foolishness by breaking open and spilling its red tears down her face.

Joan would scream if she could, but the hellfire had her by the throat. So she just wheezed like the scorched furnace she had become and let the liquid fire drool out of gaping, fleshy ventilation systems.

What else could you do when in the mouth of an inferno?

———

Anne will admit that it had been her idea to go to the beach, but in her defense, Kitty made it happen. That’s exactly why she had consulted the girl about her idea because she knew nobody in their house could say no to her. Besides, it was going to be alarmingly hot for a spring day in England, so why stay in a house with no AC when you could go swimming? It was a brilliant plan! And it worked out perfectly! Except for the part where Joan fried like an egg in the sun, of course.

But still, in her defense, Anne had no idea the girl was so sensitive to sunlight! She had seen her put on at least ten layers of sunscreen every thirty minutes! How was she supposed to know she would shrivel up and die?!

Oh, who was she kidding? Not even her internal yelling debate could ease the guilt gnawing away at her.

Joan tagging along with them wasn’t her fault- that blame was shifted onto Kitty and Maggie, who were never a good duo when they got together, when they insisted that the “gang had to stick together”- but she still felt bad when she saw the girl’s awful sunburn. It was funny at first, but then she noticed the permanent grimace plastered on her face and the way she stiffly played the piano like she had lit matches dug into her skin, and the situation became a lot more worrying.

It was clear Joan was on edge and uncomfortable- they all noticed that. They just didn’t think of doing anything. A sunburn wasn’t exactly something you could just pop some pain pills for- it took time to go away and let the skin heal itself of the blemish. So, the others just didn’t pay it any mind (even if it was tough not to gawk at Joan’s firetruck red complexion).

Anne tried to do the same. She told herself there was nothing she could do and she should just laugh about it with everyone else, and she was so close to settling fully into that state of mind.

But then Joan called a sudden break and left the room without a word, and Anne was yanked right out of that belief.

Something was very, very wrong.

Now, believe it or not, despite her (slightly aggravating) stage persona, she knew what boundaries and personal space were. And she knew when to not bother a female. There’s several cases of when you shouldn’t bother a woman: when she’s breastfeeding, when she’s on their period, when she’s pregnant, when she’s being cheated on- but especially when she’s in pain and it was making her aggressive.

It’s, in a weird sort of way, like the time she found a stray cat on her family’s property when she was younger. She had cornered the frightened little thing and it arched its spine and hissed at her to stay back, but she was desperate for a pet, so she grabbed for it anyway. Naturally, she got scratched and that night, as her mother was cleaning the cuts, she was told to never approach a scared, cornered animal. It made them more likely to lash out, but if you wait and let them know you weren’t a threat, then they may calm down. And Anne has used this advice since then, and she still uses it with the queens and ladies in waiting when something is wrong with one of them.

Except right now, though. Because Joan has been in the bathroom for half an hour, now, and absolutely no one was batting an eye. Anne knew the girl was more likely to die and turn into a skeleton before anyone decided they wanted to check on her, so she excused herself from the game of Statues that Maria had started and walked out.

Now, Anne has seen a lot of shocking things in her life: the actual proof of Aragon’s divorce, her first miscarried baby’s withered corpse, Henry’s penis....but the musical’s bright red music director hunched in the bathroom with blood on her shirt and face and hands might take the cake.

In the bright bathroom lights, Joan looked a lot worse than she did in the rehearsal room. She wasn’t just red- she was raw.

The easiest way to explain it is to imagine a human being that just got all its skin peeled off and then was stung by at least two hundred bees in very specific areas. Scarlet stained almost every inch of her body, aside from underneath her jaw, amazingly. The burn was lighter in some places and darker in others, but her shoulders and upper back were by far the worst. There, scarlet faded into rings of dark crimson and blotches of maroon, both of which are spotted with tiny red dots, as if someone had crushed up rubies and sprinkled the shards over her to make the menagerie of sunburnt flesh look less like an eyesore. Paper-thin, translucent strips of varying sizes are frayed around the edges of the bigger blemishes, revealing raw pink hiding underneath.

To put it simply, Joan looked like a scorpion without its exoskeleton.

“Joan!” Anne cried in shock and worry. She leaped towards the girl and immediately picked up on the heat coming off of her. It was like standing too close to an active volcano. “Are you alright?”

Joan looked up in surprise. She had just been swaying there with her hands running under the sink when Anne came in. Anne guessed she was cleaning the angry red patch on her cheek, which was still crusted with blood around the edges.

“I’m— I’m, uhh—”

Anne couldn’t even tell if she was blushing in embarrassment or not, but it didn’t matter. Flustered or not, Joan needed some help.

“Honey, you don’t look so good,” Anne said gently. She reached out to grab Joan’s forearms so she could steady her, but the natural warmth from her hands seemed to set fire to Joan’s arms and she jerked away with a soft hiss. “Sorry! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s fine,” Joan whispered. She didn’t snap at Anne as she had done to Kitty and Cleves. Perhaps she liked Anne more than them, or perhaps she was just in too much pain to be angry- Anne couldn’t really tell. “I’m sorry— Everyone is waiting for me, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Anne said. “But forget that right now, alright? You look like you’re about to keel over from heatstroke.”

Joan actually managed to laugh weakly, but it quickly broke off into a keen-like noise as pain flitted across her burnt facial features.

“What’s wrong?” Anne asked. “Aside from, you know,” She gestured vaguely.

“I— I don’t know.” Joan whispered. “I-I think I have a fever...”

“Are you sure you’re not just hot from-” She gestured vaguely once more, but this time with a lot more enunciation in her movements.

“N-no, Anne, I’m—” She’s starting to shiver. Joan was fucking shivering. She reached out a hand to lean against the sink counter. “I— I just-” She pressed a hand to her forehead, breathing shallowly.

Anne frowned in worry at the girl’s inability to explain how she felt to her. Whether it was from embarrassment or deliriousness thanks to the pain, she didn’t know, but she had to do something, so she stepped forward and carefully placed her hand on the back of Joan’s forehead.

As expected, it was burning hot. She wished she could have said that it felt a little warmer than a normal sunburn, confirming that Joan did have a fever, but she honestly couldn’t tell. So, she convinced Joan to help her find the thermometer kept in the theater first aid kit so she could take her temperature.

38.8. That was the temperature displayed on the thermometer and Anne worriedly glanced over it to the weary-looking girl sitting in front of her. When she was caught staring, Joan looked up at her with grey eyes and red sockets.

“38.8.” Anne said, showing her. “I think you may have sun poisoning, love.” Joan tensed and Anne quickly went on, “No, no! It’s okay! That means we know how to treat it!”

“W-we do?” Joan stammered nervously.

“Well. I do.” Anne said. “The things I need aren’t here, but I know we have aloe gel at the house. So we’ll get you fixed up in no time!”

Joan didn’t look too happy to have to go over to the queen’s house in her current state, but Anne managed to convince her to ditch rehearsals early so they would at least be alone for the majority of the treatment.

When they arrived, Anne had to point out the elephant in the room- the stained mess on Joan’s back. She had been putting off calling it out, but now they had to do something about it. And she knew Joan was going to hate every second of it.

“Alright, how much do you like this tank top?” Anne asked Joan, who was sitting on the toilet seat in the master bathroom (Jane’s bathroom. It was technically Jane’s bathroom, but Joan didn’t need to know that. They needed space, and it was big, so Anne could take the fit Jane would surely throw when she found out later). “Because if you can’t move your arms, I can cut it off.”

“I think I can get it off myself...” Joan said although she didn’t exactly trust herself to do that.

Still, she grabbed the hem of the tank top, pulled it over her head, and Anne watched in concern as the skin upon her upper back cracked, contracted, and split open in a way that made it seem like the girl was about to sprout wings. It made her own shoulder blades tingle in discomfort.

“Ow.” Joan whispered. She shoulders shudder, flesh-scales bristling and flaking.

“Okay,” Anne started, looking at the gooey scratch fanned open on Joan’s left shoulder blade. It looked like a tiny pool of creamy pus, which was just barely managing to not spill over the edges. “Yeah... You’re not gonna like this part, sweetheart. In fact, you may hate me after it’s over.”

“Why?” Joan squeaked fearfully, but then she watched as Anne pulled a bottle of disinfectant out from under the sink cabinet. Her face went as pale as it possibly could with the sunburn coating it like a second skin. “O-oh.”

“Yeah,” Anne smiled pitifully. She wets a small rag that she hopes Jane doesn’t use to clean her body with (mainly for Joan’s sake). “Ready?”

Joan white knuckles a towel she had grabbed for grounding and nodded shakily. She couldn’t even be embarrassed over being shirtless in front of Anne, as she was too worried over the pain she was about to face.

The cry Joan makes is heartbreaking. It felt as if burning claws were stabbing and stabbing and stabbing Anne’s heart the longer she had to hear it and the longer she had to be the cause of it. But it had to be done and, after a few moments of flushing out the scratch with disinfectant, she pulled the rag back. It’s now covered in a thin film of yellow-white pus and brown blood.

“Now your cheek,” Anne said. She wets the clean side of the rag and gently lifts Joan’s chin. The claws return to her heart when she stares into the girl’s glossy grey eyes. “Take a deep breath, honey.”

She gave Joan a moment, then pressed the rag to the blemish on her cheek. Joan keened sharply and instinctively shook her head, but Anne managed to hold it still enough to clean her face. She could feel hot tears slip down against her fingers and she finished as quickly as she could.

“There,” Anne said. “All done, sweetheart. I’m all done.” She delicately brushed away Joan’s tears. “Shh, shh... You’re okay. You’re okay, Joan...”

“Fuck you,” Joan hissed weakly.

“I deserve that.” Anne laughed slightly. “I’m going to go grab the aloe vera, alright? And a change of clothes for you. I’m sure Kitty’s will fit you.”

She’s gone for maybe five minutes and by the time she returns, the little blonde fireball she left sitting obediently on the toilet seat seemed to look even more miserable: she was hunched slightly, sunburnt flesh-scales bristling in a painful way along her shoulder blades and upper back. Her eyes are slightly glazed over, reminding Anne of the fever she had, and she was starting to shiver again. Anne just hoped it was because she was shirtless in a cold house.

“Hey, sweet girl,” Anne’s hand hovered comically over Joan’s sunburnt knee, then her sunburnt shoulder, then her sunburnt back, and then she decides to just pat her head. It makes Joan look up at her with a weak smile. It reminds Anne of a picture Cathy once sent her of a lamb grinning. “I brought some water if you’re thirsty.” She frowned when Joan shook her head. She watches the girl lean over to the sink counter and bury her head against her folded arms resting there. “Joan? What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” Joan whispered weakly. “Just a little nauseous.”

Oh dear.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Anne said, worry evident in her voice. “I also brought some ice. You gotta stay dehydrated, so do you think you could at least suck on a piece?”

Joan agrees and slips a chip of ice into her mouth. Before she can return her head to its burrow in her arms, Anne asks her to change into the shorts she brought in, so she sheds her itchy pants and gratefully swaps them for the airier bottoms.

“I’m going to put the gel on your back now, alright?” Anne said. “Then you can lay down in my room. How does that sound?”

Joan just nods weakly.

Anne gives her a warm smile, then dips her fingers into the bottle of aloe vera she had with her and gingerly smears it on Joan’s shoulders.

As gentle as she was, it seemed she just about poked Joan with a hot rod.

Joan yanked away with a yelp, nearly falling off of the toilet seat. Anne pulled back, meeting her eyes with a worried glance.

“Sorry. It hurts that much?”

“N-no, it—” It definitely hurt that much. Joan just didn’t want to admit it. “J-just warn me next time.”

“Okay.” Anne nodded. “Here goes.”

She put her hand to Joan’s shoulder again, much slower this time. Her fingers barely touch the girl before she’s curling in on herself like a distressed armadillo.

“Hey, sit still,” Anne said.

“I’m trying!” Joan takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, steeling herself best as she can. “Okay, okay. I’m- I’m ready.”

Still, she can’t help but flinch when the next stroke sears a prickling line across her back.

“I’m sorry,” Joan squeaked when Anne pulled back. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” She scrambled up to her feet. “I-I should just go. I didn’t mean to cause you so much trouble-”

“Hey, hey,” Anne tried to grab her forearms, but stopped herself from making contact. “You aren’t doing anything wrong. You’re in pain, Joan. You’re going to flinch.”

“B-but I’m annoying you,” Joan whispered. She lowered her gaze, but Anne slips a finger under her chin and lifts her chin.

“You’re not annoying me, honey.” Anne assured her. “I promise. I want to help you. So can you please sit back down?”

Joan nodded and sat back down. Anne didn’t miss the fresh glimmer in her eyes and she couldn’t help but feel so bad about how insecure and nervous the poor girl was.

“Ready, sweetheart? I’m going to start now.”

Joan’s muscles tensed up as soon as the touch came. The balm stings on her skin and in her nose- a sharp, airy scent of aloe. She bites down on her shredded, raw lip, trying hard to stop herself from whining, but a few pathetic sounds still escape her.

“One part done,” Anne said, her voice as soft as her fingers.

Joan just makes a noise through clenched teeth, pressing her face back into her folded arms. Anne’s touch is light, barely there over the biting of the salve. Every now and then, she stops to take more from the bottle, always muttering a quick warning before she continues. She’s going slow, steadily rubbing small circles all over Joan’s shoulder blades. The weird minty chill numbs the skin wherever her hands glide, to and fro, covering every inch.

“I’m almost done with this part, sweet girl,” Anne cooed. “You’re doing so good.”

Beneath her hands, Joan’s flesh was rough and bumpy. It was like rubbing lotion on the back of a horny toad lizard. It was so hot, too, like a piece of the sun was permanently burning inside of the poor girl. Luckily, the aloe vera seemed to soothe the cinders billowing about Joan’s body. The flames licking through her would flicker their way over to the cold, wet barrier and slow down, prodding the goop in a disgruntled manner. And then, they’re smothered by a glob of sharp-scented aloe, wisps and embers flying out in shock before they, too, are put out.

Anne moves to Joan’s legs next, then her arms, and then her neck and ears. Finally, she began to smear the gel onto Joan’s face, hearing her sigh softly in relief as she did so.

“All done,” Anne smiled. “I’m proud of you, sweetheart.”

Joan was definitely blushing- Anne could tell just by the way she hunched her shoulders around her neck and looked away shyly.

“Come on. Put this tank top on and then you can lay down. Or you can stay up. Wanna watch a movie?”

Joan nodded. She stood up and her nose wrinkled. She was basically wearing a full body suit of aloe vera.

“I feel slimy.” She said. “Like a snail.”

Anne laughed. Her heart melted at how adorable the girl before her was.

“You are too cute,” She said. “Come on. Put the shirt on.” She tossed a basic pink tank top to Joan, who quickly pulled it on. She saw the fabric cling to the aloe vera almost instantly and Joan’s nose wrinkled once again. “Yeah, it’s gonna do that.”

After quickly cleaning up, Anne led Joan to her bedroom. Joan was hesitant to get into the bed, but Anne assured her that a little aloe rubbing off on the sheets wasn’t going to bother her, so she clambered in after the queen. They end up deciding to watch The Princess and The Frog right as the front door opened and closed from downstairs and several voices filled the house.

Anne expected Joan to get nervous or say she should leave, but, instead, the girl just scoots a little closer to Anne, who leans away in fear of hurting her burns. Joan seems offended.

“It’s gonna hurt if I touch you.” Anne reminded her.

“I don’t care,” Joan grumbled. Her fever and exhaustion was making her adorably grumpy. “Please just hold me...”

Anne’s heart fluttered- she couldn’t say no to those eyes!

As expected, Joan hissed when Anne put her arms around her and pulled her close to her, but then she sighed softly and rested her head against the queen’s chest.

“Thank you,” Joan whispered. “For helping me. I didn’t think anyone...”

“It’s no problem, Joan.” Anne quickly cut off her nervous comment. “I care about you.”

“...I like being cared for.”

Anne glanced worriedly down at the top of the frizzy blonde head resting on her chest. She pulled Joan even closer and pressed a kiss to her hair.

“You deserve it, Joan.” She said. “You deserve care and so much more. Never forget that.”

“Stop it,” Joan whined weakly. “You’re gonna make me cry on you...”

“Cry, sweetheart. It’s alright.” Anne said. “It’s not going to change what I think.”

“Thank you,” Joan choked out through whimpers. “Thank you so much...”

“No need to thank me,” Anne said. “Besides. You have my robe. It’s official. You’re, like, mine, now.”

“Your what?” Joan looked up at Anne timidly.

Anne shrugged. “Niece? Goddaughter? Granddaughter? Robe stealer?” She kissed Joan’s forehead, making her smile shyly. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I like all of those options,” Joan whispered, tucking her head back under Anne’s chin. “But I...I want to be your-”

“Annie!!”

Anne’s bedroom door swung open and Joan lurched away from Anne. She sat up straight, still, staring at the TV as young Tiana goes running out of her bedroom after a frog croaks at her. She doesn’t want to see whatever expression Kitty has on her face.

“What’s up, Kit?” Anne said cooly.

“Oh, I was just wondering where you were,” Kitty said, then glanced at Joan skeptically. Her nose twitched a little, but she quickly turned back to her cousin. “Cathy is cooking tonight. She wants to know if you still want to learn how to make that really good soup she made?”

Anne saw Joan’s shoulders droop just slightly. She quickly makes up her mind.

“Maybe some other time,” She said. “Call me when it’s ready, alright?”

Kitty blinked. She glanced at Joan one more time.

“Alright.”

Then, she’s gone. Joan still doesn’t move, so Anne has to ease her back into her arms, now stroking her hair soothingly.

“I could have left,” Joan whispered.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Anne reprimanded. “I want you to stay right here with me.”

Where you belong.

Joan swallowed a lump of emotion rising in her throat and nodded. She nuzzled closer to Anne, not caring about how it agitated the burnt skin on her nose.

“Thank you,” She mumbled. “I-I...”

“Shh...” Anne soothed her. “It’s okay, sweet girl. No need to thank me or anything. Just relax, okay? If you’re tired, sleep. I’ll be right here.”

Joan felt heat bubble up inside of her, but this time she knew it wasn’t from the sunburn or the fever, rather the heat came from the giddy blush that glows a refreshing pink along her flesh-scales.

“I’m... I’m glad.”

[gwenbrightly]

The Little Mermaid Incident (aka the beach day everyone deserves)

Crossposted from ffnet. I’ve been meaning to do a beach day themed chapter for Of Milk and Cookies for awhile now, so here it is!

“This feels… weird…” Lloyd commented absently, digging his toes into the sand. Kai gave his brother an odd look.  

“The sand feels weird?”

“No. This. Being here, at the beach to relax without the threat of an evil warlord bent on world domination looming over us?” he explained, tilting his face toward the sun and enjoying its warmth. Nya slung an arm around his shoulders.

“After everything you’ve been through, you’ve earned it, Lloyd. Taking today to chill and have fun is exactly what you need! And just look how happy your dad is.” she told him, watching as the former villain helped his wife spread out a picnic blanket not far away. The sound of laughter floated over to them. Lloyd grinned.

“I wasn’t sure, at first. If they were gonna figure stuff out. You know?” he admitted hesitantly, “But they’ve both been really great about it so far.”  

Kai gave his hair a ruffle and said, “I’m really happy for you, green bean.”  

“Me too,” Nya agreed, “now let’s get over there and join the others before Cole completely buries Jay.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” Lloyd noted with a laugh. The two ninja in question were throwing sand at each other with gusto. The buckets they had brought for sand castles had been long forgotten. He followed Kai and Nya as they approached them, ignoring his slight limp. The lingering effects of his injuries made it difficult to completely forget the events leading up to this moment, but he was happy to put the memories out of his mind for now.  

“Do I even want to know what’s happening right now? I thought you were gonna make a scale model of the city.” asked Nya as she ducked a wayward clump of wet sand. Jay gave her a look that clearly meant save me.  

“We were. But dirt clod over here decided it’d be funny to bury me instead…” he complained.  

“So I know this looks bad but-” Cole began to protest before Kai interrupted him.

“Nah, I can definitely see the appeal in torturing Jay.”

“Hey!” the master of lightning glared at Kai, “not helping.”

“Listen. You know those pictures where people bury their legs in sand and make it look like they have mermaid tails and stuff? I was just thinking it’d be funny to take one of those and send it to Zane.” Cole explained, resisting the urge to toss more sand at his best friend. They had all been a bit disappointed that their nindroid brother couldn’t wouldn’t be joining them til later in the day, but they understood his desire to spend as much time as possible with his father. There was no way of knowing how much longer they had. Lloyd’s eyes lit up.  

“Oh, that does sound like fun!”

“Okay but I don’t see why I have to be the mermaid,” Jay said, giving Cole a dirty look, “Nya’s like, way prettier.”  

“Um… thank you?” she replied. Her cheeks flushed slightly at his awkward compliment.  

“Well, I mean, your hair could almost pass for red in this light.” Cole offered.  

“And you did grow up in a junkyard. I’m sure you do have whozits and whatzits galore lying around.” Nya added.  

“And thingamabobs. He’s definitely got at least twenty of those.” Lloyd joined in with glee.  

“But who cares. No big deal. He wants mooore.” Kai began to sing. He wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity to mess with Jay.  

“Jay wants to be where the people are. Jay wants to see, wants to see them dancing,” the others joined in loudly and more than a little off key, “Walkin' around on those, Whad'ya call 'em?”

“Oh, feet!” Nya practically shouted. Jay shook his head in resignation. His family had become far too invested in this for his liking.

“O-okay fine. I’ll do it. But only if you stop singing about me like that.”  

“Thanks for being such a good sport, buddy.” Cole told him, slapping his back. He sighed and then plopped himself down on a particularly nice-looking patch of sand.  

“Well, might as well get comfortable, I guess. I expect to look fabulous by the time this is over.” the master of lightning joked, already scooping up whatever sand was within arm’s reach.

“Oh, don’t worry. You will.” his girlfriend promised. Lloyd nodded enthusiastically.  

“We got you covered.” he declared before grabbing a bucket and wandering off in search of seashells to decorate with. This beach was much nicer than the one on the island. He hadn’t enjoyed that experience very much; it had been gloomy and cold and had quite honestly been full of traumatizing experiences. But here there was sun, and warmth and pretty shells, and sea glass that had washed up with the tide. It was peaceful. Lloyd found himself wishing they’d done this sooner. His parents probably weren’t going to appreciate all his newfound treasures, though. Most of the things he’d put in his bucket were not going to be donated to Jay’s new look. He smiled with delight, spotting another sand dollar to add to his collection.  

“Yo, Lloyd, get your butt over here.” the Green Ninja heard Kai shouting in the distance. He pocketed it and trotted back to the others. They had managed to completely bury Jay’s legs while he was gone and now Cole was carving a scaly design into the sand-tail.  

“Oh, yes. These will work great!” Nya exclaimed, rooting through his Lloyd’s bucket. He snatched away some of his more precious finds before she could claim them for Jay.  

“Betcha I could help you make a lanyard with one of these pieces of sea glass later, if you want? I saw a tutorial on Ninterest that looked cool.” she offered. Lloyd considered this for a moment. It would make a nice gift for his mother – a peace offering to show that he was doing his best to let go of their rocky past.

“Sure, that’d be neat.” he agreed.  

“Okay, you two. Show me the goods. I get full veto power on anything that isn’t mermaidy enough.” Jay told them, doing his best to hold still so he wouldn’t disturb the sand piled on his legs.

“Is that even a word?” Kai wondered. The master of lightning gave him a look.  

“It is now. I’m a mermaid so I would know.”

Nya rolled her eyes and held up one of the shells she’d snagged from Lloyd.  

“Whaddya think, Ariel, is this one a keeper?” she asked her boyfriend. He examined it carefully.  

“Ooh yeah, I like it.” he replied.  

“What about…” Lloyd took his time choosing another shell, “This one? “

“Nah, that one has a piece chipped off, see? Mermaid princesses don’t wear chipped shells.”

“More for me, then.” Lloyd shrugged, happy to return the shell to his collection. They cycled through more shells and eventually they began to run out of places to put them.  

“Please tell me that was the last of them? If we add any more shells, Jay’s gonna start looking tacky.” said Cole.  

“It is. Unless you wanna fight Lloyd to the death for his ‘favorites’ or something.” Nya assured him.

“I just think they’re cool, okay?” Lloyd defended, pulling the bucket closer.

“How about we take that picture, now.” Kai suggested gently. Jay nodded in agreement. He was starting to lose feeling in his feet.  

“Please. As fun as this has been, I can’t hold still much longer.”

They called Garmadon, who wisely refrained from asking questions, over to take the picture for them on Cole’s phone. He waited patiently as they arranged themselves so that everyone was visible, the sight of his son so happy making it all worthwhile. Once everyone was in position (which was an adventure in itself), they smiled brightly while the former warlord snapped several pictures.

“Thank you,” Cole said as he took his phone back from Garmadon and flipped through the images, “guys! These are gold!”

The others crowded around so they could see too. Nya turned to Jay, who was still half buried, and offered her hands.

“Want some help up?” she asked.

“Sure,” he grinned, wanting to see himself in all his mermaid glory before Cole sent the picture to Zane. The master of lightning grabbed his girlfriend’s hands and prepared to be launched from his sandy prison. Unfortunately for both of them, Nya yanked a bit too hard. They both ended up sprawled on the sand, prompting Cole to take even more pictures. Kai and Lloyd snickered as the two struggled to disentangle themselves.  

“You better not post those on Chirp.” Nya muttered. The master of earth shrugged in a way that made it clear he planned to do exactly that the first chance he got.  

“Alright, lemme see.” Jay demanded once he was back on his feet. Cole tossed him his phone. He smiled broadly when he saw the results of his mermaidy suffering.

“Oh, yes. I can’t wait to see Zane’s reaction to this.”

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I could do with a bit less sand covering my entire body. I’m gonna go rinse off.” Nya declared, heading for the water. Lloyd watched absently as she, Jay, and Cole raced towards the waves after sending Zane a copy of their shenanigans. Kai stood next to him. He didn’t seem interested in joining the others.  

“You’re not gonna go swimming?” Lloyd asked.

“Nah. Water’s not really my thing. And besides. You look like you’ve got something on your mind.” Kai told him.

“I’m just… wondering what happens next, that’s all.” Lloyd explained. Kai regarded him carefully for a moment before responding. There were a lot of unknowns now that the world was beginning to return to normal. But that didn’t mean Lloyd should be stressing out about the future. So Kai settled for something simple.  

“You get to be a kid, Lloyd. You go home and find a good hiding place for all that stuff you’ve got in your bucket. You spend time with your parents and stay up way too late reading comic books,” his brother cracked a grin at this, “Maybe even get Nya to help you with your multiplication tables so you can stop counting on your fingers – don’t think I haven’t noticed that. But at the end of the day, whatever you decide, it’s your choice. I know eventually Master Wu will have stuff for you to do, but in the meantime? Just be a kid, okay? You deserve that much.”

“O-okay. I think I can do that.” Lloyd decided. He hadn’t exactly gotten to just be a kid lately. It sounded… nice.

“Good.” Kai told him, ruffling his hair.  

“Thanks.” he replied, giving the older boy a hug. Returning it, Kai said, “It’s what big brothers do, green bean.”  

They stood there in silence for a few minutes, just enjoying the peacefulness of the afternoon. The sound of Nya screeching as Jay dunked her could be heard in the distance, bringing them back to reality.

“You sure you don’t wanna go in the water?” Lloyd broke the silence.

“Would… would you believe me if I told you I can’t swim?” Kai admitted, looking sheepish. Lloyd stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out if he was lying.

“You do realize you were the first to suggest swimming back to ninjago when we got stuck on the island, right?” he said at last.

“I… yes that is true…” the master of fire stated. Lloyd smacked him.

“Dude, you need serious help. You could’ve died.” he exclaimed.  

Kai held up his hands in surrender.

“I know, I know. Getting myself killed would’ve been a dumb move.”

“The dumbest,” Lloyd agreed, dragging him towards the water, “but you’re at least gonna come put your feet in. And we are so revisiting this later.”

“Okay, but I take no responsibility for any splashing that might happen as a result of your pestering.” joked Kai, giving in to Lloyd’s demands with little protest. After all, the sun was bright and the water was cool, and in this moment, the world was at peace. Whatever the future held could wait.