#(carrot is the shiny)

[heartnosekid]

momozzi_slime on ig

#slime #fruit #stim #stimboard #sfw #orange #red #yellow #pink #green #fake food #watermelon #strawberries #pineapples #carrots #? #shiny #hands #squishy #clear #ishy gifs #postish #stretching

[emuiy]

Shiny princess cookie

Carrot cookie and Shiny princess cookie are besties dating🗣️🗣️💥 💥💥

#cookie run book #carrot cookie #shiny princess cookie #crk

[blustankgirl]

Looks at Johnny before giving her a boop on the snoot (Brander)

Boop at your risk

#shiny and chrxme #OC doodle #((Fun fact: Fingers have the same density as carrots))

[mkstrigidae]

I’m trying to learn how to gouache and I keep getting annoyed with it halfway through and going ‘fuck it- colored pencils’

(Not pictured: me, mowing my way through an obscene number of carrots like I’m fucking bugs bunny because I’m handling adulthood really well)

#my art #wip #art wips #gemstones #amethyst #drawin purty rocks #bc I see them and they are so shiny and colorful and I want to eat them #forbidden snack #also I’ve just been craving carrots like a fucking maniac lately #no idea why #gouache #seriously tho gouache is so hard for me for some reason #the style of painting I’m most proficient with is watercolors #and gouache does nOT BEHAVE SIMILARLY NO MATTER WHAT PEOPLE TELL YOU #honestly it’s driving me nuts #I also have a hard time working dark to light so that’s a thing #specifically because I am so used to watercolors #anyways have some unfinished rocks

[ohkate]

At what point do you get when you finally stop having this weird amnesia and remember not to try making the food you find on pinterest because it's always bad. Bad bad.

'Prep time: 20 minutes" Fucking lies.

Look at this highly edited picture that looks delicious.... Fucking LIES.

"It's so easy..." Liar liar pants on fucking fire.

And without fail I forget after a while and I troll my way back to Pinterest and think, "Hmm those lemon cream cheese bars look amazing. And it only takes 15 minutes to make. Let me go buy the 30 dollars worth of ingredients I need and put aside 3 hours of my life to eat one and be disappointed."

#i am an avid cook #but i've yet to make any recipe found on pinterest that has been worth the time money and effort #with the exception of maybe 2 things #and i'm convinced those were accidental #but here i am again #making cinnamon rolls #that taste like ass #i feel like Dory #seeing a shiny object #going toward it over and over #mmm carrot cake cookies? that sounds delicious! #NO- it won't be. #stop looking at the delicious image #and falling for their photoshopped lies

[clairenatural]

Dean doesn't like the word "boyfriend." He decides this the second time Cas says it–the first time it was new, shiny, exciting. The second time, he fights the urge to cringe.

It's not the "boy" part. It's not. It would have been, for a long time, but he's dug all that shit up and unpacked all the suitcases. They hold hands in public. They kiss goodbye in front of his coworkers at the garage.

It's just–not enough. Not nearly. Jack comes home from hanging out with his friends and fills Dean on the gossip and his boyfriend and her girlfriend and–that's not them. "Boyfriend" feels like a cheap mockery. Like how demons used to tease.

He's heard "partner." He's heard it from Sam, to Eileen, but he doesn't know how he can stomach it. He's said that word too many times. I'm Agent Tyler and this is my partner, Agent Perry. This is my partner, Agent Page. My partner, Agent Stills. All lies. Sam says he likes it, that he's making it mean something real. Besides, Eileen loves it.

Good for them, Dean thinks. It makes his skin crawl.

So he sticks with “boyfriend” and he shrugs off the funny urge to protest every time Cas says it. It makes him happy, and honestly, it’s not like he has an alternative.

It’s a Sunday when he realizes that somehow, Cas does. They’re at the farmer’s market, like Cas is every weekend, but Dean had picked up weekend shifts and missed the past few. Cas is excited the whole way there, telling Dean about how he’d manage to befriend the local honey vendor in his absence, how she’d invited him to a beginner’s apiarist group she helps run. They beeline (heh) to the honey booth as soon as they get there, and the woman--Judith? Janice?--smiles up at them both, hands Cas a jar of honey like she’d been expecting him, and says “Oh, this must be the husband! I’ve heard so much about you.”

Dean stares at Cas. Cas stares at the honey. Judith/Janice stares at both of them, smile fading as the silence goes on a beat too long. 

Dean clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. The husband, that’s me! Ha ha.” Beside him, Cas relaxes, just barely. In front of him, the woman breathes an audible sigh of relief. “Sorry,” Dean shifts. “Just didn’t, um. Realize I was such a hot topic.” 

The smile he gets is almost sympathetic. “Oh, only good things. Here,” she hands him a business card. “You should also come out to our meeting on Wednesday. Lots of people bring their partners.” She leans in, almost conspiratorial. “Beekeeping can be wonderful for couples.”

It’s at this point that Cas clears his throat and finally looks up from the honey in his hand, evidently giving up hope on escaping this conversation. “Thank you, Janet.” (oh. Janet.) “Dean works late on Wednesdays, but I’m very excited to see you all.” He’s pulling out money as he says this, apparently deciding to just go ahead and end the entire interaction. He hands her the bills, grabs Dean’s hand, and is already moving away from the booth by the time Janet calls “See you Wednesday!” after them.

Cas drags him all the way back to the car without stopping for tomatoes, or Sam's carrots, or the free-range eggs that are way too expensive but Cas buys anyway because you can taste when the hen is well cared-for, Dean (whatever that means). They slide into the car, still not talking, and sit in silence for several long seconds. Dean stares at Cas, who stares out the windshield at the parking lot.

"I can explain," Cas speaks, finally, right as Dean was about to open his mouth and say anything to break the silence.

Dean pauses. Can you? Cause I feel like I missed a few chapters, he thinks.

"I don't work late on Wednesdays," he says instead.

"Oh." Now it's Cas staring at Dean, and Dean staring out at the asphalt.

He turns the keys. He drives them home.

Later, making dinner, Dean rolls the word around in his head. Husband. He's making his husband pasta (It's missing the tomatoes. He's made more with less).

Husband doesn't feel like a costume, like an ill-fitting suit and scratchy tie. It doesn't feel like high school gossip, or a monster trying to hit him where it hurts. It settles in warm in his chest.

It's just the two of them that night, and they're eating in the comfortable silence of the bunker until Dean clears his throat and brings it up. "Why does Janet at the farmer's market think we're married?"

Cas pauses, fork of pasta halfway to his mouth. He puts the fork down and takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not mad," Dean hurries to clarify. "It's just that there's usually, uh. Steps, you know. Like a whole....thing."

"I'm aware." Cas sighs. "She assumed, seeing us around - the first time I spoke to her without you, she asked where my husband was. And I..."

"You didn't correct her?"

"...No. I, um." Cas is looking down at his plate again. He picks up the fork, still half-full of pasta, then puts it back down again. "I didn't want to?" He says the end of the sentence like a question but looks back up at Dean and squints just a bit, and Dean knows he's watching for a reaction.

"Uh huh."

"It felt trivial."

"To tell her we're not married?"

"To call you my boyfriend." For the first time, he stumbles over the word.

Dean blinks. "You--" he stops, brain processing too much information to finish that sentence. "Okay." He leans back in his chair. Sighs. Rubs a hand across his eyes and lets it drag down his face. "Okay, listen. I don't like boyfriend either, but we gotta...talk about it."

"We are talking about it. You don't like it either?" Cas leans forward as Dean slumps back, following him across the table.

Dean snorts. "No, man." He shakes his head. "It's been a decade. I've seen you die." Six times. But who's counting.

"I agree." Cas pauses, and then, as if it's the most natural conclusion in the world, "Will you marry me?"

Dean actually laughs at this. "You're asking me that now?"

Cas quirks an eyebrow at him. "I've grown quite fond of calling you my husband at the farmer's market. I'd like to continue."

Dean stares at him in disbelief. It's not how he'd pictured it going, but he also can't think of it going any other way. Slowly, he nods. "Yeah, okay. Let's be husbands."

Across the table, Cas grins at him.

"But we're getting rings," Dean points a finger at him, because something about this is going to be normal.

"If you'd like. Although I already told Janet that you can't wear a ring because of your work at the garage, and I don't wear mine in solidarity."

"Rings," Dean insists, and decides to overlook the rest of that sentence. For now. He stabs his fork into a pile of the pasta. "And let me stop for the damn tomatoes next time."

They get rings and wear them on chains around their necks. Cas puts a beehive on the hill, and there's a small ceremony in the summer - a "vow renewal" to Cas' beekeeping group, who all receive invites attached to little jars of honey. Janet gets the nicest one.

#mae clairenatural writing fic in the year 2023...... #go easy on me im rusty #i started this a year ago and decided to finish it and that was PAINFUL #destiel #deancas #destiel fic #1.2k words #my words

[everybell]

Carrots - Candied Carrots

#These candied carrots are made with tender #boiled carrots cooked in a buttery brown sugar sauce until shiny for a colorful #crowd-pleasing side dish. place carrots #carrots #pound carrots #family #holidays #side dish #tender

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: Healthy Habits To Look & Feel Your Best Without Restriction or Unrealistic Routines

Realistic ways to maintain a healthy life/body/appearance (size and weight are all personal, not the most important metric – for certain). No diet culture or delulu-land tips here.

What I've done to maintain my 30-pound weight loss for over a decade, glowing clear skin (no pimples or discoloration, etc.), and super healthy, full & shiny hair, still living life and enjoying it – the mindful way.

Eat home-cooked meals & (plant-based) whole foods – 90-95% of the time

Incorporate at least 1 salad into my daily routine (either a large, hearty lunch salad or a simple green salad as a starter with dinner)

Include at least 1 fruit/vegetable in every meal or snack

Never restrict food groups – whole grains/potatoes, healthy fats, protein-rich plant foods, and produce are all essential to consume every day

Focus on meals, but have whole food snack options on hand to enjoy if genuinely hungry (mainly fruit, lupini beans, edamame, carrots/celery/cucumber with hummus, plain popcorn, handful of almonds/cashews)

Have breakfast after one coffee (before a second) and have dinner late enough (8-9:30 pm) to curb late-night hunger

Only have fruit and tea after dinner; Always stop consuming food at least 3 hours before bed for better sleep/digestion

Order whatever I want when going out to eat, but split dessert

Have at least one indulgent meal/dessert per week

No sugary cocktails – wine, champagne/prosecco, martinis, gin & tonic, margarita, French Connection, Sambuca, Grappa, tequila on the rocks, etc. are great options. Bellinis/fruit plus wine/spirits cocktails are a good middle ground. Sugary drinks worsen the hangover – big-time

Perceive healthy eating as a form of enjoyment, creativity, and nourishment, not restriction or deprivation (it's not if done liberally enough)

Consume a vitamin B12 and vitamin D supplement daily. Keep digestive enzymes on hand for when they're necessary

Always have a large glass of water first thing in the morning (before coffee) and by my side all day long

No soda, juices, sugary drinks, etc. Black coffee, tea, and water only on the daily – wine and no-sugar alcoholic drinks on rare occasions. Smoothies can be a great snack or breakfast, though!

Incorporate an (almost) daily walk into my schedule as a form of exercise and a mental health reset (I aim for 4-5 miles/10Kish steps per day on average)

Do short, low-impact strengthen training exercises 3x a week (15-30 mins each usually) for bone health & toning

Never forcing myself to do strenuous exercise/workout formally in a gym – it's not for me; it doesn't make me feel/look better and throws my hunger & energy levels way off. To each their own, though

Have a variety of playlists ready to go for waking up, working, dancing, walking/workouts, doing chores, and reading/relaxing

Internalizing that sexual health is a core aspect of your health & well-being – on all counts

Maintaining a simple skincare routine 2x per week with high-quality products and a couple of weekly treatments

Prioritizing my body care routine with as much as my facial skincare routine

Wearing at least SPF 30 daily

Exfoliating 2-3x per week

Learning what hair products work for my hair type; Using a deep conditioning mask and a scalp mask weekly

Using only cold water when washing my hair

Incorporating face & body massages into my weekly at-home routine

Using Uriage lip balm, hand cream, and deodorant religiously

Flossing 1-2 times a day/using an electric toothbrush

#healthy habits #healthy eating #health and wellness #health & fitness #health is wealth #skincare tips #haircare #self care #glow up era #self concept #femme fatale #dark feminine energy #dark femininity #it girl #high value woman #the feminine urge #high value mindset #female excellence #female power #queen energy #dream girl #femmefatalevibe #q/a

[doctors-star]

thinking about how the watch books and the moist books are all about the city, and what would happen if it was moist given charge of the city watch and vimes working in the post office. the easy answer is obviously that it wouldn't work; lipwig's heart lies in selling sizzle, whereas vimes' primary interest is ascertaining where the sausage was on the night in question. but i'm compelled by moist looking at criminality from the other side - it's the same thought process, but the criminal should end up inside the cell, the patrician beams - suddenly faced more often with the consequences of petty crimes, with the victims, with the messy nasty aftermath. vimes, drunk and depressed in a dead-end job in the post office, which no-one uses or respects anyway, seeing the next postmaster die and hearing about the clacksmen dying and deciding: no more. moist would think carrot was his parole officer; vimes would struggle, somewhat, with a nine foot man of clay hiding the bearhuggers all the time. the watch would be shiny and sexy and the post office wouldn't be, not at all, but there would be a very angry man hauling letters about the place, mumbling to himself about setting them on fire because he's not having someone else's words in his damn head. the summoning dark wouldn't like lipwig; he knows its tricks. moist wouldn't arrest an army, or the patrician, because he doesn't believe in the law that way, but he'd talk everyone into such confusion that they'd forget what he was ambassadoring for in the first place. vimes wouldn't race the clacks, but he'd check the vault for gold properly when he took on the bank and get its previous owners arrested, causing widespread chaos and giving lipwig a headache. it'd work out of sheer bloody-mindedness and love of the city and it would shake out all wrong - but it would shake out nonetheless.

also lipwig would think it was so funny, being head cop, and vimes would love playing with trains. they deserve that.

#discworld #moist von lipwig #sam vimes #rest assured moist is also investigating a break in at the golem trust and sam is shyly delivering dragon medicine up scoone avenue #any man that fond of driving a riverboat would love playing trains #this is your captain speaking

[leona-florianova]

To answer the question a bunch of people asked over the years,: "Why do you draw every Ankh-Morpork watch uniform different?"

..

I think there is no uniformness to the night watch uniforms, i mean..besides colors of the clothes...And that they also wear the insignia..

I feel like most of the official uniform helmets and other pieces of armor have sort of...disappeared over the years (their location was tactically changed). And whats left is mismatched mix that was amassed over decades of different fashions and technology. (alot of..uh.. lost and found...and confiscated)

-Vimes wears the same helmet he has been wearing for YEARS...Same with his breast plate...Keeping them appropriately delustered

-Fred Colons helmets keep on disappearing, so he has to get a "new" one every once in a while. His breastplate is the old sergeant one and he keeps it in pretty good shiny shape.

-Nobby has MANY HELMETS and many breastplates and chainmail shirts.. But has few favorites..and those he wears untill the leather snaps, the metals rust.. or grow weird green growths and ultimately break (which with him for some reason happens FAST)

-Carrot wears a breastplate he got from the watch armory, but helmet he wears traditionally dwarven.

-Most of other dwarves also wear their own helmets n armor ..

-Trolls just get whatever designs they can get made.

-Angua wears leather armor and usually doesnt wear a helmet (the other watchmen wanted to get her a boob armor, but after bringing it up to her, they very quickly dropped the idea)

-Reg goes through his armors even faster than Nobby, and has to buy his own.

*Edit: the uniforms not looking the same is how they were described in the books, s not from my head, just bad wording on my side.

#discworld #night watch #gnu terry pratchett #gnu jan kantůrek #text post #headcanon

[fic-over-cannon]

Words Left Unsaid

jason todd x f!reader

ao3 link

summary: jason todd is your childhood best friend. he dies before his Words come in, the first words his soulmate will say to him, and you have to pick up the pieces.

tags: soulmate au, major character death (temporary), grief

rated mature | wc: 8.8k

a/n: so this monster of a story was based on an ask i sent to @jasonsmirrorball a while back (don’t read for spoilers). it pretty much took on a life of its own, and now here we are nearly 9k later. it does get pretty dark in its exploration of grief, so please take care of yourselves my lovelies.

Everyone’s born with Words somewhere on their body, unreadable at first. The skin is shiny, like an old scar, the words blurry and undefined. One day, you’ll see the first words you’ll ever hear your soulmate say to you, that shiny patch of skin blooming like ink (there’s superstitions about the colour your Words fade into, as popular as astrology). The trick of the thing is, you won’t find out what your Words are until you’ve become the person who is meant to hear them. You could meet your soulmate a hundred times and not know it, not until you’ve both grown into the people you need to be. The youngest person to get their Words was seven, and the oldest 92 years young. Or so the stories go. When you’re young, still poking at your loose front tooth with your tongue, it’s a story that comforts you. It’s the story you beg your parents for before bed every night. It’s the carrot they use to get you to try new things and go new places. What if you meet your soulmate at the new movie theatre downtown? How do you know eating your veggies won’t develop you into who your soulmate needs you to be?

It’s what your mother uses to try and coax you out of the car for your first day at a new school. She’s driven you to school for your first day, a one off so she can finish up your admittance paperwork. In this moment you hate her for it. It’s February and the year is more than halfway over. The snow has melted into dirty grey slush in the streets and the pinching Mary Janes the school mandates as part of the uniform are going to provide no protection. It’s halfway through the year and you’re certain no one is going to be your friend at a new school in a new city. You’re twelve years old and to you this is the end of the world. You’re trying so hard not to cry, hugging yourself together and burying your chin in your chest.

“Come on, honey, this is a school. It’ll help you become who you need to be.”

Your mother’s voice is cajoling, trying to coax you out the same way she coaxed a stray cat into her arms. It worked on the cat, now named Haley after the comet, but it doesn’t work on you. She tries to catch your eye in the rear view mirror but you stubbornly turn your head to look out the window instead.

“Please. Work with me here. We’ll go in together, you’ll have a wonderful day and make so many friends. And after school, I’ll take you out for donuts and you can tell me all about it before your Dad gets home.”

You keep silent, continue to stare out the window at all the other kids walking into the building.

“Honey, please. Can you just do this one thing for me, please.”

She’s almost begging now, and you hate the way it makes her sound. You want to tell her how scared you are, how there’s nothing more you want to do except huddle under your covers in your unfamiliar bed and hold Haley close. But your fear is a hot ball in your chest, choking off any words that might come out. You look at her though, plead with her with your eyes to understand how much you don’t want to do this. She stares back at you, an exhausted slump to her shoulders and lines around her eyes you don’t remember being there. Slowly, you unwrap your arms from around your rib cage. Place a hand on each knobbly knee and slowly curl them into fists before nodding, once, sharply, eyes firmly fixed on the car seat in front of you. Your eyes burn, but the sigh of relief your mother heaves out is worth it.

Gotham Academy is housed in a collection of gothic stone buildings which should have been strange in a large city like Gotham but weirdly works. You just think it’s creepy. Head down, you follow your mother’s back weaving through the crowds of students. You don’t want to see the stares, but you can already feel them boring into you. Sitting in the secretary’s office, you pick at invisible lint on your knitted tights. You know your mother’s having a conversation with the secretary but it all flies over your head in shushing murmurs. Your back aches from the overstuffed chair. The Mary Janes do pinch, makes you worried that you’ve already twisted your ankles from the way they throb.

“I’ve got to get to work now sweet pea, but I just now you’re going to have a great first day. I’ll pick you up at 4:00 and we can go get those donuts okay?”

Your mother’s crouched down in front of you, eyes searching your face for any kind of reaction. She looks worried and that’s what causes you to crack. You fling yourself out of the chair and into her arms, allow yourself one great heaving sob into her shoulder. She strokes your hair and hushes you, squeezes you tight like she could make you part of her.

“Oh honey. Everything’s scary right now but I promise it’s not going to stay that way. I believe in you and you’re going to get through this.”

You draw back from her, scrub at your face with your fists. Heaving breaths don’t help but they don’t make it worse. You go with the secretary, new schedule twisted tight in your hands. She lets you discard your coat and backpack in a locker, before walking you to your new homeroom. You only hope that you’ll remember the locker combination.

You hate the way your new homeroom teacher makes you stand at the front of the room. Mr. Mulligan won’t let you sit down until you introduce yourself to the class, a thing he could have done so easily himself. Pulling at your sleeves and trying not to make eye contact with anyone, you stutter out a few basic facts. Hate the way you can feel the other students catalogue you, the way your hair doesn’t look shiny and straight like its fresh out of a salon, your too small shoes, the unfashionably long length of your skirt and the lack of designer accessories. Your cheeks and eyes are burning by the time you can slide down into your assigned seat near the back of the class. There’s only one other person sitting in your row, a boy with dark curling hair and a shy grin. He leans over to your desk just Mr. Mulligan starts the lecture.

Whispers, “Hi! My name’s Jason. I already know your name, figured if we’re going to be seat mates its only fair you know mine.”

You smile tightly and turn back to the lesson. You’re desperate not to miss anything, already feeling like you’ve been left behind. At your old school, you were in the middle of The Great Gatsby, but Gotham Academy is doing Romeo and Juliet for their seventh grade English class. You don’t have the play book, have no idea what part of the text they’re talking about, and this is the first time you’ve actually heard Shakespeare read out loud. Writing as fast you can, you try to keep up but it doesn’t matter how good your notes are if you don’t understand what the teacher’s talking about.

Usually you love English class, how uncovering symbolism and hidden meanings make you feel like you’re uncovering secret messages sent by the authors years in the past. Now it’s all going over your head and you hate it here so much already. The one class that you might have been looking forward to and you’re overwhelmed by it. You press too hard with your pencil, tear through the sheet of paper in front of you.

A notebook slides across your desk. Messy but legible writing on the first few scenes of the Act are written on it. Looking in the direction it came from, you make eye contact with Jason. He grins toothily before turning back to the front, Mr. Mulligan having moved on to a different quotation. The gesture makes your chest tight.

The rest of the class goes by uneventfully if still a challenge. There’s a short break between classes in which you frantically copy down the notes and slide the notebook back to him before your next teacher arrives. The next class isn’t so bad, still difficult and you’ve never liked math as much as you probably should, but it’s less intimidating than English. Someone must have fiddled with the thermostat during the break because the room feels colder than before. You wish you were on your old school’s schedule with shorter classes and more breaks. Sitting still for so long at your desk is making your back ache and cramp up. Math is almost over, Miss Lewis writing out the assigned homework on the board, when a wave of something comes over you. It’s an effort of will not to curl up on your desk.

The bell rings for lunch break and you just about bolt to the first bathroom you can find. Something’s wrong with you, more than just nerves over the first day. You’re cold but you’re sweating, nausea burning at the back of your throat. The ache in your back and stomach are almost unbearable, makes you want to curl into the fetal position to ward off invisible blows. Rolling down your tights in a hurry, you sit down on the cold toilet as fast as you can. Your hand is wet, and for a moment you worry that you’d lost control of your bladder on the way to the bathroom. But the stain on your hand is dark, matches the blood slick crotch of your panties. You hang your head and can feel the tears you’ve been holding onto all morning drop onto the floor. Just another thing you can’t control in this shitty new town and its stupid new school. Your first period.

The bathroom is cold, hard tile under your feet and wintery sunlight weak through the windows near the ceiling. The blood on your fingers is cold and tacky now. There’s a boundary here, between childhood and being an adult that you aren’t ready to cross yet. I want my mom, you think, only on the edge of hysteria. But she’s at work, wouldn’t be able to come if you called.

So you do what needs to be done, stop your tears as best as you can and sniffle. Wipe your face clean with the back of your sleeve and do your best to dab at your underwear with the single ply toilet paper. Layer sheets of toilet paper between your tights and underwear, build a makeshift pad in your sort-of dry underwear out of toilet paper and hope that it will hold up. Luckily you’ve escaped staining the regulation uniform skirt, so no one should be able to tell what happened. You get transfixed by the swirls of blood washing down the sink drain, hands gone numb under the stream of water. Splash cold water on your face in the vain hope it’ll calm down your puffy eyes. As ready as you can be in this situation, you eye yourself in the mirror and tell yourself to get moving before the bell for third period rings.

The boy from the back row is waiting outside the classroom for you. He looks nervous until he sees you, lights up with that shy smile again.

“Hi! I uh noticed you weren’t at lunch today so I grabbed you an apple in case you didn’t grab anything to eat.”

He’s babbling on about the cafeteria food not being that bad if you’d just try it, even though finding a table the first time can be rough. All you can do is stare at the apple in his hands, transfixed. You’re only shaken out of your stupor by the sound of him calling your name.

“So… are you going to take it? The bell’s going to ring soon and the teachers really don’t like us eating during class.”

“Thank you,” you say, genuinely shocked and touched.

He goes a little bashful at that, looks away as you take the apple from him. The apple’s good, sweet and crisp under your teeth. You make quick work of it in the hallway, finishing it up just as the bell rings. Jason stands right in front of you the whole time, hides you from the penetrating eyes of your classmates.

“All done? We should probably find our seats now. Monty,” and here he adopts a snooty British accent, “Archibald the Third is a real stickler for being on time. He’ll mark you late if you’re not sitting in your seat, even if you’re in the classroom.”

His impression makes you snicker and forget, just for a moment, how miserable you are. Mr. Archibald the Third is just as ridiculous as Jason’s impression of him predicted, but you get through it by making eye contact with Jason over the most ridiculous moments. Mr. Archibald really does have you call him “the Third”. It’s probably got something to do with his Words, a flowing script running vertically down the side of his face reading, “The Third, dear God how many of you are there?”. History with Mr. Archibald manages to be fun despite his absurd demeanor and your own private hurt seeming less terrible for a few scattered moments.

The final class of the day drags on, the pain in your front and back growing. Your hand moves across the page but your mind isn’t really paying attention. There’s a commotion as people gather their things and stand, already streaming out the door. You blink, stupefied, then slowly gather your things.

“Same time, same place tomorrow then?”

“—Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow Jason.”

Your mother’s waiting for you in front of the school, car idling puffs of smoke into the darkening afternoon. Your backpack lands in the back seat and you crush your face into her coat across the console. Her hands come to your back, patting and rubbing circles until your breath comes in long, even draws.

“Honey I’m so proud of you. Your first day done! Let’s go celebrate, hmm? How was it? Did you make any new friends?”

“Can we get the donuts to go? I— uh, um I— I might have started my period today?”

Your voice lifts on the end of the sentence, suddenly absurdly worried about her reaction. You needn’t have worried though.

“Oh sweet pea, on your first day too? We can go home, get you a bath and something for your cramps.”

“No, I just really want to go get donuts with you because today kind of sucked and I’ll still feel kinda shitty but at least then I get donuts while I feel bad.”

“No more swearing and we’ll get a whole box to go, okay?”

Lying in bed that night, wrapped around a hot water bottle with Haley on your feet, you think that your day wasn’t that bad. It could have been a lot worse, and Jason was surprisingly nice. You stare at the shiny patch of skin on your wrist and hope that one day it will all be worth it. You drift off to the thought of blue eyes.

For the rest of that week you join Jason at his corner in the cafeteria. Between Math and History you slowly start to get to know one another. He offers to let you borrow his notes for the upcoming test in English, gets a little sheepish when he mentions that he practically knows the content by heart anyway. Jason’s sweet and funny and by Friday you two are the best of friends.

Once your mother is confident that you can handle the commute to school on your own, she doesn’t mind if you’re home late as long as you send a text first. Something about socializing with more kids your age being good for you, not that you’re listening too distracted in the haze of victory. So the two of you hang out after school, the city your shared playground. Jason treats you to your first chili dog and laughs when you get some on your nose. In revenge, you dare him to cover his lunch in chili oil at lunch the next day. The way Mr. Archibald threatens you both with detention for being disruptive is so worth it.

It’s not until the middle of April that you get the courage to ask Jason why you. Why out of everyone in the school he chose to reach out to the new kid and make her his friend. It’s probably the most personal thing you’ve asked him yet.

“It’s ‘cause no one else would’ve. Most of the kids here, their families founded Gotham and they’re not keen on outsiders. Most of the scholarship kids, they start at the same time, form a group so the rich kids don’t pick on them so much.” He pauses here, has to look away before he goes on. “Most of the others don’t like me ‘cause I don’t really fit into either category, you know? Like my dad’s a big name in Gotham but he only just adopted me so I’m not really one the rich kids but he’s doing more than just paying my school fees. You looked just as lonely as I was,” here he turns to grin, “and I wasn’t going to give up an opportunity to make someone carry my lunch tray.”

“Hey, idiot, if I remember right it was you bringing me lunch the first time.” You shove at him indignantly, but he dodges too quickly for you.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t remember, on account of me being an idiot.” He flicks you on the tip of the nose and goes running.

And then it’s on. You chase him around the park, laughing and swearing to get your revenge on him. The two of you collapse breathlessly onto a mostly dry patch of dirt under a skeletal tree. Staring up at the sky and trying to catch your breath, you feel Jason nudge at your should beside you.

“So what about you? What brought you to the happiest place on earth?”

“My dad got headhunted for a promotion. He’s researching something for Wayne Industries and all of us had to move here for it. So mom gets a new job and I get transferred to a new school.” You sit up suddenly, look down at Jason lying in the grass. “Promise not to tell anyone?” You wait for him to nod first before continuing. “I only got into Gotham Academy because of my dad. I heard him and my mom arguing about it; he made it part of his contract that I’d get to go to school there if he accepted the job.”

“So? I’m only at GA because of my dad too. You think a kid from Crime Alley gets to go to private school without a little nepotism?”

You slump back down on to the grass, stretch a hand out to the sky and look up at it.

“To nepotism I guess.”

A hand reaches up to the sky next to yours. Slowly, ever so slowly he reaches a pinky out and links it with yours.

“To two misfits only here because of nepotism.”

School lets out in June, the city air ridiculously hot and humid. You can’t say that you’ve made any good friends outside of Jason, but there’s some girls you say hello to in the halls. You mourn not being able to see Jason everyday, but the plans you have to meet up are enough to soothe the ache.

He takes you to an arcade first, the two of you spending hours trying to beat each other at Pac Man. Tired but happy you split a basket of fries at the attached cafeteria. You’re enjoying the greasy fried goodness of the snack but you notice Jason isn’t reaching for the basket as quickly as you are. Looking over at him, you notice him staring at a pair of brothers playing a game. The younger whoops, jumps up and down in excitement. The older one ruffles his brother’s hair and challenges him to a new round. You toss a fry in Jason’s direction, surprised when he actually manages to catch it.

“You good?”

“—Yeah. It’s just, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it? But I kind of have an older brother and he was supposed to take me to the arcade last weekend but he got in a fight with Dad and just left.”

“That’s a real dick move, ditching you over his issues.” At that, Jason breaks out in hysterical laughter, almost choking on the fry in his mouth. There are tears in his eyes by the time he stops coughing but he looks slightly less like a kicked puppy.

“It really, really was. You don’t know how much it was.”

Happy that the mood has lifted, the two of you finish off the basket of fries. You challenge Jason to Dance Dance Revolution and he wipes the floor with you. He’s way more athletic than you’d expected from him. The two of you part ways happy, already planning your next hang out. It is enough.

You meet up almost every week that summer. Jason shows you the Gotham he knows, little hidden gems only locals know about. A movie theatre that only shows movies made before 1980, a diner with the best milkshakes you’ve ever tasted, the best places in the public library to read undisturbed. Teaches you about the safest places to evacuate when disaster hits, which parts of the city are most dangerous. The park and its chili dog stand quickly become a favourite for you, a place to just hang out without any responsibilities. It also becomes a kind of confessional of sorts, where you end up telling each other your worst fears and secret hopes.

You confess once, after riding out your first Rogue attack with your fingers buried in Jason’s T-shirt, that you’re worried you’ll never feel at home again. That you can never go back now to your old house and feel at home there now, but that Gotham still feels too alien to be called home yet. Your darkest fear, that you’ll end up alone one day, deserted by everyone that you know and love. Jason tells you about his fears that one day all of this, Bruce and Alfred, the manor, school, will disappear one day. That the big brother he looks up to will never start to like him. Every time the two of you bare your souls to each other, Jason will hook his pinky over yours and squeeze. It’s a friendship built on shared secrets, on fears assuaged, and worries made better.

Your last year of middle school is largely uneventful. You got to classes, have lunch with Jason, hang out after class with Jason, text Jason. You get into a routine and that brings you comfort. There’s a slight period of awkwardness right before the 8th grade formal. A weird tension envelopes you both, the nebulous question of if you’re going together hanging over you. You don’t like it, the way Jason seems almost hesitant in all your conversations these days. It sets your teeth to itching and you can’t stand it anymore.

Slamming down your textbook, you say “Okay that’s it. I can’t stand whatever this is. You and I are going to the formal as friends. We’ll get all dressed up and if it’s lame we can ditch and go get Batburgers.”

“Oh thank God. I didn’t want to say anything in case it made it awkward but then it was just getting more awkward and then I just didn’t know what to do.”

The party is lame, but the burgers make up for it. Your dress is nice though. Your mother helped you pick it out, the fitted bodice and loose swing of the skirt making you feel passably pretty. It’s been hard to feel pretty with the way your body’s changed over the year, hips widening and chest starting to grow in ways you can’t predict. Jason cleans up nice, though whoever slicked back his hair went overboard on the gel. You pose for a picture all dressed up together, faces pulled into silly expressions, your burgers held in front of you like trophies. You pin a copy of the photo up in your bedroom. It makes you smile every time you see it, something warm in your chest.

The first day of high school brings back those first day jitters. You’re not even transferring schools, just switching to a different building and still your palms are sweating. It’s not until you see Jason, sitting in the back row with an empty seat behind him that you can release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. It’s different teachers and different subjects, but in some ways it’s like the day you met again. Scribbling notes until your hands cramp, Jason passing you notes in class, struggling to keep up with what the teachers are saying. At lunch, you and Jason even split an apple between you. It’s terrifying and familiar and all the more bearable because you aren’t going through it alone.

High school is different. Everyone’s more aware of each other in ways they weren’t in middle school. Girls wear brighter lip glosses and flaunt the shiny spaces where their marks will come in. Boys douse themselves in too much body spray and start eyeing up anything that moves. But through out it all, your friendship remains the same. Something about high school solidifies things, has you go from You and Jason to YouandJason. At school you’re a unit, almost impossible to think of you as separate beings. After school, you still spend time together, still explore the city, still message all the time. But you’ve still never been to each other’s houses. Never met each other’s families yet.

Jason offers, once, to have you over to the manor during the winter break, but you’re not keen on it. Crinkle up your nose and ask to think about it.

“It’s not that I don’t want to see you over the holiday, or meet your family Jason. It’s just that I kind of like the way things are? My family knows that you’re my best friend, they’ve seen pictures of us, but the way things are now, you’re still entirely mine. Our friendship’s just for us. Meeting your family kind of changes that.”

“I like us being us. But would it really be that different to come hang out for a few hours? You could come over when Dad’s out and it’d just be me and Alfred.”

Eventually you agree, spend an afternoon with Jason at the manor to cram for your next round of tests. Mr. Pennyworth is lovely, keeps bringing snacks up to the library as an excuse to check up on you. Bent over your books, you miss the significant looks Alfred is sending Jason over your head and the blush that lights up his face in response. Mr. Wayne is thankfully not home. You’re not sure you could have handled meeting Jason’s grandfather and father in the same visit.

Jason makes it over to your apartment a few times over the spring semester. Your father’s always working, but your mother likes him well enough. She makes him stay over for dinner, won’t let him leave without feeding him first. She calls him a nice boy and tells him to come back any time. Still, you two prefer going out to coffee shops or the library to hang out, uninterrupted by well-meaning adults.

It’s on one of those summer nights, the two of you some of the last people in the public library, that the subject of your Words comes up. The skin across your left wrist catches the warm light of the lamps in a way that’s distracting. You’re startled by the feeling of fingers tracing featherlight over still-shiny skin.

“You ever wonder it about it sometimes? What it’ll say or who’ll say it?” The tone is unreadable but Jason’s voice is above the whisper he usually uses in the library, but with so few people around you figure there’s no harm in mimicking his volume.

“I used to. I was obsessed with Words when I was little. Couldn’t go to sleep without hearing about them as a bed time story.”

“Used to?” And Jason’s fingers are still there, drawing maddening little patterns across the thin skin of your wrist.

“Well, I’ve got other things to think about now, things that are actually within my control.”

Jason presses down, gently, with the broad of his thumb on your pulse. You snatch back your wrist, cradle it to your chest, uncertain of how intimate that gesture felt.

“Fair’s fair. I showed you mine, now you’ve gotta show me yours.” Your tone is teasing, trying to capture the earlier lightness of the afternoon.

“Oh I do, do I?”

He reaches for the top button on his uniform button down, starts undoing two more. Horrified, you reach across the table and grab at his hands.

“What are you doing?! You can’t just go around stripping in public!” Your hissed whisper may not have been said at all for all the impact it makes. Jason shakes off your hands and goes back to undoing his shirt.

“Not all of us are blessed with easily accessible Words. Relax, I just have to get the shirt wide enough to show how far the Words will go.”

Across his collarbone is a thin strip of shiny skin, reaching from one side of his neck to the other like a necklace. Whatever it will say looks pretty lengthy for someone’s Words. Mesmerized, you reach out to trace it with your fingertips. Jason shifts back before you can make contact.

“Gotta buy me dinner first sweetheart. I’m a classy lady like that.”

You flush at the term of endearment, but cover it with indignation.

“Hey! What do you call the tacos I bought for us yesterday?”

He laughs it off and the tense moment is broken. You pack up your things, smiling at the ground. You like the way sweetheart sounds coming from Jason, not that you’d give him that to tease you with. Despite how much you tell each other, there’s one secret you haven’t told him yet. That privately you hope your Words will be his. It’s so easy to fall in love with Jason, or at least what passes for love at this age. The light in his eyes when he rants about the latest book he’s read, when he shares the biscuits Alfred packs for him, the way he listens to you so intently even if he doesn’t have all the answers. You can admit to yourself that you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend, but never out loud. Your friendship is one of the most important things in your life and you are terrified of destroying it.

You don’t see Jason much after that, that summer. Your texts and calls still get answered, but he’s frustratingly vague about meeting up. He says that his dad has him in a kind of summer school, wants him to learn from private tutors before school starts up in the Fall again. Asking about what it is that he’s supposed to learn (his marks are already incredibly good) makes him cagey about it. You don’t want to push, but it feels like he’s pulling away from you. Phone calls get shorter, sentences more clipped. Your offers to just drop by the manor to see him get turned down automatically. It’s the longest you’ve gone without seeing him since you’ve met. You’re terrified that he’s done with you. That for some unnameable reason he’s decided to end your years of friendship and there’s nothing you can do to stop it from happening. Gotham seems colder without Jason at your side, the dangers more obvious and your usual haunts less welcoming.

Finally, after nearly two months you manage to pin him down, get him to agree to meet the day after his birthday. Your heart is in your mouth as you wait for him on a bench in the park. There’s a trickle of sweat running down your back. It’s a hot day but the park is a lush green, an after effect from an Ivy attack the night before. You release your grip on your present for Jason, smooth the envelope and hope you didn’t crease it with your sweaty fingers. A voice is calling your name.

Jason’s been changed by the weeks apart. He’s a few inches taller now, filled out in the shoulders more. You have to crane your neck back to see his face. The anxiety in you is reflected in his face, the way he nervously runs his fingers through his hair, his darting eyes. Uncertain how to proceed, you thrust the envelope out between you.

“Happy Birthday.”

“I— thank you.”

There’s silence again, and the awkwardness between you is a tangible thing. It’s worse than it was in eighth grade only this time you don’t know how to bridge the gap. You look down at your shoes, the toes scuffed.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you.” It comes out of him in a rush. “I’ve been a really shitty friend lately. Just, all summer my dad’s been on me about studying with these private tutors except they’re all friends with Dick so nothing I do can ever be good enough in comparison and every day I’ve felt like crap but I didn’t want you to see me like this which only made me feel worse ‘cause then I basically had to avoid you all the time which is the exact opposite of what I wanted to do and all I wanted to do was have you tell me there’s nothing wrong with me and they can all go kick dirt but then I’d have to talk to you about it which I wasn’t ‘cause I was already embarrassed.” He has to pause here to catch his breath, words running together at the speed which he was going.

“You planning to breathe any time soon?”

He deflates, collapses onto the bench next to you, an arm tucked around his right side awkwardly holding the card so it doesn’t get crushed. You sigh, heavily.

“I thought you didn’t want to be friends anymore.” Your confession is barely above a whisper. You can’t even look at him as you say it.

“I didn’t— I wouldn’t. I need you to know that I never, ever don’t want to be your friend okay? I was an idiot. I’m sorry.”

“Promise not to cut me out again and that you won’t take out your own issues on our friendship, and maybe I’ll consider forgiving you.”

“Pinky promise.”

Jason places the card in his lap, goes to link your fingers together, then winces at the movement of his arm. Suddenly sirens are going off in your brain.

“What’s wrong with your side?”

“Nothing, must have just pulled a muscle or something.” He tries to laugh it off nervously, but you can tell when he’s lying. His eyes dart to the left over your head, knee bounces almost imperceptibly. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you know he’s not telling you the truth.

“You can’t even go a full minute without cutting me out! Jason, I know something is wrong. Now tell me.”

He hesitates, and you’ve had it with the lies and the avoidance and the being kept in the dark. You fingers go to the hem of his shirt and you start tugging.

“Hey! Wh-what are you doing?”

He tries to squirm away, batting at your hands but you get his shirt up far enough to see the bruise on his ribs in the shape of a boot. It’s purple going a sickly yellow, mottled and stark against the dips of his ribs. You can feel all the blood drain from your face. Jason’s pushed up against the far side of the bench, pulling his shirt down with shaking hands.

“Jason. Jason if someone is hurting you, you need to tell someone. If it's your dad or one of the tutors, we can find someone to tell together.”

“No one— no one’s hurting me, all right? I just didn’t get out of the way fast enough during a Rogue attack. I didn’t want to worry you, that’s all. No one’s abusing me, okay?”

“But you’d tell me if they were?”

“I tell you everything important.”

It’s not enough, not nearly for you. From the look in his eyes Jason knows this too, but its all he’s willing to give. There’s a crossroads in your relationship here, a road where you push and push until you get the full story but shatter the tattered strands of your friendship or you accept that you’ll never have all of Jason but maybe your friendship will survive. So you do what needs to be done.

“Okay. If you say that’s what happened then I trust you.”

It’s a low blow, to twist your trust in him like a knife, but it’s your only way to express your frustration with him. You gesture to the envelope, fishing around to change the subject.

“So you going to open that or what?”

And just like that, there’s a new normal. You see Jason everyday in class but he begs off your after school hangouts as often as you two actually spend time together. Conversation is stilted, hidden undercurrents to them of subjects neither one of you wants to address. You’re wary, suspicious of every bump and bruise Jason shows up with. The ease to your friendship has gone, disappeared to the realm of the past.

At the end of October, Jason becomes obsessed with the news. Keeps checking headlines and obituaries, fearful like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. The death of Felipe Garzonas makes the news and the tension in Jason ratchets up. He’s irritable, stops paying attention in classes, blows up when you try to feel out what’s wrong. He’s apologetic every time, promises it won’t happen again until you eventually stop trying to ask questions. Hope that your presence is enough to steady him through whatever it is that is tormenting him.

He asks you once, if you’d believe in his word, no matter what the evidence of something told you otherwise. You tell him you would, always, but that answer doesn’t seem to make a difference.

Winter break comes and goes, without an invitation to visit this time. If anything, Jason comes back more irritable and closed lipped. Mutters something about a fight over Christmas dinner, his brother and Bruce clashing over something. You’re worried about him all the time now. He’s more reckless with himself, won’t look before crossing the road, reacts aggressively to every perceived challenge, throws things when he gets frustrated. He’s changing into someone you don’t recognize in front of your eyes.

April comes and there’s a new light in his eyes. It’s manic and hopeful and the first emotion you’ve seen in him other than fear in months. He won’t tell you what it is, just that there’s something new he’s found out, something about his mother. This time you hope, fingers crossed and a wish on every star that whatever has brought him this hope won’t hurt him.

On Monday, Jason doesn’t come to school. He doesn’t answer your messages or pick up any of your calls. Even when he’s been out sick he at least lets you know. On Tuesday you get called into the office in the middle of first period. You haven’t been back to the secretary’s office since the day you enrolled. The seats are still as overstuffed as you remember. The secretary is the same, a few more grey streaks in her perfectly set hair. Her eyes are red, and she’s got one of those old fashioned handkerchiefs in her hands.

“I’ve got some bad news honey, and I— I think it would be best if you sit down for it.”

“Oh— will this take long? Only I got pulled out of class and we’re reviewing for the exam next week.”

“Oh honey.” She has to pause to dab at her eyes before continuing. “You’re going to be excused from all exams next week, okay? I need you to know that the school will do whatever we can to support you through this.”

Now, now you are scared. “Support me through what? It’s not my mom is it?”

“Honey it’s Jason, Jason Todd. I’m so sorry but he passed away yesterday. I’ve contacted your parents and your mother is on the way to come pick you up.”

Her words don’t make any sense.

“But he can’t be. I saw him on Saturday. There’s been a mistake. He’s not dead.” Your legs don’t work anymore and you hit the couch, hard, sliding off the overstuffed pillows to kneel on the floor. You don’t feel any of it. There’s copper in your mouth, you must have bitten your tongue on the way down but you can’t feel it. There’s movement in your peripheries, and your mother crouches down into your field of vision.

“Mom, mom they made a mistake. She’s— she’s saying that Jason’s dead, but he can’t be. Mom he’s not dead.”

“Sweet pea, I’m so, so sorry. It’s been on the news all morning.”

It rips through you then, grief. Sobs shake your whole body, your mother doing her best to hold you together. There’s a roaring in your ears like you’re caught in a vacuum. You can’t see through the tears. Your body is trembling violently and you can’t care enough to try and stop it. Nothing matters anymore. Jason’s dead.

To get to the car, your mother has to half carry you. There’s no point in moving. You’re not sure how you end up in your bed at home but you do. You don’t sleep but you aren’t really awake either. The tears don’t stop coming. You’re nothing but an open wound, not even really a whole person. The world’s burned down to ash and you’re just floating through it. You know your parents come in to talk to you, can hear the murmur of their voices but you don’t care. There’s food put in front of you but it holds no interest to you. You might have had sips of water, maybe some broth but you don’t remember and you don’t care. The only thing you really register is Haley, nestling up to you and making biscuits with his paws in your blankets.

Jason’s funeral is on Friday and you can’t get out of bed to go. Jason’s not in that coffin, not really. He won’t be there and so you won’t be. Jason’s never coming home. Jason’s dead, Jason’s dead, Jason’s dead plays on a loop. You never got to tell him. He died without knowing you loved him. His death has ripped you open like nothing ever has before, regret a constant salt in the wound. He never told you that he was thinking of leaving, of going anywhere. It feels wrong at this point, to interrupt his family in their grief, another stranger claiming to have known their son. After all, how well did you really know him if you didn’t even know he was going to leave?

Grief swallows you whole, but over time you learn to live with it. Days blur together. The tears dry up but the not caring doesn’t. Inside of your head is a wall, separating you from the reality of a world without Jason. You’re wrapped in wool and safe behind glass, unable to care about anything. It’s easier that way.

The school passes you for the year, citing personal tragedy, and you don’t care. Summer comes and the only difference is that your mother comes in and throws your windows open every morning. It’s Jason’s birthday soon, too soon. He’ll never be sixteen but you will be. He’ll never have his Words come in. He’ll never get the chance to do all the things he talked about, make Gotham a better place, travel the world. But you can.

It makes no sense to live for a dead boy but it’s all you’ve got. So you do what you have to do. It gets you to leave your bed for the first time in months. To start eating again, even if there’s no taste to the food in your mouth. To shower and take care of yourself for the first time in ages. Your room is clean for the first time in months and the first thing you do is take down your photograph from the 8th grade formal and put it away in a desk drawer.

By September, you have gathered yourself enough to return to school despite the worried looks of your family. It is hard, the hardest thing you have ever done but you do it for the boy that will never graduate high school. You sit by yourself at your desk, you eat lunch by yourself, you go straight home after class without any detours. The school play this year is Romeo and Juliet. You take home the sign up flyer and consider it, hard. In the end you decide to leave it. Jason may have always wanted to try out for the play but you won’t survive torturing yourself with this. On opening night you tell your parents you’re going to see it and get drunk on the gymnasium roof.

You make it through your last two years of high school a ghost. Administration tries to pressure you into meeting with a therapist but you refuse. You don’t want to experience your grief at all. Numbness is the only way you are going to survive this, your new reality. You do take them up on their suggestion of volunteering. Working with the Martha Wayne Foundation for Underprivileged Children gives you a sense of purpose. Of helping other Crime Alley kids without the benefit of nepotism to get them into places like Gotham Academy. It stokes the first emotion in you other than numbness, and that’s rage for all the ways in which these kids have been failed.

You accept a full scholarship to Gotham University. Your parents couldn’t be more proud of your achievement but you can barely muster the energy to smile. Keep up the volunteer work while rushing through your degree in two years instead of four. With nothing else to drive you, you’ve got nothing but time for school. The Martha Wayne Foundation offers you a position in fundraising, and you accept. It’s not what you envisioned for yourself, but it’s a path forward with purpose.

You move out, into your own apartment in an area that’s probably too dangerous for a girl of your age but you can’t stand to be at home anymore. The job consumes your life and you are grateful for it. It’s important work, even if some of the policy meetings on accepting donations from the Red Hood make you want to fall asleep. You make use of your Gotham Prep connections, rubbing elbows with the rich for just as long as it takes to pry open their wallets. It’s ridiculous but the higher ups trot you out to entertain at fundraising events, a pretty young face to pull in more donors. Occasionally you see Bruce, or Dick, or the newest ward Tim at functions, always across the room before you quickly excuse yourself. The numbness carries you through your life but there are limits to it and you’re not eager to test them.

Even five years later, you can’t go back to the park. You’ve never had another chili dog, though you’ll hire the vendor to cater community events. You’ve worked your way back into the public library, but still avoid the alcove on the second floor in the encyclopedia section. There’s a handful of arcade tokens in a plastic bag in your apartment still unused. Batburger is still your favourite, but you still can’t set foot in the location nearest to the Academy.

You keep yourself so busy that when your Words come in, “I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t know…”, you barely give it a thought, just pulling the cuff of your shirt lower to cover your wrist. Carry on with the rest of your morning routine and head into the office. From that point on, your sleeves are always long and your gala outfits gain elbow length opera gloves. You never bother trying to read the rest of it. It doesn’t matter anymore.

It’s a cold February morning. The bus broke down two stops from the office and now you have to walk the rest of the way in the snow. Standing at a crosswalk waiting for the light to change, you pass the time by scanning the headlines on the nearest newsstand. “Lost Wayne son found alive” screams out at you, tearing into your heart bloody. You lose grip of your work bag, but manage not to lose your mind in the street. Picking your bag up out of the slush, you run into the nearest bodega bathroom and lock the door with trembling hands. Shove a fist into your mouth and scream as the tears pour down your face. You’re shaking, worse than you were all those years ago. Snot blocks your nose and you have to stop screaming to breathe. So you do what needs to be done. Fumbling with your coat pocket, you pull out your phone and call the office, call out sick. It’s the only time you’ve done it in all the time your supervisor has known you but the tremor in your voice and frequent sniffles must alarm her enough.

In a fog, you somehow make it from the bodega bathroom to the front gate of Wayne manor. It doesn’t look like it’s changed at all since your last visit over five years ago, except for the heaving mass of press. You circle round the property and enter through the bushes, the way Jason showed you years ago on a tour of the property. You slip on the snow, fall to your knees but get back up. This is the only thing that matters now. The back door has an elaborate knocker that takes both of your hands to lift. It takes what feels like ages for someone to answer the door. It’s poor Mr. Pennyworth, looking more ruffled than you’ve ever seen him. You’re indescribably rude to the poor man, pushing right past him and into the building. Only one thing matters now and your vision has narrowed out anything outside of achieving your goal.

There’s voices coming from somewhere inside, up the stairs and in the direction of the library. A hand, probably Mr. Pennyworth’s, tries to grab at your wrist but you’re too quick for that. You’re running now, clutching at the bannister as though it will pull you up the stairs faster. A shout from behind and the tone of the voices change, a door slamming in the distance. Finally, finally you reach the library but a body tries to come between you, stopping you in your tracks. Years of grief, anger, and battered hope come roaring through you at the thought of being denied seeing Jason, alive after all this time.

Your voice when it leaves you is dangerously low. “Dick, I presume? You don’t know me, and I’ve heard very little about you from Jason and what I did hear I didn’t like. I’m going to make this simple.” The door behind him cracks open, but you soldier on anyway. “Jason Todd was my best friend and first love.” The body stiffens, but that doesn’t matter in this moment. “You are going to step aside and-” anything else doesn’t matter because a door is thrown open and there is Jason.

Eyes wild, a good deal older and more scarred than before, but he’s alive. And then nothing else matters but the feel of his arms warm around you, the imprint of his jacket on your face, the smell of him largely unchanged. He’s alive and he’s real and you can touch him. You draw back to look at him, drink in the sharpened angle of his jaw, the blue-green of his eyes, the white streak in his hair. He’s grown taller and broader than he had over that wretched summer so many years ago. What catches your eye is the writing at the hollow of his throat, a stark black spreading across his collarbones exposed by the v of his t-shirt. Jason Todd was my best friend and first love, it reads.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart, I didn’t know you felt the same.” He says and your wrist starts to burn.

#jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #red hood x you #red hood x reader #jason todd fic #jason todd imagine #jason todd #soulmate au #tw grief #sunnie writes 🌻

[allywthsr]

ELF ON THE SHELF | (l.norris)

summary: you and Lando prepare elf on the shelf

wordcount: 1.5k words

pairing: dad!landonorris x fem!reader

warnings: none!

notes: I’ve never had elf on the shelf, so I hope that how you do it

advent calendar

Elf on the shelf was a tradition you started ever since you had kids with Lando, every day in December the little elf (that Louis named Claus) did funny mischievous things. Last year's favorite was when Claus took a bite of every single cookie you baked the day before, Lando sacrificed himself to assume this task.

Now with Sofia being three years old, she finally really understood the elf on the shelf and got excited when she woke up, what kind of thing Claus did today, erupting in giggles every time.

You started this year with a simple, yet funny, thing, when the kids were sleeping, you got out a bowl and filled it with some water, you put a tiny carrot in the water and two wiggly eyes, you sat Claus on the dining table and the bowl next to him. Every year you wrote a little note, explaining what Claus did, today it was: ’I brought you a snowman from the North Pole, I hope it’s not that cold anymore xx Claus‘. You could already hear the giggle of your two little sunshine’s.

And that’s exactly how they reacted when Lando read the note to the kids, they giggled and Louis said: ’But mummy, the snowman melted, it’s just water‘.

In the evening, you set up the next one, Claus sat on a little chair you bought, and next to him the iron and some crinkled and normal crisps. Today's note: ’I ironed your crisps cause they were all crinkled‘. Lando laid out the crisps and ate a few himself, he chuckled when you two were ready for tonight, it was funny.

Little Sofia was tired that morning, not really awake, she just pointed at the different things, but Louis was awake and giggling. ”Daddy, he ironed our crisps!“ Lando lifted him on his hips and tickled his sides‘ ”Daddy…. stop. Can I eat some crisps?“ Lando nodded and bent down a little, so Louis could reach the crisps, taking an ’ironed‘ one. ”They taste even better when they’re ironed!“ Lando kissed the side of his head, and you chuckled.

In the following evenings you did several mischievous things with Claus, one day he put Christmas hats on some of you guys in the pictures, you cut out red triangles and white stripes, glued them together, and had a little Christmas hat. Another day he fried little Haribo eggs in a pan, obviously you only put the gummy eggs in the pan, sat Claus next to it and the giggles were loud the next morning. You were happy that you found new things that Claus did every year.

It wasn’t always things that you and Lando put a lot of time and crafts in, one time, Lando just placed Claus upside down on the fridge, simple, but the kids loved it. Lando had to lift up both of them, so they could say hello to Claus.

This year's favorite was definitely when you placed Claus under a glass and the note said: ’Your daddy farted, I‘m hiding in here from the stinky smell‘, Lando was a bit sulky about the fact, that he had to be that one that farted, but you reminded him of the time, you and the kids had to flee from the living room into the kitchen because it was smelling awful. He only smiled when you brought it up, clearly proud of his achievement. The next morning, the house was filled with giggles, Louis and Sofia couldn’t contain their excitement about this one, they even told Lando’s parents when they visited that day, laughing until you had to tell them, to think about their breathing.

One day Claus made a sponge cake, just a kitchen sponge on a plate, with some sprinkles on top of it, placed next to the Kitchenaid that stood in the corner of the counter.

Lando’s favorite was definitely the one, where you tin foil wrapped everyone’s favorite pair of shoes, Claus wanted them to look ’shiny‘ so he did some work around the shoes. Lando had so much fun, wrapping each shoe, especially Sofias because they were so small, ”Babe look, her feet are just the smallest cutest things ever!“

You had a few more, Claus was sitting on top of the tree, pretending like he removed the star and he was the new tree topper, another cute idea was, that Lando wrapped him in wrapping paper and laid him under the tree ’I am your only present for Christmas‘ the kids protested against what Claus wrote on the note, but Lando cooled them down pretty quickly, as always, Lando was the one, they always listened to.

One evening you stacked the living room pillows on top of each other and said that Claus stacked the pillows, to climb up to the ceiling lamp, but he couldn’t reach, it because the pillows weren’t enough.

An idea you found online, that took a bit more preparing time, was that you placed Claus on the counter, sifted some flour around, and placed little mini marshmallows next to him. The note said: ’I‘m ready for a snowball fight, I already have mine when the kids saw that, and they started to throw these little marshmallows against Clause, but Lando quickly put that to a stop and explained that you do not play with food, instead they should eat it, which they did. Sofia was propped up on Lando’s hip and every now and then she would pop some marshmallows in Lando’s mouth, she was always big on sharing things.

Things that made your kids, and Lando, giggle were when Claus played elf Jenga, you placed Kit Kats on top of each other and then you created a small eatable Jenga, easy, but the kids loved it, especially when Lando snook away with them, after you settled in the living room, to steal Claus some Kit Kat. One day, Claus cut a small hole into Louis's favorite cereal box, to snack on some chocolate puffs. You can imagine what Lando had to do after he and the kids rescued Claus from the box, a small bowl filled with milk and some cereal because if Claus was hungry, he should eat some cereal. Another time he placed some crayons on a crater and little Skittles were placed inside and in front of it, the note said: ’Now this is a great way to use crayons‘, the kids loved it, eating the Skittles before you could say no. A silly thing was when Claus was sitting in Sofias' underwear on the drying rack, she couldn’t contain the giggles, especially when Lando acted all disgusted playfully, that Claus chose to sit in her smelly undies. What else happened with underwear was, that Lando and you replaced the stockings that sat above the fireplace with underwear, so instead of Lando’s stocking, there was his boxershort. On the ground laid a small chocolate bar, the note said: ’I tried to put some candy in your new stockings, but they kept falling out‘. Also, easy things were that, Claus was trapped under a bell jar, and the note only said: ’help‘. Lando had to lift Sofia up to Claus, so she could help him before he got hurt, both of them cheering when she held Claus in her hands. One day Claus sat on the railroad, wanting to drive to the North Pole, to tell Santa what good kids they were, and another day he stacked up all jars and cups, so he could reach the countertop and a jar of sweets that stood in the middle of it. Lando also hid him between the bananas once, wrapped in some yellow napkins, to disguise himself as a banana, often these were the things where the kids would laugh the hardest, it was easy, yet effective.

Once Claus cooked breakfast, Lando poured different sweets into a pot, like Haribo spaghetti sticks or oranges, the variety was big and the cheer as well, when the kids saw it.

Lando was super proud of one idea he had, under a glass he trapped his computer mouse and the note said: ’I caught a mouse on the loose‘, because of his love for computers and playing games, the little ones also loved sitting in front of it and mostly press random letters on the keyboard.

On Christmas Day, Claus sat on the table with two eggs in front of and some sprinkles next to him, together with you and Lando, the kids sprinkled the sprinkles over the eggs, because the note said: ’Pour the sprinkles over the eggs and come back in three hours‘ in the meantime, Lando replaced the real eggs with some Kinder surprise eggs. The faces both of them made were the sweetest, how surprised and with an open mouths they looked at the eggs and stared to thank Claus that he made surprise eggs out of the normal ones.

All in all, the elf on the Shelf was a success this year, often enough Lando was just as happy and laughing as his kids were, but that’s what happens when you’re still a kid at heart.

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #formula 1 #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris x y/n #lando x reader #lando norris one shot #lando imagine #christmas #dad!lando norris

[pahtoosh]

the dreaded door

masterlist

18+

wc: 795 words

warnings: you get picked up by bucky. playful biting.

a/n: elephant in the room 🐘 (not my ellie stuffie) i have not been writing as much! it’s mostly because life is really good but also really busy for me right now. it’s also hard for me to get into the zone 🎯 for writing regression when i am not regressing that often. i know i don’t need to explain myself but this is for my fellow nosey 👃 nellies

pairing: mafia!bucky x gn!little!reader

summary: you wait for bucky to finish working

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Never in your life had you been so angry at a plank of wood. It all began this morning when Bucky left a note on your nightstand.

“Good morning, my sweet angel. Daddy has a lot of very serious calls today. Please keep the noise down and don’t open or knock on the door if it’s shut. Use your special phone to call me if there’s an emergency. Do your chores for today and be a good baby for me. Love, Daddy.”

The door is where you are now. Sitting on the floor, glaring at the smooth oak that you can’t tap on and the shiny knob that you can’t shake. You finished your chores, played for a while, and ate both breakfast and lunch already. Bucky was still in his office and he hadn’t left all day.

Your daddy spoiled you in so many ways: with his gifts, with his love, with his words. The only thing he couldn’t give you enough of was his time. His job was a difficult one with long and sometimes unpredictable hours.

He was able to make some changes. He trusted Sam and Steve to handle his out of town meetings so he didn’t have to travel as much. He also promoted Natasha from head of security to essentially his right hand by helping him with his larger projects.

These changes were so important. They gave you so much more time with your daddy, but there were still days like today when he simply had to do the work himself. Bucky also worked from home as much as he could so he could see you for lunch or even work with you sitting quietly on the velvet loveseat in his office. Him working from home was almost worse for you on the days you couldn’t go see him.

You daddy is home. He’s sitting at his desk where you color sometimes, on the chair with the best spinning ability in the whole house. There was just this one door standing in your way. You wanted so badly to knock and call for him through the cracks, but you knew better. You daddy was a stickler for rules, and he would not appreciate you ignoring his boundaries.

You sighed and settled for glaring at the door. Maybe your anger would be enough to open it without touching and then Bucky would be so impressed he’d have to take the rest of the day off.

Pleased with your plan, you sat on the floor with your hands on your knees and continued glaring. It felt like hours were going by. You thought the doorknob was moving, but it was just Alpine’s reflection as she trotted past. You kept glaring. Still, nothing moved. Just when you were about to give up, the sound of a lock turning echoed through the hallway and your daddy opened the door with an amused smile.

“What’re you doing here, sweetheart?”

“Daddy!” You reached your arms out for cuddles and Bucky happily obliged, even pressing a noisy kiss to your cheek.

“Were you sitting on the floor and waiting for Daddy? I saw you on the cameras.”

“I wantedta knock on your door but you said no knocking so I was trying to open it with my eyes,” you explained.

Bucky laughed. “Oh yeah? How did that go?”

You pouted and hid your face in his neck. “It didn’t work.”

“Aww.” He rubbed your back to comfort you. “Maybe if you ate more carrots your eyes would be strong enough to open doors.”

“Daddyyy.”

“I’m kidding, baby. C’mere.” He pressed your foreheads together.

“Thank you for listening to Daddy’s instructions today. You were such a good baby and I’m so proud of you.” He gave you a gentle kiss while your face warmed from his praise and affection.

You thanked Bucky, earning you another kiss and more praise for being so polite.

Your daddy was beaming. Anyone who knew of his title and past would’ve been shocked at the way he grinned ear to ear while holding you in his lap as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

“How did I manage to capture the sweetest little baby in the whole world, huh?”

You giggled. “You didn’t ca’ture me, I got you!” You held his face in your hands. “My daddy.”

“You better feed your daddy now, angel. Daddies get hungry!” Bucky playfully shook free from your grasp and bit your hands.

“Nooo, daddy!” you squealed. “Eat the food downstairs, not me!”

He stopped thrashing and acted shocked. “There’s food downstairs? Why didn’t you say so?”

“Yeah! And we can watch a movie and cuddle after dinner! Can we, daddy?” You clasped your hands together and bounced excitedly.

“Anything you want, baby.”

#bucky x little!reader #daddy!bucky x little!reader #bucky barnes x little!reader #mafia!daddy!bucky #gn!little!reader #oneshot #fluff #cuddles #little being carried #sfw regression #sfw littlespace #littlespace fics #agere fic #marvel agere #the dreaded door #the-dreaded-door #toosh writes

[thefandomdirtymind]

Casual

18 +

OPLA - Vinsmoke Sanji

Part 2

Sanji series : SFW Shiny Offering NSFW The Small Favor - SFW The Mermaid Dream - SFW The Magic of a Kiss

A/N IMPORTANT: I didn't know exactly why but I wanted to write that fun and casual conversation between Sanji and reader remembering their sexy time. But I had to put a little bit of difficulties in it and I hope you will like it. I think to do a second part but I'm not sure yet...

Warning : Mention of a lot of sexual stuff : Oral Man ! and Female ! giving receiving, small bondage, penetration, bruises.

* English is not my first language, I tried really hard to correct myself but, I hope you will excuse me if some mistakes are still there.  

---

The golden light of the sunrise was reflecting in the calm water when Sanji put his feet in the restaurant. Redressing his freshly knotted tie, entering the kitchen like if he wasn’t fifteen minutes late, he suddenly stops on his track. At the instant he saw you, he knew he was screwed. 

Not that you looked at him directly, way too busy with the prep for the approaching brunch, neither that you seem mad ,even if your chopped carrots should've been smaller. In fact, he clearly recalled that when he had left your bed this morning, kissing your lips one last time, your naked form reaching for his warmth. You looked quite satisfied and relaxed. 

It was not either a sudden burst of love who struck him, even if he always had affection for you, that night was from the start nothing but casual sex. 

No, the reason he knew he was himself in deep shit wasn’t either because as he watched you, he could remember every inch of your skin he had feverishly kissed and bite. The problem is if Zeff discovers it. After all, even being his sous chef and prodigy couldn’t help him with the fact that he had fucked all night long his mentor daughter. 

" Don’t stay there like if the kitchen was on fire, little eggplant, put on your uniform and start helping " The man himself ordered, busy in his own corner.

Turning your gaze of your carrot to observe Sanji, you smiled. 

" Good morning Sanji " You said, your tone letting know nothing of your previous meeting in the dark. 

" Good Morning Y/N " He replied, as he put on his white jacket, a thin smile you didn’t quite know, of his lips.

" Did you sleep well, you seem a little bit…tired" You sweetly replied, returning to your carrots. 

" Yeah I had a short night…" He confessed, watching you, a warning in his eyes. 

" If you would stick to the menu, you wouldn’t be up all night thinking about some recipe I won’t allow in the restaurant and sleep like everybody else. " Zeff declared, lifting the heavy potato sack. 

" If we didn’t serve the same stuff everyday that restaurant would be less shitty " The blond retorted, starting to peel the vegetables, his anxiety slowly melting as he returned to his usual fight with the old man.  

— 

It seemed an eternity before you could remove your cooking clothes. Due to the celebration yesterday, many cooks were sick, making your father and the other employers double their shift. Like if you needed it, with the little sleep Sanji and you had. But, as you return to the empty kitchen, already dreaming of the softness of your bed, you notice the blond chef still busy chopping mushrooms.

" What are you doing ? " You couldn’t help yourself to ask, curious as to why he hadn’t headed to his bed for a well deserved night of sleep. " You should go to bed I’m pretty sure those mushroom will still be there tomorrow "

" Well, I kind of have a hard time trying to get out of my head the idea of your dad discovering what I have done to you" He replied unamused, stress and guilt clearly eating him from the inside. " You see I have a sentimental attache to most of my limbs and other parts" 

" Sanji, I would never tell him, we have been super discret and if I recall it clearly you aren’t alone in this. I had pretty vivid memories of sucking your dick until you begged me in french to stop " You teased, sitting on the counter. 

" Like if you hadn't melted at the minute I put my mouth on you" He mocked, this time his tone almost like his usual confident self. As he abandoned his task to face you. " And I really had to remind you that cute gasp you did when I push my finger on that sweet spot you never reach yourself " 

" It’s true it was a great discover, that you proudly celebrate " You conceded showing the hickeys on your clavicle "Maybe you didn’t gasped, but, I heard you a lot moaning and groaning, particularly when I was on top" 

" I have no excuse, your vision was magnificent and the feeling was incredible ." He replied " But I still regret the death of my tie " 

" It was for a great cause, that orgasm was one of the best I had. It’s a good thing your hand had muffled my scream because I was pretty sure I would have awake all the ship" You laugh, gladly remembering being hang by the hand to the wooden bedpost as Sanji was supported your leg around his hips thrusting in you as his life depended of it. Lucky for both of you, your bedroom was at the far end of the bedrooms corridor with no express neighbor.“ I will buy you a new one since I broke it. Even if it’s, you, who had bring it in bed "

" No need, I have many that look similar. Nobody will notice. But I will have to be careful to not be seen topless for a while. I'm glad your nails are short for cooking, my back looks like I had a fight with a cat over a fish. "

" It’s your fault, my leg was already shaking and you didn’t stop, I was on the edge of passing out ! "You protest laughing. " You deserve the scratch for making me lose my mind." 

" It’s an honor I accept gladly “ He proudly said, joining you in your laugh. " I admit that my own orgasm was way better than usual, I remember you moaning quietly in my ear even if I’m not quite sure what you said." 

" Sanji, at this point I’m pretty sure I could’ve whispered to you the recipe of an Apple Pie and you would have come. You were so close, trying to keep your control, I still have a faint bruise of your hand on my hip." 

" Isn't it when I eat you out during round two that I left that mark ? I had to keep you in place pretty hard, you were rolling your hips and didn’t want to stop moving "He recalls, a huge grin now on his face. " I still can heard you - Please Sanji don’t stop, don’t stop " 

"Ha ha ha " You rolled your eyes, still smiling at the memories." Sanji, I think we both really need to sleep, but I had to know...are we okay ? I will not talk to my dad about it, you will not too and we will live with that happy memories without a problem. We are just two friend and coworker who’s during the anniversary of their restaurant decide to casually fucked. Right ? " 

" Yes, exactly," He confirmed, cleaning his area. 

" Perfect, good night Sanji " You said, kissing his cheeks before jumping off the counter and exiting the kitchen. 

" Good night Y/N " The blond replied, watching you go.

Now he knew  he was totally screwed. Even though he hadn't truly lied, he was now reassured that your father will never know. He knew that he wasn’t clearly okay with this casual arrangement anymore. He knew at first that it wasn’t the idea of the century but after that night and the sweet way you look at him, always caring for him when nobody seem to, he couldn’t hide the issue anymore, he was slowly falling for you and he already know it, it's will hurt like hell.  

---

Part two ?

#opla!sanji x reader #sanji x reader #one piece netflix #opla #opla sanji #vinesmoke sanji x reader #one piece #one piece sanji #opla vinesmoke sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #opla sanji smut #sanji smut #vinsmoke sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji imagine #sanji fanfic

[bovineblogger]

you said you like brahmans right? lemme show you one of the most important breeds of brahman in my country: the Guzerá!

Guzerás have a crazy resistance to almost everything (heat, hunger, thirst, weather) making a must have in inhospitable places. there's a saying that goes "when the Guzerá lies downs to die, everything else must have died already"

they only come in shades of white and black (like a siamese cat!), so when Cenoura (carrot in portuguese) was born, it was a huge shock! it is extremely rare for a mutation like that to happen, it's a real life shiny pokemon!

Cenoura in all of her glory ^^^

wowowowowowow!!!! they are beautiful!!!!!!!!!! i love siamese cowies so muchh!!!!! how beautiful it is to have so much variation in the same breed of cow.

i see brahman and i get excited, so the sight of a GINGER brahman makes me go "AWOAAAHH!!!!!!! GHAHAAHHAGHAHAAAHHHAAAAAHHH!!!!!!!!!" beautiful carrot!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i love her SO MUCH

#asks #zebu

[superiorsturgeon]

Packed Lunch

Ruby: It’s really a shame that Jaune couldn’t come along on this mission!

Yang: *rolling her shoulder* Yeah, not that we NEED it, but one of his shiny aura-boosts would’ve made things a lot easier back there!

Weiss: You just like that it makes you look like that cartoon you used to watch!

Yang: Hey, Dragonfightingball GZ is a cultural icon and I will not apologize for enjoying it!

Blake: So, where is Jaune, anyway?

Pyrrha: *adjusting her backpack* Oh, there’s a flu going around the preschool, so Jaune insisted on staying home with our son. He loves being a huntsman, but ever since we became parents his priorities changed!

Nora: Plus, his semblance can help soothe tummy aches!

RWBY__PR: *noises of agreement, remembering the morning after their graduation party*

Ruby: Well, there’s always next time! So, what’s for dinner tonight?

RWBY_NPR: …

Weiss: …I thought it was your turn to make dinner?

Ruby: What? I did it two nights ago! I thought it was Blake’s turn!

Blake: I thought it was Nora’s!

Nora: No way! I don’t have any ingredients!

Yang: Why not Ren? He’s the best cook out of all of us!

Ren: Don’t look at me. I don’t have any ingredients either! The last fight with the Grimm damaged my pack.

Yang: Mine too!

Ruby: So that’s it? We’re in the middle of nowhere and none of us have any food? We’re all licensed huntresses! What kind of rookie mistake is this?!

_WBY_N_R: 😰 *hungry depressed noises*

Pyrrha: Don’t worry everyone! I’ll save the day! *takes off her pack*

Pyrrha: Allow me to present the Arc family’s second-best creation!

Nora: *covers her mouth* You don’t mean…?! 😲

Pyrrha: I do!

Pyrrha: *holds a big container of tender brisket, carrots, and mashed potatoes over her head* The Arc special make-ahead Roast Brisket for Ten!

RWBY_N_R: 😃 *cheering*

Pyrrha: …complete with personalized “I Love You” notes from Jaune to each of us!

RWBY_N_R: 😆 *cheering louder*

Pyrrha: *holds up a smaller container* And “Mission Well-Done” brownies!

RWBY_N_R: 😍 WOOO JAUNE!!!

Pyrrha: *proud champion noises* 😌

———————————————————————

Jaune: *taking Arkos kid’s temperature* Your old man will go kick Grimm butt next time, right?

Arkos kid: 🤒

#rwby #team rwby #team jnpr #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #jaune arc #pyrrha nikos #nora valkyrie #lie ren #arkos #jaune x pyrrha #jaune arc x pyrrha nikos #rwbabies #if the Grimm hadn’t ripped their bags they would’ve had enough food #jaune arc loves all of his friends