#and their melted/extinguished parts constantly ache and burn

[katkalis-the-fanartist]

Aftermath of war

[sunflowersteves]

Loving Fire Can Burn

1/???

Bucky Barnes x Firebender!Reader

Summary: You hate the burden of fire but Bucky thinks it’s beautiful.

Word Count: 2.3K

Author’s Note: So, I don’t know how many of these I’m gonna do but I love the concept. Next one though, I know I’m going to write one about Sozin's Comet. Also, this is Asian!reader as the reader is a fire bender and I want to keep it in the universe of ATLA.

Warnings: fluff, insecurities, fire 

Masterlist

Warmth spread around your palm, the tingling of the flame shifted towards your fingers. The breeze made the flame wiggle and your eyes illuminated from its light. You sigh and quickly extinguish the fire that you were holding. 

You always thought that your bending was a burden. You thought that fire was a burden. Fire destroyed the life around you. Anything that you touched quickly caught fire and burned life. It burdens those with its care, tearing apart the edge it stood on of humanity and brutality.

You stared at the ugly, nasty burned scar that spread across your forearm. You hated this strain of fire. Your father had given you that scar for disobeying his orders. You spoke out of turn one day in a meeting with elders and your father had challenged you to an Agni Kai, which was a traditional firebending duel.

You were from a different planet than most of the Avengers. Everyone besides Thor, which you two shared about your differences in planets. He was also the only one that understood that getting used to Earth was pretty hard. Many of the earth’s features were different than yours. Technology and phones didn’t exist, nobody could bend the elements, and the avatar and balance ceased to exist.

When you arrived on Earth, it was odd that no one seemed to doubt your bending; seeing as many had their own powers as well. But they never understood your ways of life as bending was used in normal ways of life. Even though many mutants are born with their powers, you also saw many be experimented on. You also had a spiritual sense with your bending, having specific transitions of fighting, and a way of harnessing yourself through your bending.

However, the only one who seemed to grasp the concept of burden like you had was Bucky. The two of you had shared some of your life with each other together. He felt the burden of being brainwashed, never thinking that he will learn to be free. He understood what you felt constantly with your firebending.

Most of the Avengers have never seen you use your bending, mostly because you hated it. You hated using the thing that burned your insides and hurt the ones you love. The crowded feelings that entered your mind every time you used the fire that leaked out of you. It hurt too much.

The only person that has seen it was Fury. He was the one that recruited you after saving his life from a bunch of hydra agents. At first, you only wielded two-handed towards; slashing and slicing at your opponents until their weapons outmatched yours. One had a ray gun that ended up suspending your swords, completely melting it down to the handle. You dropped them and tried to keep dodging but nothing seemed to budge this man in front of you.

Before Fury could tell you to run away, you dodged an attack from the Hydra agent. You quickly aimed your fist towards the air and a burst of flames came out of your knuckles. Fury could only stare at you wide-eyed at the man before you, crumbling to the ground in pain. Burn marks spread across his ear and the back of his neck. Fury immediately took you to the tower, introducing you as the new Avenger. You agreed, getting settled in your new room.

Now, a year later, Fury was perceived as dead and SHIELD had fallen. Everybody in the group was convinced that you didn’t actually have powers as you had never shown anybody. You walked into the common room by request from the AI, which scares the living shit out of you, you still couldn’t quite get used to it. You could hear them arguing about what to do now that SHIELD has fallen.

You stood before the rest of the avengers. They explained to you the situation and told you to trust no one outside of this room. They all came up with a plan, you watched intently as you were teamed up with Bucky. However, Sam advised that since no one could see what you could do, maybe you could do a demonstration. Everybody on the team knew what the other one did, their specialties and weaknesses, all except you.

“Look, kiddo. We’re going to be up against some bad guys but we’ve never seen you actually fight.” You sigh and nod towards Steve, knowing that this was going to come up anyway. With Fury gone, there was no one to vouch for you. Bucky quickly squeezed your arm in assurance. 

You all walked into the gym where the sparring matches were and Natasha stood in front of you. Tony notified you, “Nat is gonna go slightly easier on you, okay?” You nod and the two of you ready your stance. 

Natasha takes the first jab with her fist but you quickly block it, your wrist hitting hers. You give her a sidekick, aiming for her head but she grabs it and tosses you over. You hit the ground with a thud and the avengers cringe. You wipe your face and immediately stand up. You knew you’d have to use your bending eventually but you’d be damned if you would use it before you became desperate.

Natasha jabs another punch at you but you block it again, this time waiting and listening for her next move. Her eyebrows raise at your fast learning but her concentration moves back onto your stance. You moved differently than the rest, light and airy but sometimes hard and tough, like solid ground. Natasha moves fast, using her legs to wrap around yours to weaken your balance but you are quick to hold your ground. She comes up with her hands, making quick jabs that make your bones ache. 

You were able to block some, not being able to block others. She moves off of you as you twirl and kick her legs. She jumps to block them and then gets a quick kick at your side. Your hand immediately goes to the wound but you were able to still stand.

The avengers were getting a bit worried. The two of you had been at it for quite some time, jabbing and kicking at each other. Natasha seemed to be drained a bit but they were impressed. Natasha had knocked you down several times but each time, you stood up. Tony even joked that maybe you were Steve’s long lost sister, as the fire in your eyes still stood. There was no way that you would back out of this fight.

However, your body was getting tired. You could tell that if you didn’t use your bending soon, the fight would be over. You could end it now, saying you were done and just needed some rest. But you were also aware that this was a test. This was a test to see how long you could last and how if this was a real fight, you could be dead in seconds. Tony also knew that you had powers, Fury had talked about it with him a few times so he knew it was there. Natasha paused to stop, your arms resting upon your legs and shoulders slacked as you panted away. Tony told her to keep going. As she was about to protest, you nodded at her agreeing with Tony that you wanted to keep going. 

Natasha sighed and agreed, getting into her stance again. You tried to block it but your balance had weakened. She took the opportunity and her palm hit the middle of your chest, sending you backward and falling to the ground. Your mind went blank for a second, you tried to get up but nothing was happening until a memory flashed through your mind. 

Your uncle wore a tan robe, shaking his head at your reaction. “You must never give into despair. Allow yourself to slip down that road and you surrender yourself to your lowest instincts. In the darkest times, hope is something you give yourself. That is the true meaning of inner strength.” His hand patted you on the back in reassurance.

His face immediately disappeared as your mind was brought back to reality. He was right, you can’t let yourself succumb to despair. Firebending is who you are, it’s a part of you. Just like how all the other elements were, they breathed inside of you.

Natasha was just about to come over to check on you before your legs were moving. Fire, blue and red, started from the tips of your feet. Your legs moved into a circle, your hands balancing the weight of you, and the fire spread in all directions. Natasha was able to block it but she was very impressed. Your powers were amazing and she could tell you knew how to use them better to your advantage than just your normal kicks and jabs. 

The fire had started to dissipate into the air, all the avengers could do was stare. Bucky could only think at how beautiful it was, soaring in circles out of your feet like that. The look on all their faces was in pure awe, they had never seen anything like you. You were not only determined but you were a very skilled fighter, especially with the use of fire. You weren’t someone to taunt with.

However, you mistook their gnawing faces as fear. The avengers had feared you. Even the look on bucky’s face made you want to puke. You knew that they would hate you, eyes never fully reaching yours as they would avoid you in the common room. You knew you shouldn’t have trusted your instincts.

Before any of them could say a word, you ran to your room slamming the door behind you.

--

Bucky had to calm himself down before going to consult you. He had never seen anything so beautiful. The blue and red fire springing from your fingertips to your knuckles to your feet had him shuddering. His heart filled with pure passion as he couldn’t get the sight out of his head. You looked so breathtaking, he had really never quite seen anything like you.

Bucky walked towards your room door and softly knocked. There wasn’t an answer but he slowly opened the room, softly calling your name. Your feet hung on the floor and your body laid flat on the bed. Your eyes were closed but you knew he had walked into the room.

Bucky then sat next to you, reaching to pick off ash from earlier off of your face. “You know, I understand what you mean now, by all of our conversations. That burden you were feeling was from fire bending, wasn’t it?” You didn’t move a muscle but he asked the question already knowing the answer.

“It’s a burden. The fire, I mean. It destroys everything around it, only hurts the things it touches.” Bucky shook his head and his metal hand gripped yours. “You know, I thought the same thing until someone told me that the hurt and pain I’ve caused doesn’t define who I am.” You sigh and fully open your eyes to look at Bucky, eyes already on yours. Before you could defy him with your insecurities about the burden of fire, he spoke. “I want to show you something.” He dragged you out of your room and back to the sparring room. 

“Bucky, I really don’t see how-” You were interrupted by the sound of Bucky rustling through a dead plant that you singed to a crisp. “This plant was already dying before you burned it.” There was something he dug out but you couldn’t care less.

“Great. I killed an already dying-” “Y/n. Look.” You looked down at his hand to see a fresh seed, small and new. “You gave it a chance to rebirth. A chance to be bigger and brighter. You didn’t destroy it, you gave it life.” Tears slid down your cheeks and sobs rumbled through your chest as Bucky held you in a tight hug. He whispered sweet nothings in your ear as thoughts clouded through your brain. Was firebending as hurtful as you thought it was? On all the lands you and your enemies had torched, had you given it a chance to be reborn in a better light? 

These questions were hard to answer but you were glad you stayed with the Avengers. Bucky was one of the few people other than your uncle to see past your insecurities and burdens. He saw Maybe you could really learn to love and respect your bending.

“Thank you.” He wiped some of the tears away and shook his head. He didn’t think he should be thanked, he’s just helping someone he cares about. You were pretty calm by now, bucky still softly holding you. You opened your mouth to speak but before even thinking about it he leaned in and his lips met yours, teeth clashing and lips desperate caressing. Your thoughts were long gone as your nose rubbed up against his cheek and your hands gripped his forearms. Your mind clouded with the smells and sensations of his, completely lost in the taste of his tongue.

However, bucky immediately parted in panic, eyes blown wide. Your eyebrows furrowed into confusion at the loss of sensation. He was a stuttering mess, cheeks fully blushed as he spoke. 

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. You’re in a vulnerable place and-” you shut him up with a kiss, giggling in the process. “I like you too, tin can.” He just grumbled at the nickname while you laughed, bringing him in another kiss. 

A smirk spread across his lips, “I guess I like you too, human torch rip off.”

~~

Taglist: @hailmary-yramliah​ @kitkatd7​

[sasorikigai]

❝ Sit. I will warm you. ❞ ( Aku to Scorpion; cause warm snuggle sessions are inevitable U3U )

Mortal Kombat (2021) Sentence Starters || @swordsxandxshadows || accepting

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || Scorpion wears his sin on his sleeve; red and black oozing disease sprinting from the depth of his corrupted being. Disgusting and unclean, as once pristine ivory tower holding the visceral red and passion of his immaculate, pristine love had been blinded over the festering throne of unknown. The process of doing something over and over again, hoping for a different result lives on; it’s alive and well within the mind of Hanzo Hasashi’s, who demands to have everything his way. With no ability to reason, no capability to see beyond himself and walk on or even dare to understand another’s shoes. 

Scorpion may not be the monster, and his obsidian black veil may not be a plague, but there is nothing more dangerous than the notion of never progressing pass the mentality of a tormented and wounded being, and thinking that living this way is okay. Entitles to be entitled, allowed to constantly get their way and the fragmented rest of him could only shake this immortal insanity he harbors in his kintsugi heart and soul. 

Even in the asphyxiating throes of gory, aching, screaming, and rawness of his agonizing torment, Scorpion yearns to delight not in evil, but rejoice with the truth. Everything is so quiet; so painfully quiet, except for the him. His breaths are short and sharp, reaching for air yet barely getting a hold. His heart a runaway train against Aku’s much smaller and lithe form compared to his brain, which comes to a standstill amidst the paroxysm of his night terrors. He is painfully aware of everything, yet frozen in places as time moves like half-melted snow slush around him. The cold perspiration burrows him beneath the avalanche of disequilibrium, even breaking the proverbial hellfire threaded within his heart and soul. 

Some part of him is calling out for help, but it is not his mouth; throat choking the words before they arrive, and when things finally die down after seemingly eons of motionlessness, Scorpion is left with the static and bereft of destructive maelstrom thoughts. “In the end, I always end up decomposing back to soil, to scattered dust, to her as my sole lover,” without Harumi, without Aku, without anyone else to join him in this gravitating nonexistence. As his bent elbow props himself upwards, and peers into the depth of shapeshifter’s encompassing gaze, Scorpion reassures himself that love was made to help him rise out of grief. And as tight embrace winds around his defined muscles, the once blank stare anchors in the gravity of his world, restoring the dry, extinguished woods as the rekindled fire burns ablaze. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || 

[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.”