#if they’re comfortable with humans they do tend to love scritches!

[pate-can-get-around]

my live doodles for c3 episode 53! I must say I did NOT expect the night to both begin and end with scritches (+ bonus because I imagine he looked very handsome in that ribbon)

(you can commission or tip me via ko-fi!)

[barbarianprncess]

“Forget it, you’re a fucking asshole.” and “Nobody’s seen you in days.” that would be inchresting 👀👀

for mari my beloved, 

(aka @chironshorseass ) 

as you know this sort of got away from me. one second i was writing a drabble of angst, the next I'm on the 16th page with no end in sight. so this maybe isn’t what you were expecting but have 5k of post-botl/pre-tlo pining idiot besties who are in love :). 

(also this hasn’t been beta’d and i'm welcome to volunteers i just finished and got so excited i had to post.)

(dear one anon who asked for 'forget it you're a fucking asshole' too, if you're reading this, don't worry yours is coming too i promise)

(final s/o to @posallys for letting me scream about them)

24 hours

read on ao3

enjoy <3

                                                      ...

Percy is fucking exhasted.

He was supposed to be back at camp four days ago. The deal was he’d spend weekdays at camp to plan and train and weekends at home to relax. But, he kept putting it off, opting to keep the weight on his chest that’d been pushing him down since last summer bearable, and not crushing the way it always was at camp. So, when he gets through the barrier, aside from nodding hello to Beckendorph and Silena, he makes a beeline to his cabin. He manages to keep his eyes down until he’s standing at his porch steps- and that when he sees her.

Annabeth is pacing on his balcony. She’s wearing jean shorts and her camp shirt, but instead of her typical ponytail her hair is in two intricate braids that reach her breastbone. She’s muttering to herself and wringing her hands together and for a moment Percy forgets. He forgets the past year and all the arguing and the bitterness and he sees Annabeth is worried about something and he reaches out as if to hold her. To wrap his arms around her and tell her that everything is going to be alright.  

But then he remembers.

He retracts his hands.

He clears his throat and Annabeth startles. Her grey eyes are as intense as ever and he can almost see her defences come up. He hates that it's because of him. Annabeth is the first to break the silence.

“Hey.” Her voice is small but clear. Not yet vulnerable, but gives Percy the sense that it could be soon.

“What’re you doing here?” He isn’t sure he said it out loud until she ducks her head and flushes.

“Nobody’s seen you in days.” It’s not the accusation he expects. It's also not an answer to his question. Just an observation.

“I’m here now.” He says it like it’s an invitation. He then becomes incredibly aware that he's still looking up at her from the bottom of the steps, so he grabs his duffel, bounds up the stairs, and opens his cabin door. He hesitates and meets her eye with another silent question. She answers by stepping inside.

He drops his bag by his bed and turns on the light. The air is charged with unasked questions and unfinished conversations. He can’t stand it. He’s about to attempt small talk when she says something that nearly knocks down where he stands.

“I miss you.” She’s wringing her hands again and she won’t look him in the eye, but takes his silence as confusion.

“That’s what I came here to say, that I miss you.”

Percy isn’t sure what to say. Percy isn’t sure this conversation is really happening, she’s broken so many of the fragile rules they’d been following all year. He’s 98% sure this is a really vivid daydream to cope with…. well everything.

He decides that on the off chance this is real he should play it safe so, he states the obvious.

“I’m here. We’re here, together. We’re together and-” She cuts him off and begins to ramble.

“Strained and awkward and it's like there’s this chasm between us of all these things from last summer. From our kiss, to you dying, and then you not dying, and Rachel, and Luke, and Luke being Not-Luke, and it’s like we can’t have a conversation anymore and that sucks ‘cause..”

She pauses for the first time to look up at him and her eyes are shining.

“You’re kinda my best friend. And I miss you. Everything sucks and I'm tired of fighting. And I really miss you.”

Percy’s too shocked to say anything. It occurs to him that he should respond but he can’t find the words. All the unspoken rules they had in place and Annabeth had just steamrolled right through them. Percy realizes his mistake in staying silent as Annabeth flushes and turns to leave.

“Forget it, you’re a fucking asshole.” And oh no Annabeth had just swallowed her pride (which he knows better than anyone is no easy feat) to say everything he’d wanted to hear and he can’t let her walk away.

“I miss you too.” The words tumble out of him, clunky and a little awkward but earnest. Annabeth stops and faces him, eyes suspicious in the way that breaks his heart a little bit.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

Annabeth exhales and shoots him a tremulous smile he hasn’t seen in forever, and oh he’d forgotten what it did to his chest when she did. Before he does something stupid like tell her he thinks her smile is the best this he’s ever seen, he clears his throat.

“So…. this chasm you said, what do you propose we do about it?”

“24 hours. For 24 hours everything that I listed before is a non-issue. After that we can go back to…..whatever it is we’re doing now. One day, where we’re just two friends spending a day at camp together..”

“Best friends.” He corrects without thinking. She rolls her eyes, and he almost giggles because he’d missed her eyerolls too.

She holds out her hand to shake, all business-like and gods he missed her.

“Best friends. 24 hours.”

He takes her hand. Her shake is firm, her palms are warm, her eyes are bright, and she is beautiful.

“Where do we start?”

...

Apparently it starts with homework.

After he asked where they’d begin, Annabeth had flashed him a wicked grin, damn-near dragged him off the porch, and made a beeline to the Big House. Before last summer, Annabeth had been “tutoring” him. Once a week they’d head down to the Big House and spend hours combing through myths and legends, practicing Ancient Greek, and all things Demigod 101. It probably wasn’t ever that useful considering Percy barely remembered any of it, but Annabeth had always insisted. After last summer they’d non-verbally decided to take a break from it (eachother), and they’d never started back up.

Usually he’d halfheartedly complain that it was pointless and say some form of ‘I know enough to not die and that's good enough for me’ every five minutes, but today he nods dutifully along as Annabeth talks animatedly about Orpheus, and Theseus, and all the other -eus’s. He’ll ask a dumb question that they both know he knows the answer to, but she answers him anyway. He watches the wisps of hair that refused to be tied down, and counts the tiny sunspots across her nose and the way she wrinkles her eyebrow when she forgets a name.

It’s not terrible. It’s kinda the opposite. He’d forgotten that she made studying not terrible.

He’s so screwed.

...

The stables are almost empty when they get there.

After 2 hours of studying, (one hour of studying, one hour of laughing and talking and calling it studying) Annabeth declared it was his turn to pick the activity. Tired of sitting still Percy lands on tending to the pegasi. It was one of his favorite things about camp plus he got to teach Annabeth something for once. Annabeth was comfortable enough around them but she never spent anytime with them that she didn’t have to.

When they entered the barn, Blackjack gave him a look and he blushed remembering all the times he’d come to the stables with Beckendorph to vent about how much he missed Annabeth, (He didn’t even know horses could give looks but here we are) and silently told him it was a long story and to be cool. Annabeth had stopped next to one of the cleaning stations and was looking at him expectantly. He cleared his throat and they got to work. He showed her how to brush them and how to get tangles out of their manes, where to scritch them and where not to scratch them. He showed her how to check their feathers and make sure their wings were healthy and how to get them to be still enough to check.

Annabeth was excellent with them, gentle hands and kind eyes. Whenever she approached one she would look them in the eye and talk to them like the intelligent creatures they were. Each time she got started taking care of a new steed she’d gently reach for the muzzle and say in a soothing voice:

“Hi, my name is Annabeth and I'm going to groom you today. Don’t worry, I'm friends with Percy, and he taught me exactly how to take care of you. If I’m doing something wrong, let him know and he’ll tell me how to fix it. I promise I’ll do my best to make sure you feel like a brand new pegasus.”

Frankly, it was fucking adorable.

Pork-pie had taken a special liking to Annabeth, telepathically asking Percy if she could groom him more often. When he told this to Annabeth she’d beamed and enthusiastically agreed to come down whenever she could. Percy had off-handedly suggested that they take them out for a bit and Annabeth immediately started to release Pork-Pie from his stall.

They flew over camp for what could’ve been minutes or hours. He was lucky that Blackjack could fly himself because Percy couldn’t take his eyes off his flying partner. Her braids held firm, but a few rebellious curls were now whipping with the wind. The atmosphere combined with the speed they were flying, made her cheeks red and splotchy. Her smile is brighter than the sun, and eyes- gods her eyes were going to be the death of him. The sun and her mood (he had this theory that her eyes changed color based on her emotions) had made them almost blue, they are full of laughter, and Percy adores her. And when she directs her sunshine-smile at him, Percy can’t help but smile back.

(He doesn’t stop smiling until they land.)

...

As they're putting their pegusi back in their stalls, Blackjack decides to give him some advice.

“I know I don’t understand all of your fragile human emotions, but I know enough. There’s a lot of bad in this world of ours, and from what you’ve told me about this war business it's only gonna get worse. You gotta make the most of the good.”  He tilts his head over to Annabeth who is cooing at a preening Pork-Pie.

“You and ladyboss, you’re good together. And really nothing else matters.”

He doesn’t have time to even think about a response when Annabeth is walking over from Pork-Pie’s stall, and telling him it's time for a picnic.

...

(“What did Blackjack say to you? You looked kinda flustered when I got you.” Percy almost drops the plate he’s piling with food from the buffet. He’s gotten three pointedly confused looks at the sight of him and Annabeth together and not strangling each other and a thumbs-up from Grover. He and Annabeth are getting their food and then they’ll go sit by the beach.

“Oh,” He clears his throat and goes with the first thing he thinks of. “Blackjack calls you ladyboss.” Good that's good, not technically a lie either.

“Huh. Weird.” Annabeth, seemingly satisfied with this, returns her attention to the grapes she is adding to her plate.)

...

“Where do you go?” Annabeth asks. She’s sitting next to him in the sand brushing crumbs off her fingers. They had been eating and watching the ocean in comfortable silence and Percy furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “Lots of days when you’re at camp for lunch and sometimes dinner you just disappear for hours. And I know you aren’t going home because your stuff is still in your cabin. Where do you go?”

It’s not an accusation, just a question. Percy gets the feeling she doesn’t want to know so she can disturb, she just worries. Percy knows her. He knows she’s always planning for the worst and she needs to be able to get to him if there's an emergency.

(It strikes him that she notices when he disappears and he feels guilty but also just a little hopeful. Because she misses him as much as he misses her.)

He stacks their plates and rests them on the blanket they’d been sharing. Percy stands up and holds out his hand, gesturing for Annabeth to do the same.

“C’mon, I’ll show you.”

...

He tells her to close her eyes. She gives him a skeptical look but obliges and holds out her hands, a silent request for him to guide her. It’s almost easier to take her hands in his without those trademark eyes on him. But it’s not any less intense. As soon as their fingers interlock sparks of electricity lick up his arm. Now that her eyes are closed he can look at her face up close without fear. Her curls had gotten more unruly as the day went on, and the ringlets that framed her face blew lightly in the ocean breeze. He leads her slowly towards the ocean, using his powers to dry any spot she walks on. He sees her brows furrow when she notices how far they’ve walked towards the ocean without their feet getting wet, but she doesn’t say anything. He parts the water for her to walk through, and when the water rises above their heads, he forms an air bubble that moves with them, keeping them dry. When they get to a good spot, squeezes her hand signaling for her to stop with him, but tells her to keep her eyes closed. Then he closes his eyes with her and calls out to the ocean's creatures, making himself a beacon.

Here I am, he thinks. The son of Poseidon.

Come to me.

Minutes pass.

“You can open your eyes now.” He whispers.

She does, and lets out a soft gasp, “Oh, Percy.”

He smiles and looks out at the scene before them. He’d come down here after a particularly bad day and just wanted to sit in silence. It was an accident, calling the creatures to him. Subconsciously, he must have sent a message along that he was feeling alone. And all sorts of sea creatures - from greek monsters and to great white sharks to your average cod had flocked to him. And he didn’t feel so alone. So now, whenever he couldn’t take the human world, he’d come down here and talk to the fish.

This time he’d actually concentrated on getting a message out and they did not disappoint. He couldn’t count all the animals that had heeded his call but it was a sight to behold. He had willed some glowing coral from the deeper ocean to stay in that spot, which created a multicolored tint to everything around them.

Normally they come right up close to him, but this time they were hesitant. And as he listened to the creatures and heard more than a few whispers of Athena and stranger, he’s suddenly reminded that she’s the only person he’s ever done this with. It’s his favorite place, and she is the only other person ever to see it.

“It's okay guys, she’s a friend.” He reassures them. When he looked back at Annabeth, her mouth was still hung open and she was staring out at the scene in front of them in wonder. He smiles at her dazed silence and uses the hand he’s still holding to tug her up to the barrier of the bubble. The first creature willing to accept Annabeth is a baby spotted dolphin. He swims towards the clumsily with eager fins and pokes at the barrier with it’s snout. Annabeth's eyes widen in fear and look up at him and it takes a second to realize she isn’t afraid of the animal, but of their bubble popping.

“Don’t worry, the bubble won’t break unless I break it myself, and it’ll last however long I want it to.” He reassures her. He senses her hesitation so he guides her hand up to meet the snout of the baby dolphin who seems fascinated with Annabeth herself. He reaches his snout and head bumps directly into the spot on the bubble where her palm is placed.

Annabeth lets out a laugh, the kind of laugh that sort of bubbles out of you without warning and it’s the best thing Percy’s ever heard. He watches as the shock fades for her features and she pets the infant creature through the sheen of bubble keeping them dry. The animals begin to warm up to Annabeth as well, and as soon as they figure out she’s not some evil Athena agent sent to destroy the ocean, they join in on the fun. Hundreds of ocean creatures of all sizes begin doing tricks, nuzzling up to the flexible barrier, all vying for Annabeth’s attention. Annabeth herself is happy to oblige. Ever consistent, she introduces herself to each creature she meets. She smiles and laughs and reaches out to all the animals she can. Percy is happy simply to watch her and keep the bubble up but then she turns to him, eyebrow drawn together in concern, pointing to a particularly awnry seahorse, and asks what it's saying.

“He says his name is Frank and that he’s ‘too pregnant for this shit.’”

Annabeth stares blankly.

“His words not mine.” Percy offers hands up in surrender.

Then she snorts and then they’re laughing, they’re laughing harder than they have in years, and it's that kind of hysterical laugh where everything around them makes it more funny, and soon Percy’s clutching his stomach and Annabeth is beet red.  As soon as it subsides enough to get words out Annabeth is shaking his arm saying “Do that one! What's he saying? Oh my gods what even is that? Does that one like me? That ones majestic, what's his name? Oh Percy, look!! Look at that one!”

So he translates and they laugh and he teaches her different species and Annabeth nods along like it’s very important stuff. She pets the baby dolphin through the bubble and listens intently to all the animals telling her stories, even though she can’t understand a word until Percy tells her what they said. And when it’s time to go he sees the tears in her eyes and tells Percy to promise the baby that she’ll visit all the time, even though they both know she can’t.

(Apparently the baby dolphins name is Arnold, and according to his mother, he was so enthralled by Annabeth because when he first saw her he thought she was an angel.)

(Percy thinks he’s not too far off.)

...

(“That was incredible Percy. Thank you so much for sharing that with me.” They had been walking in silence as they made their way back to camp using the bubble, enjoying the afterglow of their adventure.

“Yeah, of course.” She smiles at him and looks ahead.

He’s not sure why he does it but without looking at her he reaches out and ever so carefully, and brushes her fingertips with his.

Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t say anything.

Then suddenly, miraculously, her hand tilts and their fingers are interlocked.

And there's no pretense of guiding her somewhere, they’re just….holding hands.

And it's perfect.)

...

Percy thinks if he’s not in love with her, he’s pretty damn close.

Because this feeling, the one he gets in his chest when he looks at her, is what love feels like.  

...

When they resurface, they’re met with twinkling lights and the last three stragglers singing softly at the campfire. It’s almost time for lights out.

Oh.

Oh no.

Annabeth seems to be coming to the same realization, as she clears her throat and lets go of his hand. He misses her fingers immediately.

“So, I guess we should start heading to bed.” She looks at him, hopeful but he’s stuck. Stuck in the feeling of dread at the idea of waking up tomorrow and not having his best friend. Suddenly the idea of leaving her side is so unbearable he can’t speak.

“Goodnight, Percy.” She’s turning around and backing away when the words lodged in his throat come unstuck.

“8 in the morning.” She turns giving him a ‘what are you on about’ look.

“That when you came and got me at 8 in the morning. We agreed on 24 hours. It's only been 12.”

She smiles slow and wide, “You know you're right, that math checks out.”

“We had very clear terms. We even shook on it.”

“Yes we did.”, she nods gravely. “It’s a binding agreement, we can’t just ignore it.”

“So what do we do?”

She flashes a wicked grin. “You aren’t the only one with a secret spot.”

...

Percy arrives in the Big House 20 minutes after curfew was called, exactly as Annabeth had instructed. He felt her presence before she re-materialized in front of him and in a low conspiratorial whisper tells him to follow her.

They sneak down to the basement and Percy is confused when she keeps walking towards the corner. She lifts up a floorboard and starts climbing down a ladder. She beckons him to join her and when he makes it down the ladder, he can’t help the smile that breaks out. It’s a sort of underground attic, complete with a worn dusty couch, blankets and an old TV.

“I found it my first year at camp by accident. I was down doing chores and one of the broom strings got caught under it. I didn’t have many friends except for….” She lets him fill in the blank rather than say the name out loud. “And when he wanted to be with kids his own age, I’d come here. There's only five movies down here and I memorized them.” She looks down at her shoes. “I know it’s not the sea floor but..”

“Are you kidding? It’s awesome. What are the movies?”

They dig around and end up finding two more that apparently seven-year-old Annabeth did not think worth the time. They watch Die Hard first, (“Oh my Gods I can't believe you haven’t watched Die Hard. This is a travesty. It’s a classic Annabeth.”) then Pulp Fiction, ("I can’t believe it, all the shit you gave me for not seeing Die Hard, and you haven’t Pulp Fiction?? You absolute heathen!") and Clueless. ("What? It has to be full of violence and toxic masculinity to be good? It’s a good movie Percy, shut-up.") Before he knows it, it’s 3:54 am shaking with hysterical silent laugher at Annabeth's impression of Dionysus.

“Oh my gods oh-OH! Do you know what we’ve got to do?”

“Uh-oh, what?”

She grins impishly and a little deliriously. “We’ve gotta go to our spot.”

“Ah, of course. Yes, our spot, totally.” He says in a voice he hopes is neutral, in an effort to gage if she’s serious.  

“Oh my gods.” She gasps, offended.

“What.”  

“I can’t believe this.”

“You can’t believe what?”

“You forgot our spot.”

“I’m sorry Annabeth, until four seconds ago I wasn’t aware we had a spot.”

“Oh my gods. I can not believe this-” He can tell she’s messing with him, and not actually mad.

“Annabeth, just tell me where it is.”

“I simply can not believe this, you absolute heathen-”

“Stop calling me a heathen, and tell me where it is.”

She smiles, “I can show you.”

...

“Oh, of course! This is our spot!”

Annabeth chuckles, “I told you.” They’re standing at the edge of the forest at the tallest of the rock clusters to the far left. It's the one they used to go to after their first quest, the place where Annabeth taught him the constellations. The place where he made his first real friend. Not people he hung out with to avoid getting picked on. Not a searcher who happened to like the demigod he found.  His first real best-friend.

They climbed up easily and lay down looking straight up at the sky. Annabeth points up at the floating memorials, and Percy dutifully recites the legends of how they earned their place in the sky. They're shoulder to shoulder and their fingers graze each other for longer than necessary. And slowly they lull into comfortable silence, arms overlapping, at some point Annabeth's head lands on his shoulder. Percy freezes for a while, staying absolutely still as if she’s a wild creature who could bolt at any moment. But then he relaxes, and she relaxes and he’s pretty sure she’s asleep until she takes in a shaky breath and whispers, “Hey, Percy?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re gonna be okay right?” He can tell she's trying to mask the vulnerability in her voice. And he can’t see all of her face from the angle they’re laying, but her nose is on his collarbone, and her hair is tickling his chin.

He closes his eyes, and he thinks. He thinks about Luke and Rachel and how nothings been the same since Percy blew up that mountain.

He thinks about seeing her for the first time, grey eyes wide hair falling off her shoulders and how even after everything he just went through, he felt safe. He thinks about ‘you drool when you sleep’, and the way she looked at him when he was claimed- awestruck and pitiful at the same time. He thinks about rolled eyes, stamped feet, and frustration always just under the surface. He thinks about silent truces, and letting guards down, and shared oreos in the back of a mobile zoo. He thinks about sweaty palms gripping each other in the Underworld, and shaky hands giving him a good luck camp necklace. He thinks about camp fires, stupid jokes, learning about the stars, and how the just fit.

He thinks about postcards and iris-messages, and how she punched Matt Sloane square on the nose. He thinks about how despite the arguing and the confusion about Tyson, she was always there when she needed him. How she didn’t hesitate to sneak out of camp with one of the first species he ever learned to truly fear, because he asked her to. He thinks about her in a dress and how tongue-tied him in guinea pig form. He thinks about her broken sobs and how she clutched at him in their underwater bubble. He thinks about winning a chariot race, the softest of cheek kisses and how in this world of gods and monsters, she’s the only thing he was really sure about.

He thinks about how she was the first girl he ever danced with, and how light everything felt when she was around. He thinks about how it felt strangely familiar when she fell off that cliff, and how only days later realized that it was the same desperation he had when Hades took his mother. He thinks about how gutted it was when he found out she was thinking about joining the Hunters. He thinks about his visit from Aphrodite and how even though she changed form, her hair smelled like lemons the entire time. He thinks about when he saw her on that cliff it was like the sun came out. How he saw her face and it was smudged with dirt and cuts but she was alive and he could breathe again. He thinks about how his throat closed up when he thought Artemis was going to pick her for the Hunt. He remembers how when they danced on Olympus, for a song she was prettier than Aphrodite.

He thinks about planning a movie date, and how he discovered Annabeth doesn’t get any less pretty when she’s mad at him. How she sat right next to him at dinner and how when she fixed his armour, his neck burned wherever she touched him. He thinks about falling in a whole and holding her hand and how they’d done it before but it felt different that time. He thinks about ping pong table meetings and how he became aware of the fact that he’d follow her anywhere. He thinks about the determination in her when she faced the Sphinx, and how the same fire was in them right before she kissed him. He thinks about how she tasted like smoke and salt, and how for the 3.2 seconds that his lips were hers, the first thing he thought was ‘we fit like this too’. He thought he was going to die but it was okay. It was okay that he was going to die, because he had gotten to kiss her. He thinks about Calypso’s Island, and how he dreamt about her every night. How when he crashed his funeral, she held like she couldn’t bear to let go and how that was fine with him. He thinks about the blur that was the labyrinth, full of unshed tears, words that cut, and how despite all the scream fights and the terror, and the barely contained rage, none of it lessened the fierce protectiveness he feels for her. How despite it all, she's still the best thing that's ever fucking happened to him. He thinks about the last line of her prophecy, and how she thought it was about him.

He loves her.

He’s not sure if he’s in love with her because he’s 15 and he hasn’t exactly had time to date around but he knows that for a fact. Knowing Annabeth, loving Annabeth has made him who he is. She is burned into his DNA. Somehow the 12 year old with princess curls and eyes that cut, crawled under his skin. He knows he’s done the same to her, even though they’re both too stubborn to say it out loud. They could never really leave each other, even if they tried.

So Percy shifts so he can see her face in the pale moonlight, brushes a curl out of her face and says,

“Yeah. It’s us Annabeth. We’re gonna be alright.”

She smiles soft and real because she knows him, so she knows he means it. He’s not sure who reaches out this time, but they're holding hands and staring at the sky in a silence that speaks volumes.

They stay like that until it’s sunrise and they have to sneak into their respective cabins. Looking at stars, fighting sleep, and forgetting about the rest of the world.

______________

(They hold hands all the way back to her cabin.)

(He doesn’t stop smiling the whole way back to his own.)

______________

if your still here hi! thank you for reading. send in prompts from this list, or any sentence starter you want to read. ask box is open for those and if you just wanna say hi :)

[ibis-gt]

13, 26, and 29 for the couples questions? 🌸

13. What is their go-to for making a partner feel loved?

cam is very much a cuddler. he'll wrap luther up in a big hug and get nice and comfy and just doze off like that. it's a show of love and trust, cos he usually presses luther against his neck, his most vulnerable spot.

luther likes to verbalize his affection, gushing over cam's strong points. he's so handsome, he's so kind and gentle, he's such a good partner and luther's so happy they met and they're together. that combined with some chin scritches makes cam feel very loved indeed.

26. They have an argument with their partner—what is it about? Do things stay respectful, or is there some shouting and accusing going on?

probably their biggest arguments happen when cam crosses the line about luther's comfort and autonomy. cam's not the greatest at recognizing when he needs to back off and let luther be independent, and he does tend to feel like he knows best, especially since he's, yknow, immortal and super powerful. but he really doesn't like upsetting luther, so he makes a conscious effort not to raise his voice or get into name-calling, even shrinking down sometimes to be less threatening. luther can be impulsive and might throw a few insults when he gets really upset, but he usually apologizes afterwards.

29. What compromises are they making in their relationship?

their compromises generally have to do with the fact that cam is a mermaid and luther is a land-dwelling human. they can't spend all day together, either cam will have to return to the sea or luther will have to head back to shore before too long. they try to spend an even amount of time in each environment to be fair as possible.

[organabanana]

Leaves of three, let it be [1/?] || harlivy

Chapters: 1/?

Fandom: DCU (Comics)DCUHarley Quinn (Comics)Harley Quinn (Cartoon 2019)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence

Relationships: Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel

Characters: Pamela Isley, Harleen Quinzel, Selina Kyle

Additional Tags: Mentions of alcohol, mentions of batman fucking bats, most of this is straight up idiocy tbh, i just finished watching the cartoon so everyone swears like a sailor i'm sorry, rated for (ahem) happenings later on, ivy/harley/catwoman frenemies

Series: Part 1 of the Cliché a Week 2021 series

Summary:

Aided by a terrible hangover and a severe lack of impulse control, Harley accidentally drinks an unknown substance at Ivy's apartment and suddenly remembers why Ivy goes by Poison Ivy in her professional life. Luckily for Harley, she's immune to Ivy's toxins. Unluckily for Harley, she may not be immune to her love pheromones, and turning into a human-plant hybrid is not her idea of a good time.

Telling Ivy so she can give her an antidote may seem like the obvious course of action, but there are very few things Harley hates more than disappointing Ivy with her poor decision-making skills. Besides, like Selina said, if she'd drunk pheromones she'd be in love with Ivy by now, right?

And Harley Quinn is absolutely not in love with her best friend.

Notes:

This was (loosely) inspired by Prompt #1104 by @promptsforthestrugglingauthor: “Hey, do you know if potions expire?” “I think it depends on the potion. Why?” “Well, I was really hungover this morning and grabbed the wrong glass and I feel super weird right now.” And "Everyone knows they’re dating except them” from the Cliché A Week Challenge by @montocalypse. The plan is for this to be 4-5 chapters at most BUT I'm not ready to commit to a number just yet so we'll see how that goes!

[ao3 link]

Harley wakes up with a pounding headache that makes her wonder if someone stole her bat and tried to crack her skull with it last night. 

"Ughhh..." she groans, squeezing her eyes shut. Her mouth feels like sandpaper. Her throat feels like... like sandpaper. Listen: she's not in any kind of mood for elaborate, imaginative similes right now. Everything is pain and/or sandpaper. Deal with it.

"Fuck me." It comes out in a whiny, pathetic little voice, and Harley is almost more pissed off about that than about the hangover itself. Where is she, anyway? She forces herself to sort of... perceive  the world around her without moving a muscle or opening her eyes, which may not be the best approach but it works anyway because she totally knows Ive's apartment by smell.

As friends do.

Once that's settled, and she knows she's in fact safe (how could she not be? She's at Ivy's!) Harley moves her right hand and feels around for the bedside table, but apparently she didn't climb into her usual side of the bed (friends have sides of their friends' beds, obviously) because what she feels on her right side is soft and warm and definitely not a bedside table.

"Sorry." She mumbles, affectionately patting Ivy's ass before turning over to the other side and trying again. She does find a table this time, and she nearly cries in relief when she finds a little water bottle waiting for her parched lips to drink.

Score.

It's only when she's downed the whole thing that she realizes two things:

One, that did not  taste like water.

And two, there is a reason Pam goes professionally by Poison  Ivy.

"Shit," Harley stage-whispers, blue eyes now wide open as she stares at the empty bottle in her hand, "shit, shit, shit."

Harley knows she's not dying. She knows she's immune to toxins, and she's cuddled the fuck out of Ivy (as friends do) on enough occasions to know she doesn't break out in hives at Ivy's touch. But the thing about Ivy is, she's kind of an overachiever. There aren't just toxins to worry about. Harley could be about to turn into a fern or something, and nobody could do anything to prevent it.

Well, except Pam.

But you know what? Considering the kind of mood Ivy gets in when Harley makes a less than stellar choice, she's gonna risk turning into a plant rather than waking her up.

"Morning, sunshine." Selina walks -- nay, prances  -- into the bedroom looking flawless as always, which is pretty fucking unfair considering her presence at Ivy's can only mean she was there for whatever hangover-causing shenanigans they all happened to get into last night. But of course, Selina Kyle is above looking like shit while hungover. 

" Selina ," Harley all but hisses (which is fitting, considering Selina's... you know), showing her the empty bottle, "I fucked up."

"When do you not  fuck up, Harley?" It comes off as both smug and somehow charming, which is, again, pretty fucking unfair. "What did you do this time?"

Harley shows her the empty bottle once again, shaking it slightly like she cannot  believe Selina isn't getting the gravity of the situation right away.

"What? I don't get it-- ohh ." Selina lets out a quiet chuckle that sounds almost like a purr. "Yeah, you fucked up."

"Dammit, Selina! What if I turn into a fucking succulent?"

"Oh come on, don't be dramatic. What color was it?"

Harley stares at her. "Don't you think I'd have known not to drink it if I'd looked at it?"

"I mean, I tend to assume people look at things  before putting them in their mouth. But you did  fuck Joker, so..."

"Hurtful." A beat. "Fair, yes, but still. Hurtful."

As if on cue, Ivy rolls over in her sleep, draping her arm across Harley's lap. Harley smiles, momentarily forgetting the bottle and its contents and the potential result of her having drunk them, because Ivy is just such a good friend. Protecting her from Selina's... well. Selina-ness even in her sleep.

"You guys need some privacy?"

Harley doesn't stop gently tracing the vines on the back of Ivy's hand, but she does look away from soft green skin to shoot Selina a teasing look. "Aw, does someone need scritches? Here, pussy pussy..."

Selina rolls her eyes. "Fine. Turn into a fucking sequoia for all I care. At least you'll be good for climbing."

The soft movements of Harley's fingers stop as Selina's words fully sink in. "Wh- what?" Harley's voice sounds a bit deflated, like one of those sad clown balloons after a sad balloon fart.

"I'm just saying. Pheromones and chill forever as a human-tree abomination? Kind of her signature move."

Harley just stares at Selina, horrified at the prospect of spending the rest of her life as a brain-dead tree and trying (and failing) to come up with a plausible reason why there is no way Ivy's pheromones were in that bottle.

"Anyway!" Selina sighs, stretching her arms up over her head. "I should get going. I have cats to feed."

"Wait. Wait!" Harley stage-whispers, and she's suddenly extremely thankful for Ivy sleeping like a log.

Heh. Like a log .

"You can't leave me, Selina! What if you're right?"

"Oh, come on, kitten," Selina says over her shoulder, already on the way to the door, "if it was pheromones you'd be in love with her by now."

The sound of the door slamming shut behind Selina is enough to finally wake Ivy, and Harley feels her best friend's arms tighten around her as Ivy stretches awake.

"Mmmhey, Harls." Ivy mumbles, voice rough and heavy with sleep as she moves even closer to Harley. 

Normally, Harley would've just sunk back into the most comfortable bed ever (there's a reason she rarely sleeps in her own!) and gone in for a round of lazy morning cuddles. She'd have basked in the smell of Ivy in the morning (freshly cut grass sparkling with dew drops) which is so different from the floral notes of Ivy at any other time of the day. She'd have pressed a kiss or two to Ivy's warm skin, felt her lips tingle with the sweet taste of a poison she's very much immune to, and maybe even fallen back to sleep listening to Ivy's heartbeat and the soft rhythm of her breaths.

You know. As friends do.

But today, thanks to Selina (the fact that nobody forced Harley to drink that stupid bottle is irrelevant, of course), Harley can't relax. She stiffens, even, becoming virtually un-snuggable and making Ivy fully open her eyes to give her a questioning look.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course, Ive!" The enthusiasm is as fake as her smile, and the way Ivy's eyes narrow tells her it's been very much noticed. "Bit hungover, that's all."

It takes a couple of seconds for Ivy to speak. Like she's pondering whether to mention there's never been a hangover bad enough to keep Harley from getting her cuddle on or to just let it go for now. Harley's delighted to see the second option win in the end.

"Want me to give you something for the headache?"

"Nope!" Harley's on her feet in two seconds flat, practically jumping away from Ivy's warm body and her warm eyes and the warm offer of some nice natural drugs. "Thanks, though. You're sweet as pie, butter...fly."

"Butterfly." Ivy deadpans from the bed, looking more and more like she's mere seconds away from researching actual mental health facilities in Gotham (Arkham does not  count).

"Buttercup doesn't rhyme with pie. Listen, I should go. I have so much to do. There are-- well, you know! Havoc won't wreak itself, right? Gotham needs me."

"To... wreak havoc."

" Pre cisely. Gonna wreak it real good. You know me! Won't settle for a half-wroken havoc." 

"Wro... ken?"

"Oh, for sure, for sure!" What is she even saying? Harley grabs her bat and swings it a little like she's holding a purse and not a weapon, but thankfully she doesn't break anything in Ivy's room, which is great. "Text ya later, yeah?"

Ivy looks like she's struggling to even begin to process everything that's happened in the five minutes she's been awake. And honestly, Harley's grateful for it. She hasn't noticed the missing bottle, and she's not forcing Harley to stay and answer questions, so it's a win/win/win situation if you ask her. You know... other than the potential mutant tree issue.

"Okay!" Harley grins. "Good talk. Bye, Red. Love ya!"

Shit . 

Harley freezes for a moment. She's told Ivy she loves her before. Of course she has! She loves Ive, and Ivy loves her. They're pretty vocal about that. But today isn't just any other day. She always loves Ivy as a friend, of course. As her best friend she adores and would absolutely kill and die for. The most important person in her life. The one person who's ever made Harley feel safe and loved and appreciated unconditionally. She loves Ivy in a way that makes her feel like her heart is a bit too big for her ribcage and sometimes it gets so crowded in there she's afraid she may pop a rib out of its socket or something, but then Ivy holds her and everything settles again.

You know. A friendly kind of love.

But does she love  Ivy? Harley looks at her hands like she's expecting a few leaves to have sprouted there already. 

"Harley. Seriously, are you okay?"

Ivy's voice snaps her out of her funk, and Harley knows she needs to get out before she's forced into a whole conversation about this thing. 

"Peachy keen, Pam-a-lamb." Harley forces herself to walk towards the door without looking back, just in case. Just in case suddenly Ivy's surrounded by a pink fog of love, or whatever the fuck people see when they look at her while under the influence of her pheromones. I mean, she can't look even more  beautiful than she does normally, right? That's not even possible. So it must be like... a heart emoji filter or something. She really  doesn't want to find out. "Talk later!"

***

Harley looks at the melting cheese on her third egg sandwich like she's expecting it to hold the meaning of life. Or, at the very least, an answer to today's big conundrum. Is she or is she not turning into a tree?

And sure. Sure! She could ask Pam. This would be solved immediately, she knows. She could just ask Pam what was in the bottle and confess she's drunk it and just... put up with her mood for a while. No big deal! Except she really fucking hates disappointing Ivy, you know? When she gets all... cold and detached, and feels more like lettuce than lush tropical foliage. 

Listen, trust her, okay? Sad salad buffet lettuce Ivy is just the fucking worst.

So she takes a bite of her sandwich and tells herself whatever she drank can't have been anything too dangerous. It's been a couple hours now, so she should've felt some kind of effect, right? She should be feeling a bit plant-y, at the very least. Maybe a bit nauseous or something. But she feels fine. 

Well-- not fine , fine. She's still kinda rattled, but that's Selina's fault.

She's fine.

***

"Are you sure you're up for this?"

Ivy lets Selina handle the entry point (you'd think Gotham millionaires would've given up on skylights by now) and looks at Harley with a mixture of concern and distrust in her eyes. She clearly hasn't forgotten about their conversation in the morning.

"I'm fine!" Harley swings her bat around just to loosen up her bat-swinging muscles. She's fine. Not a plant, not in a love fog, not in any way dying. Totally fine. And , most importantly, not dealing with limp lettuce Ive. "It was just a hangover."

Ivy's eyes narrow just enough to make it crystal clear how little she trusts Harley right now, but for once Selina Kyle makes Harley's life easier instead of harder when she speaks.

"Ladies. This is a truly riveting conversation, but I have shit to do.”

“Like fucking a bat-fucking bat?” It may be a cheap shot, but it makes Ivy stiffle a laugh, and Harley kinda thinks that makes it the best joke ever.

But Selina simply cocks an eyebrow at Harley. “Are you sure you want to discuss regrettable sexual partners?”

Ouch. “Fair enough,” Harley concedes, already jumping through the hole Selina’s cut in the glass, “come on, we have an oil tycoon to kill.”

“Not an oil tycoon, Harls.” Ivy glides down on a vine, looking all majestic like some kind of forest nymph, and Harley simply has to stare and smile because how can she not? Look at her friend! “He’s been using an experimental fuel that causes—“

“Does it matter?” Selina sighs like even interrupting Ivy is exhausting, plucking a shiny gold ornament from a nearby table and making Harley wonder (honestly, not for the first time) if she just keeps shiny trinkets hidden in her catsuit like a magician to make it seem like she’s finding them everywhere. “Guy’s loaded.”

“It matters to me, Selina. Not all of us have the moral compass of a magpie.”

Harley giggles at Ivy’s joke. You know what? It may not even have been a real joke, because Ivy’s sense of humor is not exactly her best quality. But it was funny anyway.

“And if it matters to Ive, it matters to moi .” Harley points at herself with her bat and winks at her best friend, and honestly, who the hell cares what this guy does, exactly? Maybe he’s single-handedly destroying the Amazon, or maybe he just happens to walk through the grass instead of using the little paths when making his way across the park. Whatever it is, it’s important to Ivy. And if it’s important to Ivy, it’s important to Harley. And if it’s important to Ivy in a way that makes her smile like she does when Harley winks at her? Well, then this is absolutely Harley’s top fucking priority.

Things get interesting as soon as they turn a corner and step onto the plush carpet of the experimental fuel (hey, she actually listens when Ivy speaks) tycoon's private wing. And you know what? Harley's delighted to hear the alarms go off and a bunch of goons crawl out from their hidey holes like buff armed cockroaches. She knows Ivy and Selina prefer the whole... well, you know. In and out, clean and easy kind of approach to murder and robbery, respectively. But Harley's an action gal. She has the energy to burn and a bat to swing, and most of all, she has shit to not think about.

So she's delighted when this guy's goons happen to be relatively okayish at fighting, which is much more than can be said for most men she fights in this city. 

"I'll go deal with him before he can escape," Ivy says, already walking towards the door to his office. "You guys all right out here?" 

"We're great ." Selina says in that tone she has where she pretends she's annoyed but you can tell she's having a blast. 

Honestly. Who wouldn't  be having a blast? It's like whack-a-goon!

"So," Selina says as soon as Ivy's out of earshot, which Harley can appreciate as an act of friendship, "no pheromones, I take it?"

"Nope!" Harley punctuates the word by slamming her bat into some guy's face. "None at all."

"Huh."

"What?" She's distracted enough by Selina's reply that she actually takes a punch to the face, which only manages to piss her off. She turns to look at the guy who delivered the blow just so he can see the look in her eyes before she completely obliterates his face. "Holy shit, dude. Can't you see we're having a fucking CONVERSATION !?"

For the next few minutes, Harley focuses on getting rid of the last few men around them so they can finish talking. Sure, beating up idiots is fun, but that little 'huh' was just mysterious enough to grab Harley's interest. What could possibly be so huh-worthy about her being fine? 

By the time they're done, there are a number of unconscious goons scattered all over the place. Harley pants, using her hand to wipe blood (mostly not hers) and sweat (mostly hers) off her face as she catches her breath.

"Whew. That was fun, right?"

Selina, as usual, manages to look spotless even if Harley saw her deal with several men with her own two eyes. Is Selina Kyle secretly magic? 

Could be.

"I've had better." Selina uses one of her claws to unlock an ornate little box and gather the jewels inside. Can she smell  expensive stuff? "Come on, let's go get Ivy."

"No, no, wait." Harley lowers her voice like she's scared Ivy may hear them somehow. "What did you mean earlier?"

"What do you mean, what did I mean?"

"You know," Harley motions in the general direction of the spot where Selina was when they were talking before, "with the huh."

"The what ." 

"The huh, Selina! The huh!" Dark olive eyes narrow in confusion (and annoyance), and Harley groans because she can't believe Selina Kyle is being this thick. "I said no pheromones. And you said huh."

"Oh, that." Selina uses a polished silver platter as a mirror to reapply a lipstick Harley is frankly not sure where one would even carry in a skin-tight leather jumpsuit. The more time she spends with Selina, the more convinced she is she just doesn't abide by the laws of physics. 

And the more time she waits for Selina to elaborate, the more Harley realizes she just... isn't going to, apparently.

"Uughhh!" Harley groans and uses her bat to smash a nearby sculpture. "You're killing me, Selina! What the fuck did you mean!?"

Selina cocks one perfectly manicured eyebrow (Harley can tell it's happening under the mask) and gives Harley a look like she can't believe she'd have the audacity to speak to her in that tone. 

"I meant," Selina's tone is a warning, like she wants to make it clear she could have made Harley suffer more if she wanted, but she's choosing not to, "I found it surprising. You looked a bit loved up to me."

"What? Pffft." Harley lets out a chuckle and nudges one of the pieces of the sculpture with her foot. "Cut back on the catnip, Selina."

Loved up. Ridiculous. Does she love Ivy? Of course. Is she loved up? Of course not . There's no heart emoji fog. None at all.

"If you say so." Selina gives her A Look. The kind of look says she doesn't believe Harley, and she wants Harley to know that even if she won't engage in an argument about it right now. Selina Kyle can say a lot with one look. 

For a moment, Harley considers pushing the issue. She could insist. She could give her a list of reasons why she's absolutely not loved up at all whatsoever. She could tell Selina how what she shares with Ivy is actually true friendship, and Selina would know if she was capable of bonding with anything other than cats and jewelry. She could tell her how there's nothing even remotely mind-foggy about her feelings for Ive (she could bring up she's seen that mind fog in action the many times Ive's put Batman under her spell, even). Harley could tell Selina how her brain always feels a bit foggy in a vague kind of way -- just foggy enough to keep Harleen quiet and let Harley take the wheel -- but being with Ivy makes her feel more lucid, more real , than anything else in the world. How when Ive says she loves her Harley feels it right in her bones, in the very marrow of them, in the deepest, darkest, longest-forgotten parts of her brain where no other feeling can ever reach.

She could tell her how wildly different all that is from a silly potion-induced love fog. But she doesn't think Selina would understand their friendship even if Harley actually spelled it out. So she doesn't.

Instead, she silently follows Selina towards the office where Pam's been doing her thing. Where Pam's still doing her thing, actually, and Harley can't help but smile and lean against the doorframe to watch her best friend doing what she loves most (after Harley) in the world: eco-conscious murder.

"I fucking swear ," Ivy hasn't realized they're there, so she must be talking to what Harley can only assume is the tycoon himself even though only one of his legs can be seen outside the enormous mouth of a very happy-looking carnivorous plant, "how hard is it to not print out e-mails? Look at all this shit. Do you know how many trees had to be killed so you could print out your shitty... whatever the fuck this is?" 

Ivy groans like she's frustrated she can't use her powers to just will all the papers scattered everywhere to turn back into trees. There are vines everywhere -- like nature reclaiming the furniture and the walls and the floors and really every surface of his office. There's a strange beauty to it, Harley thinks. Haunting, like those pictures of abandoned buildings covered in grass and moss and weeds. Even when she's angry -- and oh, she's angry  right now -- Ivy really can't help but make the world a more beautiful place, can she?

Even when she was on the other side of the reinforced glass, wearing her glasses and her white coat, Harley never fully understood why Poison Ivy was lumped in with the rest of the psychos in Gotham.

Harley doesn't know how long she stays there. Selina's happily working on the safe next to the carnivorous plant, and Harley's more than content to just watch Ivy in her element for a while.

And then, it happens. 

Ivy's going on a rant about a bunch of single-use coffee cups she's found in the trashcan by the desk when she suddenly stops in her tracks. Harley can't see what she's looking at until Ivy turns around with a small flower pot in her hand, a sad-looking, mostly dry plant limply hanging off its side.

"Fuck him."

Ivy touches the plant and her brow furrows, and Harley knows she's feeling the thirst and the pain in the little plant as if it was her own. "You're okay now," Ivy says as the plant starts to recover, and her voice is so soft -- so full of love for a dry, nearly dead plant -- that Harley swears she feels her heart grow at least a couple sizes. She watches her best friend breathe life into a little plant, watches it turn from brown to green, brighter and taller, watches it sprout new leaves that make it look like it's stretching after a long sleep. And then she watches a bright yellow flower bloom, and when Harley finally manages to tear her eyes away from the flower to look at Ivy instead, she swears she feels her heart stop dead in its tracks.

Ive's always beautiful. Always, without fail, no matter what time of day or night, lounging at home or brooding in an Arkham cell. Pam is beautiful always. But Harley doesn't think she's ever seen her look more beautiful than she does right now, with her hair slightly disheveled after a fight and some blood (not at all hers) splattered on her face and clothes. It's the way she's smiling at that little plant. The way her smile grows and softens when she notices Harley looking at her. Harley's so enthralled by Ivy that she doesn't realize what she's thinking until it's been running through her mind for a while.

God , Harley's in love with her.

And that's when she realizes. That's when she hears the proverbial record scratch in her brain and her eyes widen in horror because there it is. There's the pink fog before the botanical mutation, right? I mean she can't exactly see a literal pink fog, but she may as well. She can feel her heartbeat all over the place. The butterflies in her stomach. The nearly all-consuming need to grab Ivy and kiss her until neither of them can breathe. 

"Shit. Shit, Red, shit, shitshit shit ."

Ivy's no longer smiling. At all.

"Oh God, Pammy. I fucked up." Harley feels her eyes well up with tears as she rushes towards her best friend because this is no longer a hypothetical: this is happening. She did  drink something dangerous. And suddenly keeping Ivy from finding out and getting mad at her feels less important than fucking surviving. "I fucked up, Ive, I drank a potion and now I'm turning into a fucking plant, please  tell me you have an antidote."

"Harley. Harl, look at me." Ivy looks so genuinely concerned Harley's sure the ridiculous amount of love she can see in green eyes must be part of the potion's effects. She's hallucinating, isn't she? "What potion? You're immune, Harley, you know that. Calm down."

"No, no! Not poison, I mean--" Harley shakes her head but has to stop when Ivy places her hands on Harley's cheeks to hold her head steady and look into her eyes like she's wondering if Harley's on drugs or something. "I mean a love potion, Ive! Shit, I thought it was water and I just drank the whole thing and I thought maybe it was nothing because I felt fine but now I know for sure  I fucked up because I'm so in love with you like-- just feel this!" Harley grabs one of Ivy's hands and moves it from her cheek down to her chest, pressing it right where her heart is still skipping all over itself. "Right?"

"I-- I don't-- Harl, what potion ? You're immune to all of my--"

"The pheromones! I don't know what it was! God I'm such a fucking fuck-up and now I'm just-- shit I hope I at least turn into a rhododendron bush or something because I don't want to be a succulent, Ive. Don't let me turn into a succulent." Harley's really crying now, black mascara running down her cheeks and staining Pam's hand as she struggles to breathe through her words. "I know I should've told you but I didn't want you to be disappointed and now I'm in love and it's just-- Selina, you tell her!"

"Selina?" Ivy turns around like she's just realized Selina is still in the mansion, let alone in the room with them. "What's going on?"

Harley was expecting Selina to tell Ivy exactly what happened that morning. She was expecting Selina to tell Ivy all about Harley being an idiot who drinks things without looking first, about the pheromones and chill, about Harley's refusal to tell Ivy right away. Instead, Selina looks... almost like she's the one who's been caught in a lie.

"Selina, what the fuck did you do?" Ivy's voice sounds like she's mere seconds away from feeding Selina to the plant, too. Harley can feel the anger like tingles where Ivy's hands are still pressed against her skin. "What did you give her?"

Selina lets out a sigh. "Margarita mix."

"What?" Harley feels a lightbulb go off inside her brain. That  was the weird taste when she drank whatever was in that bottle. Fucking margarita mix. But just.. "Why? What the fuck, Selina? Why would you let me think it was pheromones? I know Batman doesn't actually fuck bats, probably. Come on, it was a joke! Mostly!" 

"Will you relax?" Selina sounds like she can't believe Harley may be a bit agitated after spending a whole day thinking she's going to die and/or mutate into a plant. "I'm sick of watching you two idiots pretend that ," she points in the general direction of Harley and Ivy, "is just a couple of gals being pals. Figured I'd help you out."

"Help!?" Harley could just-- God , she could just smash Selina's face in with her bat. But she suddenly realizes there's a much more pressing issue to handle before revenge can even begin to be considered. "Shit, Red," Harley takes one step back to look at Ivy, and for the first time ever she's surprised to see she can't read the look in her eyes, "I didn't mean-- you know I didn't mean any of it, right?" For a split second Harley swears something like pain flashes behind green eyes, but it's gone as quickly as it appeared. "I was just worried and I-- I got in my head about it. But you know I didn't mean it. You know , right? Pammy?"

It takes Ivy a few seconds to answer, and when she does she sounds... different. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."

For some reason, it doesn't sound as reassuring as Harley though it would.

"Come on, Ive--" Selina tries to keep talking, but Ivy cuts her off.

"Listen, we're done here. So I'm just gonna..." Ivy shakes her head like she's trying to physically clear it of thoughts and feelings and general clutter, "I'm just gonna go home."

Harley feels like she's stuck to the floor. She just stands there, silent and frozen in place as she watches Ivy leave. She knows this isn't right. She knows something  just happened -- something she can't quite wrap her brain around right now. All she knows is Ivy's leaving, and she wants her to stay but she doesn't know how to make her body move or make any noises until her gaze drops to the desk and she sees the little plant right there.

"Ive!" Harley grabs the pot and runs out just in time to see Ivy's vines lifting her up through the same skyline they used to get in. "Ivy, you forgot the plant!"

But Ivy doesn't come back.

[destielstuffandthings]

Did someone ask me my headcanons about Hannigram?

No?

Shame, because they're great and here they are:

When Will is away and asks Hannibal to feed his dogs, he gives them the best parts of his newest kill.

Will secretly takes a cooking class to try and surprise Hannibal but winds up annoying everyone there by saying things like "When I was in Florence/Paris/Rome (whatever exotic county he recently visited) they cooked it this way."

Will Graham is a cuddler and you cannot change my mind.

Hannibal actually likes 2 or 3 of Will's dogs and scritches their ears when Will isn't looking

Consequently, before Hannibal leaves for the office he has to use a sticky roller to keep his suits pristine.

Will likes to watch Hannibal sleep because that's when he's most vulnerable and human like.

Will blushed like a virgin the first time Hannibal ran his fingers thought his curls and now it's Hannibal's favorite thing to do (especially in front of their colleagues).

Hannibal won't admit it, but flannel is actually very comfortable and secretly kept one of Will's ratty old shirts to wear while he's tending his garden.

Will likes kidney more than liver.

Hannibal drove his Bentley to a McDonald's, ordered a Big Mac, contemplated eating it, and then promptly threw it in the trash.

He also went back after closing and murdered the manager that was yelling at an employee.

Will loved the steak Hannibal grilled that night.

[lady-divine-writes]

Shedding Facades (Rated PG13)

Summary: Afraid that their marriage might feel like a lie if he weds Aziraphale in his human form, Crowley makes a bold, last-minute decision … (2237 words)

Notes: Written to include @drawlight’s ‘31 Days of Ineffables’ prompt 'wrapping paper’.

Read on AO3.

“I object.”

Stunned silence follows – gaping mouths, bugged eyes, the comical expressions of an audience thrown for such a phenomenal loop, they may not even be standing on planet Earth any longer.

“You what now?”

“I … uh … I … object. I’m sorry.”

“H—how can you object!?” Anathema asks, strangling the book she’s holding in her hands as if it had spoken those blasphemous words instead. “This is your wedding!” She glares at Crowley, eyes broiling on behalf of her good friend, poor Mr. Fell, himself staring at his betrothed with the depth of shock that comes from discovering that every person you’ve ever known and loved has been executed all at once on the exact same day when their severed heads arrive on your doorstep by post, collect-on-delivery.

But that’s exactly what Crowley is doing – the evilest thing he’s ever accomplished as a demon.

Destroying Aziraphale’s world.

If he’d ever wanted to discorporate Aziraphale in an instant, those words at this particular moment would do it.

Crowley doesn’t look up to face the consequences, even though he knows he’s expected to. He’s been silently staring at his and Aziraphale’s joined hands since the ceremony began.

And that’s where his eyes stay.

“I can’t,” he repeats. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“Wha—what?” Aziraphale has plenty more to say, but when it comes down to it, that’s all that will come out. “What are you …?” He shakes his head, trying to rattle more words together, but he doesn’t succeed. “What?”

“I can’t do this,” Crowley says a bit more firmly. “I can’t marry you this way.”

“But I …” Aziraphale looks at the party gathered – an intimate group of their closest friends, linking hands and forming a circle around them, standing so close there would be no mistaking what Crowley just said.

He looks at the ridiculously elaborate venue Crowley had insisted upon; at the fairy lights strewn over everything that wouldn’t move to complement the miracled constellations over their heads; at an ocean of flowers covering every conceivable surface; at the banquet table full of gourmet food waiting to be eaten; at the red velvet runners, the golden candlesticks, the miles of white tulle; the string quartet, sitting in a far corner, waiting for their cue. And the cake – the twelve-tiered wedding cake humorously crafted to display the nine levels of Hell, each ring adorned with tormented souls rendered out of fondant, and a staircase leading up to Earth, with Heaven cascading above, an angel in white robes and a devil in black hovering in the accentuated space between.

Finally, he looks at the demon standing before him, gloriously handsome in a simple black tux and classic rose boutonniere, staring at him from behind Armani sunglasses.

At this point in the ceremony, which Anathema was officiating, they were a few short acknowledgements away from exchanging vows and saying their I do’s. Then they’d be dancing and laughing and cutting into that cake, which he’s heard tell is filled with pitch-black, dark chocolate ganache. He doesn’t know since, like everything else, he didn’t order it. Didn’t plan it at all. Crowley did. He planned this whole shebang, saw to every little detail.

But now Crowley says he can’t go through with it.

After giving absolutely no indication whatsoever that marrying Aziraphale was something he didn’t want to do, he’s saying no.

“I … I don’t understand,” Aziraphale stammers. “Why?”

“Because …” Crowley chuckles “… I’m not dressed for it.”

A pause, then nervous laughter hops from the throat of human guest to human guest, starting with Newt, infecting Madame Tracy, bypassing Shadwell but migrating through Warlock and Adam and the rest of The Them. The only two who have yet to see the humor are Anathema and Aziraphale.

“I don’t understand,” Aziraphale repeats, his voice straying its course, becoming pitchy and weak, only finding its strength in embarrassment. “You picked that tuxedo out yourself. If you didn’t want to wear it, I … what are you saying?”

Crowley sighs. This isn’t going well. Of course, when you object at your own wedding, things will tend to go downhill after.

“I mean me, Aziraphale. Not the tuxedo. Me.”

“Please explain,” Aziraphale begs, beginning to back away. But Crowley, holding his hands like his life depends on it, urges him back.

“Look at me, angel, and tell me what you see.”

“I see you, Crowley! The same you I’ve been looking at for over 6000 years!”

“And what does that look like?”

Aziraphale’s head continues to shake – desperation, exasperation, and every other –tion twisting it side to side. “Red hair, yellow eyes, pale skin, sharp nose and chin …”

“Right. My human form. But that’s not me. Not inside.” Crowley gives Aziraphale’s hands a squeeze meant to comfort him, but he’s far from there. “I’m very fond of my human form but … it’s wrapping paper. It’s not who I really am.”

“It is,” Aziraphale assures him, relaxing when he comprehends. “It’s the way you see yourself. It’s the way you want others to see you and that’s fine.”

“I appreciate you saying that. But this …” He gestures with his and Aziraphale’s hands towards his body “I … run deeper. I have no intention of giving this form up, but it doesn’t feel real to me when I’m about to pledge my life to you. It feels like a lie. And that’s not what I want. Not today.”

Aziraphale swallows hard, his confusion returning. “So, you don’t want to marry me?”

“Of course I do! But not this way.”

Aziraphale glances at their befuddled friends, concerned if Crowley means what he thinks he means … “But how do you intend …?”

Crowley leans in and gives Aziraphale a wink. “I’ve got a plan.” He lets go of Aziraphale’s hands and claps to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, ladies and gents! I’m going to need you all to back up about twenty paces! And … uh … just a head’s up, there’s a sixty-two percent chance that what I’m about to do might melt your brains.”

Fearful eyes snap Crowley’s way.  “What!?”

“Or make you go blind.” He shrugs. “Either way.”

“Are you joking!?”

“He has to be joking!”

“Is that a fire exit!?”

“Let’s go check!”

He does get a solitary, “Awesome!” from Warlock, who fishes his cell phone from his pocket, opens the camera app, and waits for the show to begin.

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “Relax, everybody.” He snaps his fingers. From the constellations above, a sprinkling of silver and gold dust falls upon the onlookers, clinging to clothes and hair and faces till they look like they’re covered in stars. “There we go. Now no one’s brain is going to melt. You may have nightmares after, but I can fix that later on.”

“That’s a relief,” Tracy mutters sarcastically.

“But what about …?” Pepper nods pointedly over her shoulder at the two violinists, the violist, and the cellist watching the proceedings with interest.

“… the musicians?” Brian finishes. “They don’t know about you guys, do they?”

“They won’t see anything out of the ordinary. They think they’re watching a plain, old, normal wedding,” Aziraphale explains, bitter emphasis aimed at his groom. But as his world isn’t coming to an end, he feels free to joke. “They’ll come around right on time to play the wedding march.”

“Sounds good, I guess,” Wensleydale says, moving to hide behind Brian.

Aziraphale looks at Crowley, who has widened his stance, giving himself an invisible boundary for the guests to stay behind. “Are you ready, my dear?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he replies, striking Aziraphale as more excited than he’s seemed all day. Crowley doesn’t like changing into his demon form. He’s always afraid he’ll forget how to change back so he avoids it when he can. So this must have been bothering him for a while.

All of today at least.

Crowley miracles away his glasses and closes his eyes.

The room falls deathly quiet, the human participants subconsciously widening their circle as they wait for something to happen. Only Anathema and Aziraphale remain inside, more prepared than anyone for what’s about to happen.

Crowley transforms by inches. His hair disappears, falling to the floor in clumps, the remainder oil-slick black. Wings erupt, glossy black feathers immediately shedding to reveal a thin, veiny membrane. Nails grow into sharp, curved claws. Bones elongate, joints popping as they widen to accommodate. He didn’t remove his clothes beforehand so the tearing of fabric is what the guests hear.

It covers for the less-palatable sound of tearing flesh.

Then there are the maggots. As much as he would hide them to lessen the impact on their friends, if he’s going to go through with this, he needs to go for broke. He feels them always, brimming beneath his human façade, squirming and rooting and otherwise being a nuisance. But he knows when they’re seen by the subtle grumblings of discomfort accompanied by the unsettling scritch of them falling to the carpet beneath his feet.

The tips of his wings hit the floor, signaling the end of his metamorphosis. The ache of splitting muscles and reshaping bones dies down, and he opens featureless black eyes. His full form with wings splayed is so cumbersome, it forces him to hunch, his spine curling into a jagged question mark.

It takes him a minute before he summons the courage to look at the faces of their friends watching him, see by their expressions what they think of him this way. It’s not as bad as he’d imagined. But then again, if it had been, he might not be able to call these humans friends.

“O…kay,” Newt whispers, but that’s all.

Madame Tracy throws a hand over her mouth - in disgust, Crowley imagines, but there are tears in her eyes and a wobbly smile on her lips.

Shadwell, who doesn’t know how to react, puts himself a step in front of her and gets his finger ready, just in case.

“Cool!” everyone under the age of thirteen says, unprompted and at relatively the same time.

Anathema clears her throat. “Good. Fine. Now that that’s resolved, may we continue?”

The demon Crowley, in his true demon form, limps towards his fiancé, one leg dragging with a grating nails-on-chalkboard noise, dulled for the humans by Aziraphale’s miracled star armor. Crowley stops in front of Anathema, swaying like a snake, balancing his weight on legs that should be too thin and brittle to support him.

“Where were we?” she asks, opening her book and doing her best to appear unfazed. She’d taken the liberty, after their Notta-pocalypse encounter, to study up on demons, learn everything she could about them, seeing as she was now personally acquainted with one. She’d read ancient texts, examined old drawings. She thought she was ready to face whatever Crowley might dish out.

She may have been wrong.

“The vows, I believe.” Aziraphale’s gaze never leaves his demon’s face. He raises a hand to it, cheeks damp and eyes moist.

“Of course. Who wants to go first?”

“I will,” Crowley snarls unintentionally, but he’s out of practice speaking through these pointed teeth and with this forked tongue.

Anathema nods, relinquishing the floor.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley hisses, “will you take me, me the way I truly am, to be yoursss – your ssspouse, your partner, your sssignificant other, for as long as we remain on this planet, in Heaven or Hell, or up in the ssstars? Even if …” And this is where he stumbles. Later, Aziraphale will reflect on this, come to the conclusion that this may have been what it was all about, what Crowley was sincerely afraid of “… for sssome horrible reassson, one day, I end up sssstaying this way? Will you marry me?”

Crowley reaches out skeletal claws and takes Aziraphale’s soft, pink hands in his.

Aziraphale stares into the stony black eyes of the demon looming before him. He’s never seen Crowley like this. In all the years they’ve spent as friends, Crowley as a demon, as a monster, is something Aziraphale never had to witness. On the flip side, Crowley has yet to see Aziraphale’s true form. But Crowley was an angel once. He would know what angels look like. It should be old hat to him.  

But Crowley is a sight to behold.

Aziraphale doesn’t speak, doesn’t nod, doesn’t indicate an answer in any way. He is struck dumb not by Crowley’s physical form, but by his vulnerability – his willingness to expose the part of himself that he fears the most to not only Aziraphale, but their room full of friends, just so their marriage might not be deemed illegitimate.

Well, if Crowley is going all out, he might as well, too.

The seams of Aziraphale’s jacket rip. Rays of light bleed through, forcing them open. A set of white wings springs out from underneath, then another, and another, slicing through like scissors. The remaining fabric of his fine, white coat falls to the ground in a tattered heap at what should be his feet. But he has no feet since he is no longer human shaped. He is formless, wings and eyes surrounding the spiritual essence of the Principality Aziraphale.

He is a golden light. A holy light.

He is infinite.

And soon, he and Crowley will be infinite together.

“I will.”

[rough-and-whump]

❄🌟

Thank you for the ask! With no OCs listed, I’mma go with the folks from #FuturePD since I haven’t featured them in a bit.

🌟: When your OC loses all hope, who do they turn to first? What helps make them feel better? What calms them down and reassures them? Why? Feat. The Sarge

For all her rough and tumble, and her difficulty in trusting people, Sarge turns to her boyfriend and partner, Dai, for comfort when she feels hopeless. Not because she’s weak - but because he’s proven able to handle her when she “falls” in her mind. Where others balk at what what they might perceive as weakness, Dai just sees his girlfriend hurting and does everything he can to support her and get her through her rough spot. 

In the immediate moment, Dai’s most powerful tool to help disarm Sarge’s stress is a simple headpat or head-scritch. Something where he plays with her hair - something that reassured her as a kid - and holds her close to him. Once she’s calmed down a bit, Dai turns to disarming Sarge’s overly critical self-talk and self-image. He tries to help her see the reality of a situation rather than her often overblown worst fears about it.

Sarge’s favourite thing about Dai is his voice. While normally he’s quite rough himself, he’s really unguarded around her, and that sort of mutual vulnerability makes them both able to connect in a genuine way. 

❄️: What makes your OC sad, so sad that they can’t help but cry all day? How do they cheer themself up? Does their sadness upset any of their loved ones too? Feat. The Rookie

Rook’s a bit of a youngling when it comes to getting sad. He’s sad if he hurts someone’s feelings (or thinks he does), sad if he gets negative feedback, sad if he doesn’t get what he wants (or thinks he wants), sad if he disappoints someone - etc. 

But what sets him off more than anything else is if he thinks he hurts his boyfriend, Walter. Which, honestly, is hard to do - and while Walt might display brief flashes of hurt or offense, they’re temporary. He’s an old man - he’s been through worse than whatever Rook can throw at him, but he’s still human. Still got feelings.

Rook tends to isolate, nurse his sadness and hurt and negative self-image, then realize at some point in time around hour 6 that he’s being a bit ridiculous. 

So he’ll go out to do something to feel ridiculous. He’ll go to a park or a coffee shop and wear stupid reflecting glasses and people watch. Try to get himself out of his own head. But he’ll bring along one of a dozen random dime-a-dozen books paperbacks he keeps for just such occasion and try to find the strangest, most ridiculous line of dialogue he can.

Rook’s extreme response of sadness when he hurts Walter of course hurts the man himself, but Walt’s come to realize that’s just how Rook is. At first, he used to read into it, thinking it was his fault that Rook “went off the deep end” (Walt’s words). But of course, that wasn’t the case. It took a few years for Walt to let himself off the hook - and it happened with a lot of help and context from Rook as well. Rook had to explain to Walter more than once that he wasn’t trying to guilt him, and he wasn’t trying to manipulate him - he was just... sad. And had to deal with it alone, and preferred to do it alone. 

Rook knew what he liked to do to make himself feel better, and he knew he also had to feel sad in the moment. A product of a different time, it took Walter a bit to understand this. But he got there with Rook’s time and patience. The defining argument was when Rook drew parallels between his “sad episodes” and Walter’s “mad episodes” where the older man would often go on rants and raves about things that Rook considered commonplace or “normal”.

While they’re very different people, they’re also still highly compatible. And they love each other, through it all.

(Gaw, I’ve never thought that much about the relationships between my FuturePD cast couples. There’s certainly some parts of my current relationship eeking their way in there, but there’s also a lot of observations of close friends of mine and their relationships, too. Humans are fascinating. And I think I ought to take a page out of Rook’s book and do the whole people watching thing and ridiculous dialogue sometime, too.)

[the-ghost-writers]

Monster BF headcanons

Cause why not? But really it’s because some peeps on discord ( @punkpoppunkpop @aurumdragonfly and a few others) wanted to know what kinda boyfriend their favorite monsters would be, and I was happy to oblige.

Orc 

You met him by walking past while he was training and you stopped to watch.

With an audience, he felt the need to really show off and go hard to show just how strong he is.

He sauntered up to you expecting you to be smitten. 

You were, but you caught him off guard with your praise from calling him cute.

 He got flustered, which made him stutter, which made him even more flustered. 

At least once a day you remind him of how much of a dork he was when yall first met. 

He hushes you by wrapping you up in a bear hug where he squeezes just tight enough to keep you from speaking. 

He really likes carrying you around.

Play with his beard and he'll melt. 

Loads more under the cut. (Shoot an ask if you want a headcanon of a species that isn’t listed)

Wyvern 

You originally met because he was hunting you but then he got so caught up in talking with you that he forgot he was hungry.

Regularly takes you on flying trips because he likes flying and likes spending time with you, so doing both is amazing to him.

Has no arms so he uses his neck to wrap around and "hug" you.

Tends to perch (like a bird) on anything and everything.

Gets overexcited and tackles you to the ground if you've been apart.

Immediately apologizes.

Loves to smother you with kisses at a rapid-fire pace.

Curls around and tucks you under his wing when it's time for bed.

Cuthulu 

You just wanted to swim in the ocean when you happen to cut yourself and managed to bleed in just the wrong or right spot to summon him. 

Horrifying cause he's over 20 stories tall and doesn't like shrinking down. 

Still shrinks down so he can be held by you when he's feeling touched starved.

Has trouble speaking any human language so he uses his hands for communication.

Sometimes forgets that you need air to breathe and his kisses leave you light headed.

Most people go mad if they look into his eyes, so do you but you fall mad in love.

Knows people are afraid of him, but he wants to be with you so he sneaks around to steal you away for a trip to the ocean floor (don't worry, he has a way to let you breathe.) 

His Earth home is a massive cave littered with glittering crystals. 

Kobold 

He’s absolutely teeny, not to mention tiny, but he acts like he's the biggest man around. 

Shout everything without realizing it. 

He's just really energetic. 

Feels the need to defend your "honor" from everything. 

Sometimes he'll try to fight someone for just looking at you. 

You have to stop him cause he really isn't a fighter. 

Despite his mishaps, he loves you more than anything. 

When you asked why he “protects” you so much, he said kobolds always protect their treasure. 

Seriously, he's like waist high. 

Really good at fixing things tho, not a single door in your house squeaks and he fixed you A/C in under an hour.

Robot 

Large and in charge. 

Literally, he's 8 feet and built with the purpose of being a security guard. 

After his day job is over, he goes and spends the rest of his time with you. 

Doesn't need sleep, just to recharge, so if he's plugged in then he can stay up with you all night. 

Or really until you fall asleep

To sleep in bed with you, you two installed a special charging station in your bedroom that use cords to charge him and allow him to lay in bed with you. 

The cords are on his back so he's always the big spoon.

A very, very big spoon. 

Constantly upgrading his body to be more comfortable for you. 

His latest upgrade was heating plates for when you're cuddling together. 

Sometimes speaks in robot which is apparently a thing they don’t like doing in front of humans and it’s a whole lotta beeps and whirrs before he remembers who he's talking to and tries again.

Minotaur 

The biggest grump you know. 

Although he's notably less grumpy with you than he is with others.

A scowl is always on his face but sometimes he forces it to keep up his image.

"What do you mean I need new clothes? My loincloth only has three tears in it." 

Excellent sense of direction. 

Really likes tight spaces.

Won't admit that he likes it when you're sitting on his shoulders. 

Run your fingers through his leg fur and it'll bristle. 

Hates the cold and will shamelessly use you as a personal heater. 

Mummy 

Actually woke up in a museum, you were the only one around at a time.

At an utter loss of why he's not in the afterlife.

He followed you home thinking it was a path to the beyond.

Was not happy when he learned it wasn't.

Not all too concerned because he thinks he'll get there eventually.

Calmed down but didn't leave your home because he had nowhere else to go.

Still thinks he's in Egypt and that only a few years have passed since his death. 

Won’t tell you who he was in life because he knows that it bugs you that you don’t know who he was.

Doesn't like seeing what's under his wraps but will show you if asked. 

After a while, he learns he has a bit of magic and can levitate things. 

Levitates you towards him and wraps you up (He doesn't get the joke) in his arms so he has something to hold. 

Doesn't actually realize he's falling for you until months later when you're already practically a couple. 

Thinks technology is magic even a year has passed since he woke up and you’ve explained what a smartphone is seven times now. 

Kaiju 

Walks around on four legs and is as big as a 15 story building. 

Regularly gets in fights with other kaiju, wins every other one.

Will come home (to your home, his is the ocean) victorious and start gloating about how amazing he is until you join in.

It’s because he adores your praise. 

If he lost, he'll be whimpering for you to take care of him (can't do much other than kiss it better but he has regeneration.) 

You're starting to wonder if he gets in so many fights so you'll give him attention. 

Speaks broken English and his voice is gravely. 

Lays on top of you if you try to leave when he doesn't want you to. 

Doesn't care that your work won't take "a giant kaiju sat on me" as an excuse for being late. 

Eastern Dragon 

"Respect your elders" any time you disagree with him in the slightest. 

Always floating around, hasn't touched the ground or been still in 50 years. 

Stubby arms.

He's sensitive about it. 

Twirls his mustache and cackles like a villain when he's being a little shit. 

"I'm the most humble person I know." 

Sometimes he'll take you up in the air and hold you in his coils to get you alone. 

Changes size a lot, sometimes he's the size of a train and sometimes he's the size of a shoelace. 

Gives dumb people sass but has yet to sass you. 

Werewolf 

Sometimes you wonder if he's a werewolf or a weregolden retriever. 

Always eating but never gains weight. (A nice combination of a good metabolism and a daily shape-shifting transformation that burns through thousands of calories.)

Snerks when someone starts talking about an “Alpha” werewolf.

Sheds like a bitch. (He DOES get the joke) 

His kisses are just lots of face licks.

Will start gnawing on your leg/arm if you ignore him too much. 

If you're not physically touching him to some extent he gets upset.

Super fluffy and surprisingly muscular.

Prefers his meats raw. 

Doesn't like fish. 

At all. 

An utter slut for head scritches.

Skeleton 

A total jokester.

Feels weird being naked. 

Will be naked for a prank tho. 

Skeletor is his idol.

Part-time job at the high school science lab. 

Knows every vine and meme there is.

2spooky4u 

Uses his bones to play songs. 

Don't call him sans. 

Don't ask him for a hand either, he'll toss his detached hand to you. 

"I've got a boner" 

"Rattles me bones!" 

Dressed up as Jack Skellington for Halloween. 

Deathclaw 

Originally tried to kill you but you were so pitiful cute that he stopped.

Once he deemed that you’re not a threat, he started ignoring you. 

Because your home is so close to his, his started seeing you as a part of his territory.

Eventually stopped being agitated by you and grew comfortable enough to not be on guard around you.

Rescued you from a bandit raid once but wouldn’t let you go home after, took you to his home.

It’s your new home, he’s your new roommate. 

Always wants you in his sight, he’ll follow you if you leave and corral you back to his cave if you wander too far off. 

Intelligent but doesn’t speak a lick of English, although has come to learn and react to a few key phrases “Hi, Love you, Fuck.”

That last one has led to a few problems when you shouted it in pain and he misinterpreted it. 

If he spends enough time outside in the day, he’ll glow in the dark in his cave. 

It used to make you sick but you grew used to it you might have radiation poisoning. 

He doesn’t care for his glowing body parts until he noticed your interest in him grows when he glows. 

Allows you to freely explore him. 

“Laughs” when you touch his teeth (he doesn’t understand why you’re fascinated by them but they’re so big that you just have to touch.) 

Wyvern 2.0 

So liked that he got an encore

When he’s excited, he wags his tail but that makes him lose balance, so sometimes he’ll fall over when he first sees you. 

The lack of arms means he uses his head to nudge everything, and his tongue when it’s something delicate to handle. 

Definitely a morning person. 

He always wakes up before the sun rises, but he won’t try to leave the bed/nest until you’re up as well.

While you sleep, and especially while he’s waiting for you to wake up, he combs his wing tips along your soft spots because he likes the face you make when you��re comfortable. 

Can not be faulted being too big, you’re just too small. 

Really likes emeralds for some reason, he’s not sure why. 

When you lie next to him, you can hear his heartbeat and how it beats faster from you being near.

Trent 

A self-appointed guardian of the forest. 

Said forest is in your backyard. 

Notices you taking care of plants and thinks of you as a friend. 

Shocked when he reveals himself and you get excited. 

He expected you to be scared, not bouncing with excitement. 

Indulges you in your request to know more about him and shows all he can do, from manipulating plants to lifting boulders. 

Turns smug when you’re in awe of his body but is humbled from how soft you are and how much he likes touching you. 

Compares you to that of a flower and himself as a tree.

After that day, he starts inviting you to tea using the herbs he grows and shows off his pretty flowers. 

Gives you a flower crown that’s enchanted to never wilt. 

Fascinated by the glass objects in your house. 

Feels guilty for tracking dirt into your house.

Gryphon 

You’ve actually known him since he was a child because you two grew up together. 

Separate homes tho, his family lived in a forest beside your family’s home.

You both know the ins and outs of each other what with you two being best friends.

Puberty treated him very well and he grew to be very strong. 

In time, the aftermath of your wrestling sessions (if you win it’s only because he LET you win) went from the two of you finding food to laying together and watching the sky. 

He can’t speak aside from squawking, so you have to carry the conversations along. 

You can typically ride on his back to get to places. 

He bumps his beak against your head in his way of giving kisses. 

Belly rubs slay him. 

Taurus Demon 

Very open about his sexuality. 

Also one of the bigger demons around so he doesn’t worry about much. 

Spends his time waiting for the chosen undead laying around with you. 

Likes it when you’re laying on top or against him cause it lets him play with you.

Happy rumbles when he sees you.

“Look at my boyfriend! He’s so fucking small!” 

Really wants to train you to fight.

Lays in a bed of fire with you on top of him, his body protecting you from the heat.

Really blushy if he ever forgets his loincloth. 

Doesn’t realize that shouting at people to not look will only draw their attention.

Capra demon 

Tall but feels short for a demon. 

Actually a really good dancer (he pretends he’s using his swords.) 

Dog person. 

Likes to get into “friendly” competitions with you.

He’ll try to let you win but he’s too competitive. 

Wants to explore the world with you.

Thinks magic is really cool. 

Fuck shields tho. 

Really likes being the little spoon. 

Mothman 

You two met underneath a flickering street lamp.

Neither of you actually noticed each other until he bumped into you. 

You screamed, he fluttered his wings. 

When you both calmed down, he gave you a curious look cause he expected you to run. 

He’s really tall and you have crane your neck to see his face, but all you see are two red eyes. 

He wanders off and something in the back of your head tells you to follow. 

He brings you to a small opening in a forest where fireflies float about. 

He plops down and you sit beside him. 

He opens up fast and wraps an arm/wing around you as you both watch the show the bugs put on for you. 

You do this every week without ever saying a word. 

Last time you two met, he planted a kiss on your forehead and you two fell asleep on the ground, laying together. 

He soft.

[flock-talk]

Oh yeah, I know it will really come down to the bird in the end as each is their own individual after all. I'm looking for a small to medium sized bird, as I'm not comfortable handing some of the larger ones. I prefer a bird that's more cuddly and interactive with me. When it comes to noise I can stand some screaming sometimes, but would prefer a bird that's more moderate in noise level.

Cockatiels, green cheeks, maroon bellied, crimson bellied conures (pyrrhura conures), Senegals, quakers if you can handle the potential aggression and boldness parrotlets can be very snuggly, same with lovebirds but their aggression can be even more off-putting.  Budgies can be very sweet and cuddly but they do chatter a lot, it’s not necessarily loud it’s just a lot of chatter.

Most of those birds can be pretty testy so I would be cautious if you have little to no parrot experience, be sure to handle a bunch of birds and read tons prior!

pyrrhura conures are quieter as far as parrots go but can get some ear piercing screeches.  They’re very nibbly and will enjoy playfully beaking your fingers as you give them scritches.  Most of them do tend to be quite loving and appreciative of human interaction, so long as you understand the line between playful nibbling and aggressiveness they could be a very good companion. I would stay away from Aratinga conures if you’re worried about noise level as they are able to get quite loud but if you think you could handle it you could look in to many of them as well.  keeping in mind that most conures are committed chewers which will be expensive to keep with how often they may destroy things.

https://www.beautyofbirds.com/greencheekconure.html

Cockatiels do sound like a really good fit for what you’ve described.  They’re not particularly screechers, more often whistle and peep although they are capable of loud noises (as all parrots will be) it does tend to be less frequent.  They live in massive flocks so lots of attention and human interaction are a preference for the species, keeping in mind that this can also lead to attention screaming problems.  They don’t tend to do much aggressive biting, they’re more likely to walk away, lunge or nip before feeling it necessary to present a full on bite which makes them a good species for people new to birds.

https://www.beautyofbirds.com/cockatielsaspets.html

Senegals and Meyer’s parrots can be extremely loving and sweet, most tend to have over attachment problems as they become very consumed by their love for their person’s interaction.  They can be quite a bit noisier, although many will mostly mumble their screams will be loud.  Again a very destructive species who will be costly to continually replenish destroyed toys.  As for aggression I’d put them on a similar level to some conures, not necessarily immediately aggressive they’ll present eye pinning and flaring their neck feathers before wanting to bite.

https://www.beautyofbirds.com/senegalparrotsaspets.html

Parrotlets and Lovebirds can be very snuggly birds but a lot of them will prefer to be solitary, foraging about and appreciating human interaction when they want it.  Because of their flocking natures they are likely to develop completely opposite end of the spectrum problems, some will develop over attachment issues while other will get aggressive and not want much to do with people there’s no real way to predict which will happen although if you respect their boundaries and give them space when they want it you’re not likely to have many issues. These birds are quick to aggress and won’t take being pushed around lightly, if you force past their boundaries you will get bit.

https://www.beautyofbirds.com/parrotletsinfo.htm

Quakers I admittedly have never worked with! from what I’ve heard they are on the quieter side and present an array of odd behaviours (one of which is indeed “quaking”). These birds are particularly social and tend to be full of plenty of squawks and chirps if you are super particular about a quiet bird they may not be the best fit.  This is another bird who will demolish everything you put in front of them, frequent toy changes will be necessary to keep them mentally stimulated. Take note of where you live because these birds are illegal to own in many states.

https://www.beautyofbirds.com/quakerinfo.html

Bourke’s parakeets and canary winged parakeets are much less common but are beautiful birds nonetheless! They tend to be a bit more reclusive in that they may be more likely to sit on you and chirp in your ear than direct scritching and overwhelming interactions. They are quite social however so their likeliness to enjoy your interactions are pretty high. They’re one of the few parrot species who is considered to thrive better on a seeded diet than a pelleted one, supplemented strongly with greens, sprouts, and other veggies. This is a very quiet species as far as parrots go, mostly chirps.

https://www.beautyofbirds.com/burkesparrots.html

These are all VERY very very generalized so I do highly recommend checking out the links for a more detailed run-through for the basics of the species, these descriptions are largely just intended to cover the basics of some of the categories you were looking for specifically.

[ddpej]

Anonymous asked: Hi cousin! So, what types of music do you like? Do you have any particular styles you enjoy singing? Also! I know you said you like/have had cats. Have you got any pets currently? (I have an idiot orange boy cat. He's stupid and I love him)

Hi!  I don’t have any pets myself, as my lease does not allow them.  I do, however, live close enough to my parents that I can go visit them and theirs about once a week, so I still get some critter time.  They have two cats, one sweet but useless (bless her heart) brown tabby named Mocha and one smart but easily bored (and getting cranky in his old age) solid tan fellow named Sandy.  Sandy adopted me as his person before I moved out, and he still is a bit partial to me even though I don’t live there.  We invariably end up cuddling on the recliner for at least a little while every time I visit.  Mocha.. well, we’re still not entirely sure she recognizes that there are different human-things, but she is definitely aware that human-shaped things are the source of food and scritches.  We love her dearly but she is such a derpcat.

I also get some animal time via pet-sitting!  I don’t charge a ton because it’s mostly just friends and friends of family, and I limit how many jobs I’ll take at a time because otherwise it gets too hectic.  (I call it pet-sitting, but depending on the client it can be walking dogs, clipping cat claws, and/or behavior work as well as taking care of the pets while owners are away.)

Re: music, well-asked! ^_^  Most people do not think to split the [liking] from the [singing], and they really are two different questions.  In regards to singing, I am what you might call a classically-trained soprano?  My background is in ‘traditional Amurican music’ (folk songs, musicals, and church hymns/carols mostly), such that I know the common progressions in that sort of thing almost instinctively by now, and my voice is particularly well-suited to smooth, soaring melodies.  For a decent idea of the range of that, consider: Danny Boy, One Tin Soldier, Memory (Cats), Any Dream Will Do (Joseph + Dreamcoat), O Holy Night, Do you Hear What I Hear, The Star-spangled Banner, The Sound of Silence (Simon + Garfunkel), Yesterday (Beatles), etc.  Also, while my range is wide enough that I can rumble quietly to myself in the bass clef comfortably, when it comes to performance and volume the rafters will always feel like home.

All that said, by most standards I sing a lot, and day to day I’ll sing just about anything that catches my ear.  If I’m not singing, there’s a very good chance I’m either humming (and possibly not aware of it) or consciously being quiet for the sake of the people around me.  I just.  Music is life!  (Life is music!)  Songs dance into my head constantly, triggered by the radio or an overheard word or a flash of color that reminds me of something.  Sometimes they’re just passing through and gone in a moment.  Sometimes they stick around for a few days, old friends stopping by for a visit or strangers trying to make friends.  Sometimes they settle in for the long haul, popping up every time I drop focus for months on end whether I like them or not.  And on the rare occasions when silence whispers in to echo in the sudden emptiness -- even if the whole world around me is holding its breath! -- my heart keeps time in my chest.  In some form or another, music is a constant companion, and all I really need is a beat to find it.

..well.  A beat and room to breathe around it, perhaps.  And some sort of bass line or basic chord progression does make things easier.  The only two genres that I consistently tend to avoid are screamer metal (the sort where the lyrics are shouted or howled or growled in such a way that just hearing it makes my throat raspy, and the melody is lost to the noise) and certain subsections of rap (primarily for these purposes, wherein the person rapping cannot find and/or stay on the beat; dodgy lyrics also seem to crop up here in higher proportion for some reason).  Other than that, just depends on my mood at the moment!

(I have far more pet peeves in music than distinct, defined favorites.  I suspect that it is somewhat ingrained in human nature to be better at pinpointing “I don’t like” than “I do”.  Nevertheless, I tolerate most musics just fine.)  (Also different songs resonate for different, not-always-clear reasons, so that is difficult to smash together concisely?)