tee hee hee could i preemptively ask for joshley with 6 from the too close for friends prompts :3
(for those who prefer AO3)
“Wow, is your dialogue bad.”
He didn’t deign to lift his gaze. Not for that. Lifting his hand, though? His finger? Removing all chance of misunderstanding by responding through a single deliberate gesture?
Yeah, he could do that.
“Little Miss Purple Prose is going to lecture me on character voices now, huh? She of the breath she didn’t know she was holding. Shit, these are dire times we’re living in. Hey, quick unrelated personal opinion, which one’s more applicable, you think: ‘Pot, meet kettle,’ or ‘blind leading the blind?’”
“You know, if literally anyone else said that to me, my feelings would be sooo hurt, but you really just made me read, ‘Um, guys? You’re gonna want to see this…’ with my own two eyes, so, like, I think I’ll probably survive.”
Was that scorn in her voice? Judgment?
He was going to have to do something about that.
“Big talk coming from—oh. Nice.” Josh glanced her way and, lo and behold, found she was also brandishing her middle finger. “Mature, Ash. Real mature. Don’t let anyone ever tell you you’re anything but a consummate professional.” He grabbed a nearby pen, squinched one of his eyes shut to calibrate the shot, aaand still somehow managed to miss her by about a foot.
She snorted but forever endeared herself to his heart by pretending to duck out of its path. “Leave it to the guy throwing stuff and unironically using the phrase ‘bone zone’ to question my maturity…” Heaving a sigh, she flipped the comic onto the foot of his bed, dropping to her elbows to read (and, ostensibly, insult him) more comfortably. “I don’t get it, Josh, I really don’t! You’re such a good writer—how does all that skill just, like, leave your body the second two characters have to talk to each other? It’s almost eerie, actually.”
“All right,” he said, standing abruptly from his desk. Why he’d thought he’d be able to get anything done while she was editing was anyone’s guess. He couldn’t even claim ignorance; it had always been this way, ever since the first time they’d traded stories in study hall, her handwriting cramped but legible in her notebook and the heels of his hands smeared grey with graphite. “If you’re going to keep negging me, you could at least call me pretty while you do it. You gotta slip a hook in there, Ash, gotta keep me coming back for more. It’s like you’ve learned nothing from me.”
“I’m not negging you, you dip, I’m giving you constructive criticism. Ever hear of it? It’s how you hone your craft.” Sudden as a thunderclap, there came a papery thump as she smacked her hand down onto his sketchbook, stopping him from snatching it away.
Hmm. So she had learned something from him. Good to know.
“Would you prefer a compliment sandwich?” she offered in a tone made sugary sweet by meanspirited glee. Adding insult to injury, she kicked her legs up behind her, letting them dangle in the air like she was paging through a gossip magazine at a sleepover. “I’m good at those. And you’re providing me a lot of sandwich filling, here. ‘He’s right behind me, isn’t he?’ You can’t be serious. Please tell me you weren’t being serious.”
Ah. An impasse.
How quaint.
This muddied the waters a bit. On the one hand, there were few things in life Josh hated more than being corrected. Then again, there were fewer things he loved more than having his ego stroked. A compliment sandwich was a risky, risky proposition on the best of days, especially if it was being served up by the queen of cliches, herself. Still, though…
Still.
Maybe he just needed to be proactive about this whole ‘constructive criticism’ thing. After all, wasn’t editing a two-way street?
Yeah. Yeah, he thought it was.
“Softening your punches now that I’m within pinching distance?” he teased as he flopped onto the empty stretch of bed beside her. “Predictable.”
“Pfft. I’m not softening any—”
He kept his face impassive, propping his chin up with his fists. “Almost as predictable as the ending of your new whodunnit.”
Bingo. The mattress bounced under Ashley’s weight as she went ramrod straight, the smile wiped from her face and her eyes gone wide as hubcaps. “Predic—it’s not—it’s not predictable! It isn’t! You take that back!”
Tamping down the laughter threatening to give him away, Josh shrugged. Maintained his composure. “Nah, you’re right, it’s probably not. To a normal person, anyway. You know me, I’m a special case…steeped in the genre since birth. I can’t help seeing patterns that the average Joe would need to cross his eyes to pick out. Comes with the territory of being brought up at Big Bob’s knee, know what I mean? It’s a gift and a curse.” From the corner of his eye, he watched her speedrun the five stages of grief, then begin the plunge into the dreaded sixth—rewrites.
It was getting hard not to laugh.
He reached over to his sketchbook and turned the page, pretending to examine the panels there. “Hey, forget it. For real, forget I said anything. I’m sure no one else would ever think the scorned ex-wife would get stabby. Too unexpected. Defies all expectations. Talk about genre-bending, you’re really gonna knock their socks off with that one, Ash, you just mark my words.”
“I—”
And there it was. He saw understanding dawn in real-time, the gears in her head whirring almost loud enough to hear. The jut of her pout relaxed, the panicked crease between her eyebrows smoothed out, her eyes narrowed to slits as she realized how easily he’d been able to squirm his way under her skin, but the angry flush on her face? Oh. Oh, that one got worse. That one got way, way worse.
Which was—to be fair!—also predictable.
Where she’d been so quick to protect it before, Ashley had no qualms giving him the sketchbook now. Over and over again, in fact. On top of his head. Or against it, maybe. It was hard to say, considering he was being swatted like a fly.
“Ugh! You’re—”
“Ah, ah!” He laughed, hunching away from her with his hands blocking his face. “Four-letter words only! If you’re gonna insult me, you better make it sting!”
“—insufferable!”
“Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that was indisputably not a four-letter pejorative, and thus I will be forced to dock you points. Wasn’t even four syllables.”
She didn’t seem to appreciate the joke. As he reached for the sketchbook, Ashley only redoubled her efforts, using it to thwap his hand away. Thankfully, though, stamina had never been her strongest suit. She gave up with a groan, letting it drop so she could cover her face with her hands. Not that it helped. That blush? Raging. There was no use in trying to hide it.
But it made sense, he guessed, in the grand scheme of things, anyway. In all the time they’d been friends, duality had sort of been the name of the game: Ashley preferred to blend in while he had a pathological need to stick out; she won all her teachers over without even trying while his reputation had darkened the Washington name for generations to come; and, mamma mia, she lit up like a Christmas tree at the slightest provocation while his poker face had no equal. They kept each other balanced, was the thing. Level. Humble.
…when they weren’t riling each other up, at least.
“You didn’t read it,” she said incredulously. After another second, she raised her head, squinting disapprovingly at him. “You didn’t read it, you liar!”
“I didn’t read it yet.”
Groaning louder that time, Ashley face-planted into his comforter. He had to hand it to her, too—that groan was so loud and so exasperated he actually felt it vibrating through the bed like a shockwave.
“Crazy set of lungs you got on you, holy shit. Don’t get your panties in a twist, it’s next on my list. I just figured it was a safe bet…you like making your killers women full of righteous fury! I always assume the lady with the saddest backstory’s the one who did the damn thing when you’re holding the pen. Now, the stabbing part, I’ll admit, I could’ve put a little more thought into. Not my best bluff. You’re too sophisticated for straight-up physical violence, that’s a rookie’s game. I should’ve gone with something more esoteric. Poisoned ice cubes, maybe, or a hacked Roomba.”
Again, she popped up, perking at the attention. “Do you really—” Ashley began, then caught herself, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling. “A compliment sandwich,” she said, her voice falling flat as she grappled with getting got not once but twice. “You just fed me a compliment sandwich.”
“How’s it feel?”
She rolled her eyes again, that time in such a way that they landed on his. “Like you should at least be calling me pretty while you neg me, smartmouth.” It was clearly meant to be a jab, but she should’ve known better, especially since she’d been his editor for the past however-long.
He loved a good callback.
So, smirking, he shut the sketchbook altogether, smoothing its cover down before leaning over to whisper against her ear, “You’re pretty.” Immediately, a new wave of color flooded across her cheeks, her nose, the tips of her ears. By then, his mouth was close enough to her skin to feel the heat blazing there, and…well, duality, right? If she wanted to dance around it, that was her prerogative. He’d never been one to shy away from a spark, even if it meant getting burnt every now and again. “Don’t act surprised. I don’t let just anyone insult me in bed, you know.”
Ashley turned to meet his gaze, her eyes bright with something he couldn’t place. She looked at him, looked long and hard, then shook her head and yanked the brim of her beanie over her eyes.
“Your dialogue is so bad, Josh,” she said, bringing them right back to where they’d started, “it’s so, so bad!”
Lmao "Scissor Shoulder" is a ship name I made for Ashley/Josh like not even a year ago 'cause I thought it was fun and I do not care much for name smash ship names. It is very much a rarepair. The only other ways I've seen it referred to is either "Joshley" or just with / or x
If you're obsessed enough with a ship and are the only/main ones creating stuff for it you can very easily name a ship yourself or even rename a ship if your new name is catchy enough. It's harder to do with bigger ships but I've done it for another rarepair of mine in one of my other fandoms.
im hella sorry I didn't reply to this earlier BUT. I think I've done that once with gaalee (naruto). pretty sure I suggested the ship name "sandstone" for gaara / rock lee. still forever proud of that one...
you've got me thinkin' about those two though... wowie. i might fuck around and come up with a few ship headcanons / a drabble... this relationship is gonna need some decoding and im stoked to get into it
Happy birthday to our Harry, Ashitaka, Pride, and 1/2 of #Joshley ! You’re one of the most insanely talented people we know! You work so hard, you observe so much, and you’re never afraid fail to be your genuine self. Thank you for sharing your energy, insight, and knowledge with Corps! We’re so fortunate to be able to celebrate you this year and hope you have a wonderful birthday! Join us in wishing JK a happy birthday in the comments below! • • Pc: @totomarvs • #thecorpsdancecrew #thecorpsdc #sourumeito #shoutsourumeito #dance #cosplay #cosplays #cosplayer #dancer #actor #singer #pride #ashitaka
perhaps a TAME run of social suicide (near impossible, i know) with an emphasis on joshley?
To say this wasn't going how she'd planned...well, that would've been a gross overstatement; if there was any appeal to Josh's horrible little truth-or-dare game, any appeal at all, it was its unpredictable nature, knowing that, no matter how you imagined the next round unfolding, you were going to be wrong.
Still, Sam hadn't seen this one coming.
"Your first kiss wasn't Chris," she repeated, her eyes growing more and more narrow with each word, "so...who...?"
Ashley pulled in a long breath she let out in an even longer sigh, her eyes going wide as if to balance the scales. "What you need to understand," she began in a slow, cautious timbre, "is that it was Fall Fest, we'd both had three Red Bulls, and, for reasons I only kind of remember, we thought it was really, really important to convince Hannah and Beth we were dating."
"Hannah and B - it was Josh?!" Sam managed to spit out, but she'd barely gotten through Hannah's name before Ashley was throwing her hands in the air, yelling over her, "That's why I was so grossed out when you said you kissed him - he's terrible at it!"
could i ask for a lil joshley on this fine weekend :]
The only explanation she could find for it, the way she kept...well...finding herself looking at him like that, was that it'd been a long, long, looong week. Finals had that effect on her, and no matter how many Monsters she downed outside of study hall, no matter how many vending machine packs of half-smashed Skittles she ate, there was just a certain point in the day where she got too tired of thinking, or fretting, or fidgeting, or being, and that must've been it.
Well, that, and there was something admittedly very interesting about Josh's face when he was well and truly absorbed in a project - a kind of roving intensity that started in his eyes and worked its way down to his mouth, a slow roll of thunder where his usual expressions were lightning strikes that left the air dry and smelling of ozone, and...yeah, yeah she had Finals Brain, all right.
"Know what would make this just really fucked up?" Josh asked, his words pulled strangely around the marker cap he held in his back teeth (when he glanced up at her and caught her staring, his grin pulled strangely around it too). He let the question linger, quirking his eyebrow before dipping his head back down to her hightop in his lap, only pausing in putting the finishing touches on the masterpiece he'd been drawing on its toe to tease, "If I was lying about being bored and decided this was the time to reveal I've been one of those foot freaks all along."
Ashley groaned, but didn't try to pull away; she was curious to see the finished product, she told herself, bored of the blank white canvas shoes...and maybe, just maybe, didn't mind the thought of going into her next test with a reminder of what was waiting on the other side.
[a beginner's guide to wound debridement]
an Until Dawn fic by TheIcyQueen
debride: v. (1) the act of cutting away dead or necrotic tissue from a wound; (2) the medical removal of harmful foreign bodies from otherwise healthy flesh; (3) taking it upon yourself to scrape out the rot before infection takes hold and everything you once knew about yourself becomes utterly unrecognizable.
(Or: Five times Ashley visited Josh in the hospital after the events of Blackwood Pines...and the one time she didn’t.)
