#I like that the new ones actually function in terms of DRYING HANDS

[hiemaldesirae]

there was an ask i got a while back that brought up the idea of vox pulling away from alastor (while they were still friends) because he figured alastor was only using him for entertainment and al in turn becomes the biggest wifeguy alive to keep vox by his side and. well. my fingers got itchy

Vox stares forlornly at the photograph held gingerly between his claws. It had been taken some time (comparatively) early on in his friendship with Alastor- the date of August 16th, 1967 was scrawled in Vox's own unsteady, drunken penmanship. He'd been plastered to the roof when they'd taken the photo, which, now that he thinks of it, was probably the only reason Alastor had ever agreed to it in the first place.

He mulled over that conversation once more, as if he hadn't been at this for a month. The stack of papers that Husk had passed him with a worried look and a huff laid neatly stacked next to the transcripts of the confirmation calls he'd had with Mimzy after Husk had told him.

He only sees you as entertainment, Husk had said. It's how he functions. I don't know if he's had a genuine relationship with anyone other than Mimzy and Rosie, and even then the chances are slim.

And Vox had wanted to believe that he was wrong. God, he'd hoped so badly that Husk was wrong. But- the Overlord had never once led him wrong before, had he? And he had no reason to lie to Vox about this.

His hands shook as he took the picture and tenderly placed it back into the drawer where he'd taken it from.

Even if the first friendship- the first ever taste of love he'd gotten, in life or death- he'd managed to strike up in Hell had been one built on lies and for Alastor's- entertainment, he still didn't want that proof of the simpler, happier times to disappear.

So it was with a heavy heart that Vox prepared to bid farewell to his first and dearest friend.

One thing that Husk had made sure to make absolutely crystal clear to him was that Vox should not, under any circumstances, be the one to let Alastor down gently.

At least, not directly- Vox had disagreed with this line of thinking, believing that Alastor deserved to know the truth, but then Husk had shown him what Alastor had done to the couple past demons who had dared to do the same and Vox found his protests drying up on his tongue as quickly as they'd come to him.

"Well, what do I do then?" Vox had cried, practically faceplanting all 15 pounds of his CRT television head into Husk's bar counter. To his credit, the Overlord hardly even batted an eyelid before sending one of his thralls to clean up his despondent kid's mess. "I don't wanna just fake my death or something!"

"I wasn't gonna say for you to do that, but actually, that might be a good idea if the Radio Freak doesn't take the initial plan well," Husk mused, before he caught sight of Vox's- frankly heartbroken looking- face and sighed. "No, the idea is to get him to think it's his idea. Start by gradually distancing yourself so you're no longer attached by the hip- Lord knows you needed a healthy sense of distance from him, anyway- and then move to blowing off his plans and stuff. For valid reasons, like say Rosie scheduled you in first or something and you couldn't leave without invoking her wrath. Make yourself some new damn friends, for God's sakes. It'll make it harder for him to wage revenge on you if you've got allies backing you up."

Husk could see his kid's face gradually growing paler with every word, and he internally sighed. Fucking Alastor, and his need to ruin every good thing that passed him by. "And if it gets to that point, which it shouldn't, I'll protect you first. An alliance with Ol' Bambi is not worth more than your wellbeing, котенок."

"I know," Vox said quietly. He tapped his hands on the counter for a second before standing up, a sad look on his face. "I just... I might need a little to come to terms with things."

"Of course," Husk nodded understandingly. "You take all the time ya need, got it?"

"Yes, dad," Vox rolled his eyes, though the sad expression on his screen had brightened considerably and he now managed to give Husk a weak smile. "Really. I'll call or something if I need you."

That was weeks ago. Vox had started to put 'Plan Pull Vox Out of a Toxic Friendship' into full play a little while ago, occasionally turning down Alastor's invitations to soirees, operas, theatres and the like and instead focusing on his work. Before, he would have dropped everything just to accompany Alastor, which was something Vox was suspecting the other demon had already known and potentially specifically chosen him for because it made him more entertaining.

In any case, things had been going smoothly. Vox had even managed to start a few new projects, the most impressive of which was a part mechanical part organic demon shark. He'd found the poor thing missing half its limbs, and gone on a horribly roundabout mission to make it new ones. So far things had been going smoothly and the shark had taken to leisurely taking swims around Vox's small aquarium, one that spanned one entire wall of his even tinier apartment.

What he hadn't expected was for Alastor to show up one day completely uninvited and make him dinner.

He'd been in the midst of arranging meetings with other up and coming sinners of Pentagram City, looking through his contacts to see who else would have the most potential to become an Overlord. One had been Valentino, who was the man he was trying to speak with when a crash came from his kitchen. He'd asked Valentino if he could bear to be put on indefinite hold incase he was killed, deafened before he could hear a response, then proceeded to the kitchen, hammer in hand, only to find-

"Ah, there you are, my dear picture box! I was afraid I'd never see you again, what with that awful habit of yours with locking yourself into the workshop for hours." Alastor stood in his kitchen, humming quietly as he stirred a pot full of gumbo leisurely. "Go sit down and wait, would you?"

"I- you-" Vox looked in between Alastor, who was wearing an apron that said Kill the Cook atop his regular fitted suit, painting an elegant yet absolutely ridiculous portrait and back to the table, where several other creole dishes sat on the table in front of Vox. "You're in my house."

"You didn't answer me when I tapped on the radio waves," Alastor shrugged lesiurely. "You've gotten busy these past weeks, haven't you?"

"Well... sort of," Vox said, expertly skirting around the question. "Anyway, that doesn't explain much. You don't like coming to my apartment. And you only cook for Rosie and Mimzy because you only respect them."

"I don't like coming here, correct."

"So.... why are you here, exactly?" Vox crosses his arms, leaning on the counter. "You don't usually come for visits."

"I care about you," Alastor said softly. It almost sounded sincere. No wonder he was a radio host- truly, hearing those words had nearly stopped Vox's resolve to leave entirely. "Isn't that enough?"

"I wish," Vox said in reply, a hand pressed to his chest to stop his rapid breathing. "God, I wish."

But God didn't exist for Sinners.

So when Alastor finishes cooking the food and sits down to eat with him, asking him about the work and projects he's been doing, Vox just grits his teeth in a smile and forces himself to act as if his world isn't breaking apart piece by piece.

[justajsworkshop]

ohhhmygod do i adore your account!! i wish i had found it years ago, when tumblr loa was a cesspool of complicated rigid rules, or just outright misinformation. after briefly reading some of your posts, i’ve started to realize how many of my problems materialize out of awareness— however thinly veiled.

just now, i started fixating on how my pen would run dry despite being brand new. this continued, even worsening the quality of ink and how it printed. anyways, i asked myself: what am i aware of right now? i redirected my awareness to having a functioning pen, and wallah! it works again, writing better than ever. this even happened with my skin!

each time i washed my hands they’d dry out so, so terribly that i’d have to apply moisturizer after every trip to a sink. miraculously, this faded out of my awareness and now even after harsh soaps and scalding water, my skin remains fine. this all seems to work out for me in the present moment, meaning anything i manifest for “later” seemingly fails (ex. lucid dreaming).

not sure if you’ve spoken of time, but i believe time to be an illusion, that only the now exists and will exist. i seem to blunder things for the “future” despite knowing they are now. i would like to ask if this is only seeming? i take it to be, as i’ve only confronted this type of remonstrance after shifting my perspective on time— also because how everything results from awareness.

would love and greatly appreciate your thoughts!! i do apologize for my rambling, i was just so excited to share how easily changes weave in and out of reality through awareness! here’s to a wonderful weekend<3

hey! omg, first off, i'm so happy to hear this practice helped you experience yourself in more desirable ways! it's really made an impact on me and how conscious i am of my awareness and where i'm placing it (myself), so to see someone actually apply what i've been talking about (eeee) and to experience such change is very exciting for me personally! congratulations. and thank you!

okay, so for your second aspect here on time. there are a few things i'm going to dissect, and i'm hoping that i can get this across as clear as i feel it in my being, so here goes nothing:

firstly, i'd like to reframe your language around how manifesting for "later" fails. my invitation for you and for anyone reading this is to remove the terms "fail/failure" and "does/didn't work" from your language and how you conceptualize yourself and manifesting.

there is no failing or failure. it's not that it didn't work; this implies a force outside of you was more powerful and overcame your intention, and it also opens you to the possibility that "failure/it not working" is something you can experience.

this mentality also invites the "what did i do wrong?" line of questioning. so, i'll answer it now very plainly: you didn't fail. you simply took your awareness off your desired outcome (i'll explain more what this means next). that's it. there's not work or didn't work. there's just awareness. there's just you.

so, it's really nbd because you've already shown how masterful you are at shifting your awareness! this puts you back at the center of your experience as the one source and one cause.

as for time, i have spoken about time quite a bit, but i don't think i have as much recently. i hear you when you say that you see time isn't linear, but the application of simultaneity isn't fully translating into your experiencing of self (based on what you're telling me). so, i'll try to break it down as best as i can.

when you say that you can manifest for the "present moment" by shifting your awareness, you're identifying the present moment as what you're currently perceiving with your physical senses, e.g., writing, washing your hands, reading this post, etc.

however, to your I AM awareness, all moments are the present. the example i always give is close your eyes, picture where you are right now exactly as is without opening your eyes. then picture a beach in front of you. notice how these moments instantly shifted according to your awareness, and neither of them was dependent on the physical. to your I AM awareness, you are lucid dreaming right now. you are also not lucid dreaming right now. there are infinite possibilities where either is true.

to say you're manifesting something for "later" means you're bringing that "later moment" into the now of your awareness whenever you think about it because you're aware of that "later" moment here and now. so, that moment is happening in the present to your awareness in the eternal now even if your linear self is designating it as "the future," and what you're also doing is attaching the narrative that anything you're not currently perceiving with your physical senses (what the linear self defines as the present) doesn't manifest.

do you follow? i hope this makes sense. i'll be glad to expand on anything specific if not, btw.

to your I AM awareness, it's all happening now in the eternal now. it's the linear, physical self who's divvying up things according to what it currently perceives vs. isn't currently perceiving as present vs. past/future, and therefore, they open up the possibility of "failure" for what they're not currently perceiving because the linear self is dependent on physical perception to say "it worked/manifested."

but your I AM awareness is operating outside of horizontal linear time in the vertical now. so, when i say i notice what i am aware of, and if it is something i don't desire, i shift to something i desire, in this case, it would be something like:

i notice myself being aware of the narrative that "future manifestations fail."

i shift my awareness to the truth that i am actually lucid dreaming perfectly right now, i always lucid dream whenever i want, all my manifestations are mine right now because there's no other time to have them: it's all just here and now—the eternal now (not the "now" according to the physical self who perceives this moment only through the physical senses and as a moment that's dependent on the moment prior and the moment after).

anytime you think about lucid dreaming or any other future manifestation, your I AM awareness is experiencing it here and now according to your narrative of being. so, "my future manifestations are failing, like for lucid dreaming" is happening now to your awareness, and this is ultimately what is mirrored back to you since you're only experiencing yourself.

let me know if this helped/cleared things up at all! and if there's anything you'd like me to try to tease out more, i'd be more than happy to. this was a really enjoyable ask to chew on. thank you for that. <3

[noveldivergence]

Find THE WORD

Tagged by the fantastic @wiredhouse!

The words given were: Fire, metal, rose, and soul.

Since A Plague of Shadows is still so short, I instead dug into my various works for my horror series The Apostates! These all come from a work I haven't titled yet, but it's functionally a novella I love that has just stalled for awhile.

I'm sorry some of the pulled quotes are so big, but I like giving them with the full context and gravity. I actually cut some of this down LOL

Fire

“I often wonder, Doctor, if the powers that be simply do not view us with the same distant affection or disgust or disinterest as we view the worm. They see us writhing past them on the ground, in a struggle of our own naive creation, and they step on us or walk by and leave us to dry out in the sun.” “Or pick you up,” Adan half-whispered, and Alek smiled a small and wholly comprehending grin. “Or pick you up, and it is pain like you can never imagine as you move through space in new and incomprehensible ways, beholden to cosmic awe, before you are simply…” He gestured a dropping motion with his hand. “Pop. Back in the dirt, hoping you can one day perhaps understand what happened. Hoping that the pain for you was worth it. Hoping that the attention of the force that brought you to salvation through fire meant something, but ultimately ever so incapable of fully comprehending its whims.” “So you’re saying in the grand scheme of the universe, we’re worms?” “Oh no, Doctor,” Aleksander continued. “We are ever so much worse."

Metal

The soft sounds of Callie chewing on something in the living room interrupted his reverie. It sounded metallic. Adan set his coffee down quickly enough to spill it on himself, wiping his hand on his undershirt furiously as he rushed to prevent his chocolate lab from another very expensive vet visit. “Drop it! Callie, sweet girl, drop iiiitttt,” he pleaded, trying to gently prise the dog’s mouth open. A metallic clink pinged off the hardwood, and he sighed in relief. 

Rose

A Japanese robotics professor by the name of Masahiro Mori coined the term the Uncanny Valley in 1970. Though the concept was originally used to describe humanity’s discomfort with human likenesses used in robotics, it soon began to spread in use. Something about the image of a not quite human face caused an innate discomfort in the hindbrain of mankind. Some theorized that the discomfort rose from some internal undermining of human identity. Others imagined it had to do with a fear of death in the face of the non-living. Adan had generally found himself believing the “pathogen theory” of the Uncanny; the idea simply being that those small differences from humanity signaled something wrong, something unhealthy, some sort of interloper who would break the health of society or the social contract by poisoning it with disease.

Soul

Examining the table, his eyes fell onto an apple, a symbol of disobedience to God and access to forbidden knowledge in so much of the West. At the same time, it was something familiar, something safe. Something seen in different cultivars across U.S. grocery stores, created more as marketing experiments than scientific achievements. This one was a Golden Delicious. Occult wisdom tempted humanity once more to sell a soul, he thought wryly. He took the apple and raised it to his mouth. It gave way all too easily, and he expected to taste the moldering, mealy taste of an apple far past overripe. He didn’t. It was bright and unbearably acidic, pinching at his mouth like sour salt. When he looked down in his hand, the inside of the apple had the look of a typical one at first glance, but the more he stared at it, the more the trails of bitemarks broke off and spiralized into strange fractals, drawing him further into the flesh of the fruit until he couldn’t bear it anymore. As he felt himself slipping slowly into the madness of this chaos apple, it disintegrated in his hand before his mind went with it.

I put Adan through so much. Including listening to Aleksander ramble.

Anyway.

I shall now tag new hands to touch the beacon: @helperduck, @ryns-ramblings, @pixiedustandpetrichor, @winterandwords, @alnaperera

THE NEW WORDS ARE DARKNESS, LIGHT, MOON, AND WIND.

As usual if you do not want to or have time to do this, you are under no obligation! Also if I didn't tag you, then feel free to use this anyway and tag me in it.

[nitrosodiumofficialuses]

Toxic Waters Lite: The Gimmick Weapon (Part 2)

I was going to type this up yesterday on my phone, but I decided not to risk my carpal tunnel. Anyway, we now have two more contenders, the acid gun and the biological weapon (i'll be calling it the bio-gun).

The acid gun, I planned to bridge the gap between a flamethrower and an explosive weapon. It'd fire a ball of green goo with a projectile arc, leaving a puddle which would poison enemies who walk through it. Mechanically, it's not too different to a grenade launcher, but I had an idea for a secondary ability - acid can melt coral tiles. My idea was you to go through The Last Of Us-esque infested areas, where you can go the intended route, or melt yourself a new path. This is cool, but with the limited aiming of TWL, accurately melting a path would be difficult. If Nicolas is two tiles tall, and he fires his guns from his waist, it would be difficult to properly make a path that you could walk through. From the player's perspective, it makes the coral-melting ability seem more like a fun addition to the world, rather than an intended feature, relegating it to a gimmick of the tool or a speedrunning strategy akin to Tau jumps in Half Life. For level design, this then means you either put loot in melt-only areas and starve players of resources they don't know how to reach, or disincentivise coral-melting by not hiding any loot there, which means players won't use the acid gun for its secondary feature. If TWL had mouse aiming, or was 3D, an acid gun like this could work wonders, but for our purposes, it would just be a downgraded grenade launcher with some weird mechanics.

Finally, the bio-gun. In old Toxic Waters documents and concept art from 2020 and 2021, a weapon is referenced called the "U.L.F." or Ultimate Life Form, a living tool with various functions, including spraying infectious goo, launching an egg grenade, and firing poisonous barbs. It would "reload" by feasting on corpses, both human and mutant. This is mostly lifted from Half Life's hornet gun or "hivehand", and the term "biological weapon" can be expanded on as well. On one hand, grabbing a squirming cuttlefish-like mutant from its tank and using it like a toxic squirt gun is cool, but the actual mechanics of a weapon like this is curious. Firstly, let's look at the "Functionality Triangle" I created for the enemies of TWL: is it a cool idea, does it work in the setting, and does it work in the game? The bio-gun passes the first two easily, weaponizing mutant fish is cool and 100% in line with Hydromorph, but how would it function in game? Most venomous aquatic creatures spread their venom via contact, i.e. stonefish and blue-ringed octopus. There isn't really a creature I know of that spits its venom like that, much less underwater, which does beg the question of how long your tentacled wonder-weapon will last out of its natural habitat. The "eat to reload" feature is so unique and awesome, really an extrapolation of similar reloading animations in Half Life (i.e. feeding the Spore Launcher moss for it to regurgitate at enemies) and creates a realistic way you would "reload" a weapon like this, short of throwing it away and grabbing another when it runs dry like a Halo plasma weapon. One thought I did have was a long tubular coral, mounted on your shoulder like a rocket launcher and ejecting a suicidal, explosive fish not unlike the Crashfish of Subnautica. If not a weapon, a similar "coral mortar" would be found in infested areas, growing near to squirming, clicking masses of Snapsprouts.

Given each of these options a feasibility study, it seems clear to me that the Bio-Mine Launcher will be the one I port to TWL. The Harpoon Gun was a tennis racket at a football game, the Riot Gun was an extendable hand with limited uses, the Acid Gun was a booby-trap with a redundant floor-melting function, and the Bio-Gun was a cool idea but a bad weapon. When I go to college tomorrow, the next thing on the itinerary will be creating the touchscreen save points, and perhaps some more animations for Nicolas pertaining to his other guns (shotgun and bio-mine).

[mayfay-analysis]

Rats! How could you do this, throwing an interesting quirk into the void and leaving me Intrigued! And now I have Ideas! Theories! And I’m gonna be making it Your problem

First off to lay out the main aspects of Kumos quirk (gonna be using first names to avoid confusion with Hizashi) we got

1. Picture Formation

2. Power Source

3. Creations

To start with Kumo is solidly in emitter quirk territory, specifically one focused on making creations that can do her bidding. These are made by drawing a picture and imbuing it with some form of power to stay functional. While the picture quality itself isn’t listed as having an impact on its strength, the material it uses does. Additionally her quirk drawbacks are focused on the drawings and some minor drain on her hand. Putting these two together it’s likely that the hands are used to, for lack of a better term, “channel” some form of energy from the surroundings and pushing it into the fabric she’s drawing on. From there the drawings act more like runes, holding and utilizing that stored energy for movement and power, as well as possibly drawing in more to become self sufficient.

So what Is this power source? Well we don’t have much to build off of here but my guess is either some nebulous passive energy in the surroundings, intent from Kumo herself, explaining why she needs the drawings rather than a simple checkmark, or they’re siphoning off small amounts of energy from Kumo, explaining the soreness in her hands from her drawback. If it’s some nebulous passive energy than that limits how much she can draw off from any single area before draining it dry and requiring more effort for less energy. If it’s intent than Kumo may suffer from writers block after to much quirk use, but overall that’s likely quickly recovered considering quirks have built in mutations to better recover from them. And if it’s energy from Kumo than that means that while she’s not limited by area, her internal power supply marks her limit. It also means that overuse would leave her drained and less useful during a fight.

Finally the creations themselves. As mentioned before their durability is based on the fabric they’re drawn on, meaning the total amount of energy they can store is based on the fabrics durability. However some materials are likely harder to utilize, not holding energy as well as fabrics do. Otherwise Kumo could draw a quick squiggle on a sheet of metal and absolutely wreck shop. These creations hold and utilize power based on their design, explaining the use of pictures, but also potentially draw in power as well. If they don’t than each creation is on a time limit based on how much energy they contain and use up, more fighting taking more energy as well as a base drain for simple movement. Alternatively if they’re siphoning power from elsewhere that could mean a constant drain on the nearest source.

Now for minor mutations!

So since this is a pure emitter quirk Kumo doesn’t actually have many extra mutations compared to other quirks. The main things she would likely have is some extra mobility in her fingers for drawing (and potentially elsewhere in the body as a side effect), an increased creative drive to sustain creation, and sharper eyesight for better drawings (she might even have access to a larger range of the visual spectrum to better discern different shades or even entirely new colors)

Feel free to add anything to this by the way, I could be entirely wrong here. Also interested in the slime doggo in that one picture

hhuuuuuuu

hi,here's my mha OC ig,,, this is Kumo Yamada. Shes a hero course student!! Hooray!! erm-

[faejilly]

in other exciting gods this is such a fucking monday news

I offered to chaperone for my kid’s field trip Thursday because honestly it was last minute and they NEVER still want me to chaperone but this time they did

but I found out afterwards that they don’t provide transportation?

(as in I have to drive myself and meet them there instead of riding the bus but it’s in the middle of baltimore and I’m not sure my current mental state is up for driving, which I know is weird since I drove like three states over a week or so ago, BUT WHAT CAN I SAY, BRAINS ARE WEIRD?)

so I emailed the teacher going UM and we shall see if they actually need me or if I can bow out awkwardly

but also there was the credit card fraud phone call

and several missed calls from lenders because once you start researching mortgages they NEVER LEAVE YOU ALONE AGAIN

and my phone is still sometimes just ... not ringing? so trying to look up different phone options

and I forgot to give the IEP form back to the school

and the dog is extra squeaky

and I forgot breakfast?

and Thing 2 is anti-bus?

and there were like three other things but I’ve forgotten already while trying to type this out?

LIKE

TODAY IS NOT A GOOD BRAIN DAY

/and not even emotionally bad just. what do, how put in order, huh?

OH GODS THO

like

Saturday Thing 2 was having trouble and I said I was sorry he didn’t feel well and he explained it as he wasn’t SICK just his feelings weren’t working right

and just

*wibble*

and we went to his baseball thing anyways and it rained on him and he just /cried/ and everything was sad

and then Sunday we went to Chuck E Cheese to help him and Thing 1 recuperate but THEN we had to go hang out in a mall for an hour because

THE HUSBAND’S GLASSES BROKE (snapped in two while he was cleaning them) SO WE HAD TO EMERGENCY LENSCRAFTERS FOR NEW ONES

/and I saw an old Wallace & Gromit game I lost years ago and also an Andromeda sweatshirt and was good and didn’t buy anything but AREAGJLKVHAWELKVHAKLBGARHKBAWGH

my brain is just like ... not braining at all anymore

[formenis]

Lesson

Anon asked: “ Can you do a scenario where L hasn't sleep in a while and it got to the point where even the Task Force is worried about him so Watari calls L's secret S/O and she comes barging into HQ and starts yelling at L that he is getting sleep or she is drugging him so he will sleep and L just follows behind her like a love-sick puppy“

A/N: please everyone, let’s give L so much love! Our best detective needs some rest sometimes.

And consider English is not my first language so I’m sorry about all the mistakes you’ll find. I’m trying to improve.

pairing: L x fem!reader

warning: nope

requested: yes

Y/A = your alias

Once Watari said: «L has no internal clockwork or any concept of time. After 102 hours of staying awake, he slept for almost 17 hours» and for him it was not enough.

If you think it's strange, well you don't know L. He goes to the toilette by himself with open doors and slightly changed sitting position. Since he likes clearness, he bathes frequently. But he never washes himself; he just sits in Watari's special "human washer" which includes drying functions.

L is rather picky with regards to clothing, there are always ten or so identical sets of clothes prepared for him. But he cannot put them on by himself…no, rather, he never feels like doing it (Watari has to say something like "banzai" to tell L to lift his arms). Most of the time, he is in his room, sitting motionlessly in that position.

But Y/N L/N knows it very well. She is L's girlfriend for a long time and she is used to L's particular (and almost non-existent) routine. That's her patience and kind personality that caught L's attention. It all started when Y/N went at the Wammy's House for a job interview. They were searching for a new teacher and Y/N satisfied all the prerequisites. During her probationary period all children fell in love with their new teacher, so patient and gentle even with the most spiteful kid.

When Roger Ruvie, the Wammy's House manager when Watari was not there, sent his observations about this new candidate, L agreed in hiring her. And when he met her in person he was hypnotised by her. The children were right, she was special: Y/N became the mother, the sister, the aunt and the friend those children didn’t have. This captured the attention and the interest of the greatest detective in the world.

It didn’t take long for both Y/N and L to fall for each other: the young teacher was attracted by his intellect and by his gaze, so deep and mysterious; on the other hand, L was mesmerized by her personality and by her smirk she had whenever she was right about something. But the thing that convinced L that Y/N was the right one for him was when she beat him at chess.

«Checkmate»  

At first, L didn’t pay attention to what she said but when he observed the chessboard he couldn’t hide his surprise. «Miss L/N…you won»  

«That's what I said»

But back to the present. Y/N was at the Wammy's House checking the homework of her little students when Roger entered her classroom.

«Miss L/N, there's a call for you»

«Ah yes, thank you Roger» Y/N answers at the phone placed on her desk. «Hello?»

«Miss L/N, it's Watari» the old and warm voice of Quillsh Wammy (as known as Watari) echoed through the receiver.

«Good afternoon Watari, I was correcting some homework. Do you need something?»

«It's about L»

.

.

.

Since the beginning of the Kira case, L moved to Japan. He changed hotel every week until Watari finished the new HQ and for the task-force was compulsory not to use any electronic devices when they were with him. This meant L couldn’t call his beloved Y/N that often and he started to miss her.

In order to solve as fast as he could the Kira case, he dived in the work for entire days and nights. Sugar cubes and coffee were his meals and he almost refused to sleep. He focused his mind and all his being to the case.

At first, the task-force wasn’t that concerned since they realised L had particular habits. But week after week, month after month, the situation got worse. His eyebags became darker and heavier, his skin became more white than his shirt and in general he looked really sickly.

«Uhm Ryuzaki? Did you sleep last night?» Soichiro Yagami asked him, there was worry on his face.

«When the Kira case will be solved I'll sleep» L replied rather tiredly despite his monotone voice didn’t express it. But Watari, who was with them serving ice-cream to everyone, noticed it immediately. He couldn’t bear such sight, he had to do something so he made a decision: if nobody could convince L to rest, then Miss Y/N L/N will.

.

.

.

«That's why I need you here, Miss L/N»

«He didn’t sleep for how much, Watari?! Are you serious?»

«Unfortunately yes. He dedicated every part of his being to the case. And by "every part" I mean literally every part of him»

«I can't believe it. I'm coming there, Watari»

«Very well, Miss L/N»

♰ TIME SKIP ♰

When Y/N arrives in Japan she was truly amazes by that country, so full of life, lights and culture. She can't believe it's the same country where Kira is killing. However, at the moment she can only think about L. She is so worried about him and about his well-being: he can be so odious and stubborn about his work that he would gladly renounce to his health if it meant to solve a case.

Y/N is boiling from rage, L went too far. If he falls ill how can he solve the case? Despite the anger she feels, she is excited too: it's been months since she saw or heard L. She misses him so much…but at the same time she wants to scold him.

«He is more hard-headed than the children at the Wammy's!» Y/N mutters at Watari, who is driving the car. With an excuse, he left the HQ to go at the airport to pick Y/N up and now they were coming back.

«Yes, I know.  It's the reason I called you…you are the only one who can convince Ryuzaki»

During the way towards the HQ, Watari informs her about the Kira case, the task-force and all L's suspects. At the same time Y/N warns him about all the new prodigies at the orphanage. The old man smiles kindly when he sees, through rear-view mirror, how Y/N's eyes shine when she started to talk about her students.

After an hour, the two of them arrives at this famous HQ: twenty-three floors aboveground and two floors belowground; Watari said there is a helipad on the roof of the building but the structure is designed so that the helipad and the two helicopters on it cannot be seen by those looking at the building from the exterior.

«Miss L/N, please use the back stairs. I deactivated the cameras so you can reach the monitoring room without being watched by Ryuzaki»

«Alright Watari, thanks»

Y/N did as instruct by him and takes the back stairs in order to reach the elevator. In her mind, Y/N is preparing the discourse to do at L: it doesn't matter if his colleagues are with him, he has to come to terms with her and starting to have a regular and healthy routine.

In the monitoring room nobody has any idea that the greatest detective's girlfriend is there in the same building as them. Actually they don’t know that L has a girlfriend either. So when the task-force see a young woman spread open the main door of the monitoring room they are quite shocked.

«Who is she?» Matsuda looked up from the papers in his hands. Shortly after that, all the other men looked up as well.

«L!»

That voice distracted L from his dossiers and through the reflection on his laptop he recognises Y/N. His lips become a thin line, a sudden rush of thoughts and emotions hits L at the same time. Why is she there? Something bad happened at the Wammy's House? Is it because he cuts ties with everyone during the investigations? Confusion, concern, worry, alarm…fear yet happiness, because he can see her after long time. L is overwhelmed.

«Everyone, please meet Miss Y/A, Ryuzaki's significant other» Watari introduces her at the task-force and each member gasped in shock.

«L! Watari told me you refused to eat properly, to sleep properly…to live properly!»

Ryuzaki spins his swivel chair towards her so Y/N has the chance to look better at him: hollow face, paler skin colour, dark and heavy eyebags. «Y/A, please, I'm not one of your student»

L is somehow relieved that Y/N was there because of him and not because something terrible happened to her or to the children at the orphanage. So he half-sighs in relief when she started to complain about is health.

«Well, you seem like one in this moment! I cannot bear seeing you like this, you know how much important health is for everyone. The lack of sleep or an unregulated diet will affect your mind and your efficiency will decrease! And how can you catch Kira if you're tired?»

Ah, how much L misses those cute "telling-offs". It is clearly Y/N's professional deformation: she worries about people and strangers as much as she does with the children at the Wammy's. So when she finishes her discourse, L couldn’t hide a wide smile.

«I guess you're right, Y/A» L pretended to be sorry but the truth is that he loves seeing that part of Y/N's personality.

«Of course I am! Now let's start from the sleeping part!» she walks closer to him and grabs the wrist. Then she drags him out of the monitoring room leading towards the bedroom. In L's eyes, admiration and love can be seen while Y/N continues with her discourse about a new healthy routine he has to start.

Right before entering the bedroom L stops and hugs Y/N from behind, his arms are around her chest now. «Y/N…you have no idea how much I missed you»

She smiles, removing her teacher mask for a moment, and looks at him. «I missed you too, cutie pie»

L rubs slightly his cheeks against hers in a cute act of affection. Having her in his arm is such a relief for him, L can sense a strong wave of tiredness on his shoulders. «Will you rest with me?»

«Of course~» Y/N caresses his dark hair, something she really misses doing. «I'll stay with you from now on»

[botanyshitposts]

Why this (submitted by @forty7hillsinmyhollywoodaccount)

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

ohhhhohohhoo now THIS is a treat......a case of dumb plant syndrome revealing a forbidden truth......

you see. strawberries are not botanical berries. they’re technically what’s called accessory fruits, meaning that in this case the ‘berry’ part is just an enlarged receptacle. the actual fruits are called achenes, which are the little yellow speckles on the outside of each strawberry and are generally dry, indehiscent, and only contain one seed per fruit (sunflower seeds are a more obvious achene example).  

(the above was the best pic i could find showing roughly how the hell this happens, but i’m also going to put this one here because it reads like the strawberry is being publicly shamed for its achene crimes and i think thats hilarious) 

so in terms of The Forbidden One up there....either: 

1. a mutation or infection confused the the plant and it freaked out and made leaves where fruit was supposed to go (which, to be fair, big mood) or

2. something Happened(tm) and all the fruits germinated waaaaayyyy earlier than they were supposed to. i....dont have much knowledge about like, strawberry seedlings, but after a brief google search it seems like if they’re all germinating at once they are not like, turning out like normal seedlings. on one hand i suppose this kind of makes sense because holy shit the entire situation like...is NOT normal to begin with, but on the other hand option 1 fits a little better. still, cutting it open would probably give the answer (if it has roots it’s 2, if it doesn’t it’s 1). 

on a related note i fucking love plants, man. like. ‘make leaf where fruit go’ followed by casually making leaves where fruit would go is such just like...a plant thing to do. in animals ‘make arm where baby go’ followed by actually making the arm would be absolutely devastating in terms of bodily function, but for this strawberry plant its just like. look at this. its just photosynthesizing. like this plant has fully accepted that it just has new leaves now and has already moved on. like. our soft animal brains could never 

[yeah-thats-probably-it]

Yes to all of this! I adore the idea of Jeeves and Bertie each separately learning more about poetry in order to impress and connect with the other, not knowing that the other has been learning more about poetry to impress THEM. Their special language is really something they built up together!

Your analysis made me think of a section in Wooster Proposes that I think supports your argument. Thompson (chapter 8 pp. 279-280 if you have the book handy) points out that although Jeeves quotes a lot, his quotations never seem to be from recent reading, like, for example, his BFF Spinoza. "He behaves as if he has a mental file of memorized language and quotations, and his omniscience gives the impression of being timeless." (Doylist explanation is that Wodehouse simply wasn’t a fan of Spinoza so didn’t KNOW any quotations, but this, as you say, is no fun) She then goes on to posit that Jeeves appears to have a fondness for cliches—he often praises them when Bertie uses them, and enjoys using them himself:

For example, in Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit, when Bertie remarks that Stilton could easily beat him up, he agrees in a string of cliches: "'Mr. Cheesewright's robustness would enable him to crush you like a fly. He would obliterate you with a single blow.... He would break you in two with his bare hands. He would tear you limb from limb.'" We must assume that he wishes to foster Bertie's use of cliches (and he may even be appealing to Bertie's delight in cliches in order to get this point across more forcefully).

—Wooster Proposes, Jeeves Disposes, Kristen Thompson, page 280

Point one: it sounds like Jeeves has picked up at least a few cliches from Bertie, supporting the “Bertie and Jeeves developed their language together” thesis. Point two, encompassing the last paragraph as well: Jeeves is not a guy who is naturally disposed to expressing himself with poetical language. Beyond the quotations, his speech generally remains very stiff and dry; he doesn't spontaneously come up with flowery turns of phrase on his own. Like you said, he displays much more knowledge about philosophy than poetry starting from the beginning of the series. So the interest in poetry he takes later on isn’t something you’d really expect to be in character for him. I bet if he told that aunt who used to read Oliver Wendell Holmes to him that he’s reading poetry for fun now she would be like “where did THIS come from all of a sudden?”

I think his later interest in poetry IS probably genuine, as he was familiar with the poet Miss Moon in "The Inferiority Complex of Old Sippy,” whom Bertie didn’t know and certainly wouldn’t have read in school. So he probably READS new poetry, but he never quotes from it (he didn’t even quote from Miss Moon when Bertie asked about it, just listed some poem titles). Like you said, he only ever quotes writers that Bertie also knows. Which is so adorable! He isn’t so talkative about ALL his interests (at least not all the time, he’ll talk your ear off about diamonds if it’s tangentially related to the matter at hand), but he’s trying to get his crush to like him, so he talks about things they both like.

And I agree that that excerpt from MOJ doesn’t prove Jeeves had any prior interest in poetry. It DOES sound like a hypothetical, not a statement about the actual past. It functions as both a quick dismissal of the idea without needing to explain further (they're not quite at the level of open intimacy where Jeeves would say "actually, I wasn't really interested in poetry back then" or words to that effect) and an explanation of why he's not going to use it: it wouldn't have worked before (which he knows thanks to other characters' reactions to him in earlier books) and it's not going to work now.

Fantastic catch about Jeeves possibly telling Bertie he's reading improving books because it's expected of servants. (you're right btw, to the best of my knowledge it's not really a term that has a specific meaning. my first exposure to it was in old books—possibly these books, I can’t remember—and I just took it to mean books that are very dry and boring and intellectual that are supposed to improve your mind. a "suffering builds character" sort of thing. the books servants were given to read don't sound like that kind of super highbrow literature, but they kind of ARE about suffering building character, so I was partially right there. I had plain forgotten about Bertie using the term to describe his mystery novels and such). Actually, on that note, I had a Barenstain Bears moment reading this post because I was SURE I remembered Bertie describing the books Florence gave him to read (which perfectly match the description of what I THOUGHT improving books were) as “improving” at some point during “Jeeves Takes Charge,” but he didn’t! You’re right, he must have picked it up from Jeeves later and misinterpreted it. That’s so funny. I wonder if his inclusive definition of “improving book” has anything to do with the fact that Jeeves brought it up right before going into Rosie M Banks. I certainly wouldn’t say he’s wrong, any type of book CAN be improving!

(side note I think Jeeves bringing up improving books right before his Rosie M. Banks spiel might also have been a preemptive defensive measure, like "I read deep and/or appropriate-for-servants books, please don't mistake me for one of those peons who read trashy pulp novels despite the knowledge I'm about to drop.")

Going back to poetry, I have another suggestion! Thompson (chapter 8 pp. 286-287) also says "Even in the earliest stories, Bertie was quoting, mostly from the literature he would have been assigned at school. In "Extricating Young Gussie," he quotes "Pippa Passes" without hesitating: "God's in his heaven/All's right with the world. Later he will often forget this one and call upon Jeeves to finish it."

Thus, I would like to propose an additional theory: sometimes Bertie pretends not to know a quotation so that Jeeves will finish it for him. Kind of both the equivalent of that thing in TV shows where female characters will sometimes act a bit ditzy around guys they have a crush on so they can flatter them about their intelligence, and also a bonding exercise (hey, this is kind of related to that "bids for connection" post I reblogged yesterday). And possibly also a soothing thing, i.e. he finds it comforting to hear Jeeves reciting familiar quotations. I've written before about how Bertie uses "the lark's on the wing/the snail's on the thorn" from the aforementioned "Pippa Passes" to signal contentedness and security, but a lot of that contentedness and security comes from being close to Jeeves. Their private language made of references and poetry quotations makes them closer, so Bertie naturally sees it as a good thing that wants pushing along.

Anyway, brilliant brilliant meta OP, your encyclopedic knowledge of the series and all the background information related to it staggers the mind

Here's the thing about how Jeeves, at the beginning of the stories, doesn't quote, and only starts after a certain amount of time. I've been digging around in the Annotations again, and found this:

About this scene:

‘You want time to think, eh?’ ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘Take it, Jeeves, take it. You may feel brainier after a night’s sleep. What is it Shakespeare calls sleep, Jeeves?’ ‘Tired Nature’s sweet restorer, sir.’ ‘Exactly. Well, there you are, then.’

This is the very first time in the entire series that Jeeves is quoting anything. Now, Bertie is usually the one who gets quotes wrong. But But we know that, later on, that's Jeeves' thing, he does that frequently, he regularly monologues about poetry, to the point where Bertie has to ask him to return to the point at hand. But he doesn't do that yet, and here, he's mixing up his quotations - this one isn't by Shakespeare, instead, it's from Edward Young's Night-Thoughts.

So if this is a new thing for him, something he's only just learning, that'd explain it, because he just plain doesn't know. He is, in this scene, just saying the first thing that comes to mind, absolutely panicking, and meanwhile, Bertie is blithely unaware of the crisis he's just caused Jeeves, because of course Jeeves knows everything and is 100% trustworthy

[kuramirocket]

For centuries, the Indigenous cultures of present-day Mexico manufactured a brilliant red colorant called "prickly pear blood."

Nocheztli was the name the Mexica (Aztecs) gave this red colorant in their language Nahuatl. That is because in Nahuatl, the cacti were called nopalli and nochpalli, and their fruits were called nochtlí. Thus nocheztlí means blood (eztli) of the cactus (nochtlí,) or "prickly pear blood."

The colorant was actually made, however, from a parasitic insect of the prickly pear cactus, rather than the red prickly pear itself. The vivid carmine red color obtained from this insect evoked the image of blood and the juice of the red fruit.

The insect from which the dye is obtained is popularly called cochineal grana. Its scientific name is Dactylopius coccus . In Nahuatl it was called nocheztli which means "nopal blood" and in Mixtec ndukun which means "blood insect".

Both the insect and the colorant are known as cochineal.

Each pre-Hispanic indigenous culture had a different name for the insect. This ethnolinguistic element indicates the knowledge and early use of coloring by different ethnic groups before the arrival of the Spanish.  

The colorant made from the cochineal insect was an astonishingly vivid red. Red was an important color for Mesoamerican cultures as it signified blood, and therefore life.

Indigenous peoples had many uses for it including as a medicine, a cosmetic, a dye for textiles, and a paint for hand-drawn manuscripts.

Mesoamerican manuscripts are important because they give insight into the people represented on them, as well as aspects of their culture. These colorful manuscripts also shed light on the expertise of the Indigenous craftspeople that made them.

The Library of Congress has three significant 16th-century Mesoamerican manuscripts that were all painted with carmine red: the Huexotzinco Codex, the Oztoticpac Lands Map, and the Codex Quetzalecatzin.

But what do we know about cochineal?

Cultivation of Cochineal

Cochineal was primarily cultivated by individuals from cactus plots found on their lands. The production of cochineal was time-consuming and involved several steps.

First the cacti were planted and allowed to grow for up to three years in order to host the insects. After the cacti reached the appropriate size, the Indigenous farmer attached nests containing female insects to the cacti. For 90 to 120 days cochineal insects were allowed to infest the host cacti. After this period of infestation, harvesting involved removing the insects from the cacti by hand with the aid of a pointed stick or a brush. Harvesting domesticated cochineal occurred two or three times per year.

Interestingly, only female insects were harvested because the component responsible for the red dye is solely carried by wingless females. The female of this species, whose life cycle is three months, is the one that contains carminic acid, a substance that is synthesized as a dye. The insect uses this substance as a defense mechanism against predators such as ants. For its part, the male does not require this defense since its vital cycle is brief, it is reduced to a week in which it fulfills the reproductive function and then dies.   

A glimpse into cochineal cultivation is provided by the French botanist Nicolas-Joseph Thiéry De Menonville who published an account of his travels in 1777 to Oaxaca to obtain, albeit illegally, the insect for France.

"On arriving at Galiatitlan, I saw a garden full of nopals, and had no doubt I should there find the precious insect I was so desirous to examine. I therefore leapt from my horse, under pretense of altering my stirrup leathers, entered the grounds of the Indian proprietor, began a conversation with him, and enquired to what use he put those plants? He answered, “to cultivate la grana.” I seemed astonished, and begged to see the cochineal; but my surprise was real when he brought it to me, for instead of the red insect I expected, there appeared one covered with a white powder. I was tormented with the doubts I entertained, and to resolve them bethought me of crushing one on white paper; and what was the result? It yielded the truly royal purple hue.”

Grana is the Spanish term for cochineal that translates as "grain," possibly because the dried cochineal insect look like grains or seeds.

What then do we know about how the brilliant carmine colorant was made from the cochineal insect?

Cochineal Colorant Preparation

Sixteenth-century sources provide eyewitness accounts of the production of Indigenous Mexican artist materials. One of the most important sources is the Florentine Codex, or The General History of the Things of New Spain, compiled by Franciscan Friar Bernardino de Sahagún. Twelve books describe the culture and peoples of central Mexico, with detailed descriptions in Spanish and Nahuatl, as well as illustrations of artists materials like cochineal.

After harvesting, the insects were then prepared for processing into a colorant. The first part of the process involved killing the cochineal insects. This was accomplished by drying in the sun, heating in ovens or on hot plates, boiling, or steaming. Regardless of the method employed, the end result of this process was dried insects.

To make a red dye or paint, the dried silver cochineal "grains" are ground into a powder that is then boiled in water. Since the cochineal is an organic colorant, its coloring agent carminic acid must be stabilized with the addition of a mordant, a metallic salt. Powdered alum (potassium aluminum sulfate) was a mordant commonly used by Mesoamerican craftspeople.

Cochineal is sensitive to changes in pH, and as such, its color can vary. Cochineal colorants can range from orange when an acid, like vinegar, is added to the recipe to purple when a base, like ammonia, is added.

The primary uses for cochineal were as a dye for textiles and as a paint. To make a paint, the cochineal insects were soaked in water, ground into a paste with alum, and formed into tablets that were allowed dry.

Tablets of cochineal paint, as well as other paints and artist materials, were made available to artisans in markets throughout Mexico. It is likely that Indigenous scribes painted the red areas on manuscripts with cochineal tablets obtained from these markets.

A large variety of items were sold in Mesoamerican markets including food, raw materials, and artist pigments. The largest market was in Tlatelolco, a neighborhood in present-day Mexico City. Descriptions of the Tlatelolco market were published by Spanish conquistadors Hernán Cortés and Bernal Díaz  who were astounded by its large size and the variety of items sold there.

Markets remain an important cultural tradition in Mexico to this day.

Mesoamerican Manuscripts at the Library of Congress

The Codex Quetzalecatzin resides in the Geography and Map Division. Created circa 1593, it is a genealogy map showing the ancestral lands of Lord-11 Quetzalecatzin and his descendants, the de Leon family, between the years 1480 and 1593. It is also known as the Mapa de Ecatepec-Huitziltepec because the de Leon holdings ranged from Ecatepec (near Mexico City) to the north, to Huitziltepec in Oaxaca to the south, with southern Puebla in between.

An Indigenous scribe, or scribes, likely created the codex because it is drawn in a mostly Indigenous artistic style with pictographs that convey information relating to space and time, and toponyms (place-glyphs) relating to specific locations.

Codex Quetzalecatzin

Brilliant carmine red was liberally painted all over the Codex Quetzalecatzin.

The color red is prominently used on the garments of the Indigenous elites. A rich red decorates the borders of the noble women's blouses and skirts and the cloaks of the noble men. Not surprisingly, Lord-11 Quetzalecatzin has the most splendid garments of all with his richly patterned red cloak and headdress.

It is not surprising that red paint appears on the codex in many areas, since Puebla and Oaxaca were primary regions of cochineal cultivation during the 16th century. As nopal cacti are prominent features on the codex, it is possible that the de Leon estate produced cochineal.

The Oztoticpac Lands Map, also part of the Geography and Map Division collections, was created around 1540. It concerns the litigation of the estate of the Texcoco lords after one of their members, Don Carlos Ometochtli, was executed for idolatry. Texcoco, a neighbor to Mexico City, was a partner to the Mexica (Aztecs.) The map depicts the Palace of Oztoticpac, land plots of villagers.

Oztoticpac Lands Map

Color was sparsely used on the map, and has faded over the years. Purplish-red lines and Indigenous counting numerals (bars and dots) were used to denote the borders and size of lands owned by the Texcoco nobility.

The Huexotzinco Codex is part of the Harkness Collection in the Manuscript Division. It is one of the earliest Mesoamerican manuscripts from the early colonial era of Mexico. As such, it is a thoroughly Indigenous manuscript as its story is told through pictographs showing the types of tribute items and the Indigenous counting systems. 

The Huexotzinco Codex was created in 1531 for the legal case that conquistador Hernán Cortés brought against three members of the first Spanish colonial government in Mexico. The case accused the three government officials of stealing from Cortés by demanding excessive tribute from the people of Huexotzinco when he was in Spain. After the Spanish invasion, Cortés considered the land, natural resources, and the people of Huexotzinco to be his property because the Huexotzincas allied themselves with him during the war against the Mexica. Included in the court proceedings are eight Indigenous paintings submitted as evidence that depict the tribute handed over to the officials.

The eight paintings were produced by Indigenous scribes with Indigenous materials. While seven of the paintings are painted with red, vivid carmine red features prominently on two of them.

Huexotzinco, in the Mexican state of Puebla, was a major producer of cochineal in the 16th century.

Huexotzinco Codex

Painting III shows twenty cotton cloths, each richly decorated with an Indigenous calendrical pictograph (Rabbit, Reed, or Flower) representing the count of years or days. A brilliant red background offsets the pictographs. Notably red was used as the background on all of the twenty cloths and was also the most-used colorant.

Colorful, ornamented clothing of cotton and rabbit fur were reserved for the elites of Mesoamerican societies. Thus the carmine red textiles prominently featured on two codex paintings provide insight into the Huexotzinco community as well as the artisans working there.

The three Library of Congress Mesoamerican manuscripts (the Codex Quetzalecatzin, the Oztoticpac Lands Map, and the Huexotzinco Codex) have a shared history. They were created during the first century of the newly formed Spanish colony of Mexico.

Another shared aspect found on all three manuscripts is the use of carmine red paint to illuminate features that were important and specific to the people depicted on them, and to the scribes who painted them.

While visually the reds on the three Library of Congress manuscripts appear to be cochineal, to date material analysis has only confirmed the red on the Huextzinco Codex paintings to be cochineal. Hopefully future scientific analysis will also identify the reds of the Codex Quetzlecatzin and the Oztoticpac Lands Map.

While Spain profited from the production and export of cochineal, credit must be given to the Indigenous Mesoamerican peoples who developed this stunning red, this "prickly pear blood," and gave it to the world.

Once discovered by Spaniards, cochineal became one of the most valuable commodities in Europe. In 1758 alone, Oaxaca exported more than 1.5 million Spanish pounds of it for various uses, including the dying of fabrics for red uniforms worn by British soldiers. It was the most exported from New Spain during the 16th century, after gold and silver.

For centuries Europe sought an intense red that would last over time in textiles such as wool and silk. They had not found a dye with these characteristics until the discovery of cochineal. It was so prized, Spain kept secret that it came from a bug instead of a plant.

The Italian dyers of the 16th century, based in Venice and Florence, were the main buyers of dyes.

Later, in later centuries, this changed and it was the French, the Dutch and later the English who bought the scarlet, both in formal and informal trade through smuggling. 

Apart from the textile industry, which is where it had its most widespread use, famous painters such as Rubens, Velázquez and El Greco, among others, also used pigments based on the cochineal grana to add unique colors in their works.

Museum conservation and restoration laboratories in different parts of the world have confirmed the presence of the dye bug in many important works.  

The cochineal cochineal from New Spain produced a "boom" in European markets , says Huémac Escalona. It was the second good that generated the most profits for the people involved in its trade, both Spanish and Indian. 

The Spanish crown retained the monopoly of this product throughout the colonial period; For this, it kept the secret of its nature and production, preventing the live insect from leaving New Spain. When the Spanish referred to the large cochineal they always used terms that referred to agriculture, so that competitors from other nations believed that it was a vegetable product, a fruit of a plant or a seed.  

Today it can also be found as a natural food coloring. 

Production of dye in Oaxaca 

In the 16th century and the first part of the 17th century, the most intense production of cochineal was located in the Tlaxcala and Puebla areas. Oaxaca was the cradle of domestication of the large cochineal; it also produced in those years but not so intensely. It was not until the second half of the seventeenth century when its production increased, until it produced 99 percent of the scarlet that was exported to the entire world in the eighteenth century. 

The relationship between indigenous producers and Spanish merchants around the grana was not without tensions and conflicts, despite this, the wealth it generated allowed that relationship to last over time. 

The historian recalls that the indigenous communities accepted to produce the cochineal because it allowed them to have their own social organization and allowed them to have money for their festivals and to pay taxes. Although these were impositions of the colonial regime, these burdens were assumed in such a way as to allow them to have an organizational structure according to their traditions. 

The rearing of the insect was an economic activity in which the whole family participated and could be combined with other tasks. The production and trade of grana articulated the economy of various regions of Oaxaca. There were towns that specialized in grana, others combined its production with the manufacture of blankets or the cultivation of corn and wheat. While others were dedicated to making the various containers where the dye was transported.  

Most of the indigenous peoples, for their part, became producers of the dye because it meant a more or less secure way of obtaining resources to cover their community expenses and cover tax burdens. This was not exempt from the enrichment of sectors of its population. However, it was not the norm but rather the exception.  

Grana connected the economy of societies so different and so far away : Indigenous peoples from the Oaxacan regions with European, African and Asian societies. For the Oaxacan indigenous people, the scarlet was the product that gave them benefits but also caused them discomfort. The constant international demand for dye led to the adaptation of their collective life, governed by a set of beliefs and traditions of their own, to an intense production system.

 The traces of the scarlet in Oaxaca are everywhere: in civil and religious public buildings, in merchants' houses, in textiles, in its archaeological remains, in pre-Hispanic and colonial documents, painted with pigments made from the cochineal or where its production and trade were registered. It shows the importance that the precious dyeing insect known as grana cochineal had for the history of Oaxaca and Mexico. 

A red color, really Mexican? 

In recent years, there has been a debate about the American zone of origin of the dye . A group of scholars assured that the cochineal was domesticated in South America, in the Andean area, due to the discovery of textiles dyed with this dye in various archaeological sites and whose dating dates back to the first centuries after Christ.  

Other specialists affirmed that it was in Mesoamerica, specifically in Oaxaca, where the first domestication of the insect was carried out together with the nopal. It is believed that it passed from Mesoamerica to Central America and from there to South America through the cabotage trade. 

Recently, a scientific study was carried out that analyzed the mitochondrial DNA of the cochineal cochineal samples from Oaxaca and Peru. The results showed that the genetic variety from Oaxaca is older and more diverse. This confirms that the domesticated dyeing insect is native to the Mesoamerican region corresponding to the current state of Oaxaca, in southern Mexico. 

Sources: (×) (×) (×)

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Courting Jareth

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(Apologies for the long meeting, I just love him and the story of Labyrinth with all my heart)

- The thing about Jareth is that he becomes what you wish for him to be. If you want an adventure then he’ll give you one. Want romance? You’ll get it. Want an escape? He’ll whisk you away in an instant. Everything that you encounter is there because of you. 

- But perhaps we’re getting ahead of ourselves. You and Jareth meet after you encounter the story of the Labyrinth at an old bookshop.

- You couldn’t quite explain why you’d entered the shop. Curiosity perhaps, you’d never been inside, in fact, you hadn’t even known it existed. But a part of you knew that it was more than that; you felt a pull towards it. It was as though something beyond your understanding had wanted you to go inside. And so you did.

- Wandering between the dusty, wooden shelves filled with old, fading books, you jumpd as an abrupt dull thud came from behind you. Once you’d turned, you found that a book had fallen off the shelves. ‘The Labyrinth’ the cover read and upon opening it, you saw the portrait of an unsightly yet endearing goblin printed on the opening page.

- You went to put it back on the shelf before an odd gnawing feeling filled you, as though you were missing out on something if you returned it to its; what you thought was it’s, rightful place. You turned the book around and gazed at the cover for another moment before deciding that you’d purchase it.

“Oh that one? That one you can have for free. See how old it is? Free, free, free. No ones bought it for many years, you’re doing me a favor by taking it.” The withered shop keeper had said as you went to hand them the book.

- Odd. You thought since nearly all of the books in the shop were just as old if not older. But who were you to turn down a persons generosity? Thanking the shop keeper, you left the store, clutching your newly owned book in your hand as you made your way home.

- Once you arrived home, you set the book down and went about the rest of your routine. It wasn’t until later that night that you actually cracked the book open, completely unaware of how invested you would become in the story.

- You spent hours devouring the pages, seldom stopping for anything and oblivious to the starry eyes which watched you from the dark of the night outside your window.

- It was a few days later that you would first encounter the goblin king in person. You’d had a bad day and felt as though you’d rather disappear forever than be a functional human being for another day. It was then that you remembered a specific quote from the story you’d read mere days before. With a solemn chuckle, you sank to the floor, closing your eyes and saying the words.

“I wish the goblins would come and take me away right now.”

- You sat silent for a long moment, taking a few deep breaths and trying to forget about the day you had. Creak! Your eyes snapped open and your head whipped to the side before you began to laugh nervously, there was nothing there.

- But in an instant, it felt as though the entire room was alive and that; even though you were completely alone, there was someone or something there with you. The distinct feeling of being watched filled you and you felt a twinge of panic invade your senses. You quickly made your way towards your back door and stepped outside …only to find that you weren’t in your backyard.

- Before you was the beautiful view of a, well, a labyrinth. It was just like the one in the book. Were you dreaming? You must have been, how else would you be …here.

- You began to walk towards the labyrinth, soon encountering the fairies, Hoggle, the worm. You marveled at the place around you and yet, you were worried. How would you get home?

- The answer wasn’t going to be anywhere outside of the labyrinth, and so you kept on going. Maneuvering your way through obstacle after obstacle, joining up with Hoggle once more who agreed to show you the way out after some bribery and blackmail. It was with Hoggle that you saw him for the first time.

- Well, it wasn’t really him at first, he was sitting on the ground in the shape of a creature-esque beggar. Even if it was him, you wouldn’t have recognized him. You moved closer to Hoggle as the two of you went to pass the blind beggar, creeping past before the creature spoke.

“Your majesty.” Hoggle said and your eyes widened. Stooping slightly, you bowed your head in a show of respect, up until the king made Hoggle confess his “true intentions behind helping you”.

- Unbeknownst to you, the goblin king was jealous of your newfound friendship with the ghastly little man and sought to squash it. Playing the role of kind king, he watched your reaction to the news, hiding his glee and making a face of teasing disappointment at the Hoggle.

“And you Y/n,” he turned his attention towards you, a smirk settling on his face as he leaned against the wall in front of you. “How are you enjoying my labyrinth?”

“Well, it’s very beautiful,” you fumbled for the right words to say, your throat dry and your stomach filled with butterflies. “I’ve enjoyed my time here, the good and the bad. But …I would like to know the way home....”

- He tsked at you before offering you a deal. If you managed to arrive at his castle in the next thirteen hours, then you could leave. But if you couldn’t, you would have to stay with him forever. With no other option, you accepted the challenge.

- Of course, he tries to foil all of your plans and attempts. Every now and again, he’ll drop in and make your mission harder. He’s always very smug whenever he messes you up and makes you take a longer route, though; at the same time, he wants you to arrive at his castle as soon as possible.

- Throughout his visits, he’ll try and win you over. Trying to impress you with his powers and woo you with his charms.

- Not many people have gotten as far as you have so believe me; he’s impressed. Though he also feels jealous as he watches you express any affection to the creatures of the labyrinth and your new friends. He threatens them every time they leave your sight.

- Regardless of his attempts to throw you off track, you do in fact make it to the castle in time. Thoroughly distraught, he offers you a final desperate deal though it sounds more like a plea. Let him rule you. Stay with him, fear him, love him. Do as he says, and he will be your slave.

- The offer makes you freeze, your heart and mind racing. For a long moment, you remain silent before you slowly open your mouth and give him your answer. Yes, you’ll stay.

- The smile he gives you is genuine and the world around you begins to put itself back together. Soon enough, you’re standing in the room full of staircases, a hopeful feeling rising within you.

“Come, let us pick your new room.” He offers you his hand and you take it, allowing him to lead you into the corridor of the castle.

- The two of you have dinner that night and both of you would consider it to be your first date. Candle light, flowers, the occasional rambunctious goblin; it was beautifully strange and you wouldn’t have changed a thing.

- The two of you share your first kiss in one of the many gardens of the Labyrinth. You were admiring the flowers and he was standing beneath a shady tree, admiring you; something he does very often.

- Out of nowhere, he stalked out from his shaded corner, hands behind his back as he leans down and kisses you. No words spoken, no questions asked and certainly no complaints made. He pulled away and you smiled up at him, though he was looking at the flowers in front of you. He only returned your smile as you turned back to the flowers happily, his heart full of adoration and gratitude.

- The two of you would only remain together forever ...not long at all.

- You’re only ever in the company of goblins and/or other creatures; and he couldn’t care less about their comfort or opinions, so pda isn’t really a problem for him. The only problem with Pda is the fact that he doesn’t want to appear too soft in front of his subjects.

- Passionate, breathtaking kisses that make you weak in the knees and send a wave of heat coursing through you.

- He loves when you come to spend time with him; or just to see him, on your own accord, even if you’re technically disrupting something. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He’ll say, his face brightening as you come into view or the instant he hears your voice.

- He craves your affection and attention, even though he’s good at hiding it. He knows that he’s been “alone” for a very long time but it still genuinely surprises him when he’s reminded as to how much he’s actually missed having a companion.

- He always gives you a closed lip smile whenever you kiss him on the cheek. How big it is depends on the situation.

- He loves when you play with his hair, he’ll lay between your legs and toy with his crystals while you braid or twirl his teased locks.

- Getting to hear him sing. He usually pulls you into a dance while he does so.

- He’s quite fond of terms of endearment, he likes that only he is truly allowed to call you them and you him. Usually, he’ll call you love, darling, pet, and my queen.

- He’s a cuddler but you aren’t allowed to let anyone know that. Most of the time, the two of you will sleep with your head on his chest, one of your hands in his and his other arm wrapped around you, keeping you close.

- He likes tracing his fingers across your skin, usually your bare back while you’re laying on your stomach next to him in bed.

- Hand kisses.

- Constant compliments and praise.

“Well don’t you look ravishing~”

- He plays little tricks on you from time to time. I’m fairly certain that he’s; at least, part fae and we all know that they’re mischievous little bastards.

- Occasionally getting spooked by him because he’ll just appear somewhere close to you out of nowhere, usually with an expression that tells you that he knew exactly what he was doing.

- He enjoys the banter that the two of you get into. He likes the little smiles he can force you into making with his teasing comments.

- Sometimes, he’ll just drape himself across you; or lay his head on some part of you, and start a conversation as though nothing is out of the ordinary; which is true because he does it enough that you’ve gotten used to it.

“Do you think it’s too much?”

- Telling him about your dreams and the little odd things that happen to you throughout the day, even though he most likely already knows about them. He finds it amusing to listen to you describe them either way. 

- He likes having your full attention. He likes the feeling of being yearned for and adored, though he adores you the same amount if not more.

- He’s sorta clingy though he tries his best to hide just how clingy he is. You get little glimpses of it every now and again, like him dropping in to see what you’re doing throughout the day or having you stay close to his side whenever you can.

- He’s a; for the most part, chivalrous gentleman, even when you’re testing his patience. It doesn’t matter if you’ve just had an argument, he’s still offering you his hand to steady yourself with while climbing up the castle steps.  

- Getting his capes draped over your shoulders.

- Getting to hear all of his stories about the land, the labyrinth, and all of the creatures that inhabit it.

- You definitely sit on his lap while he’s in his throne, having little conversations while the goblins jeer at each other and cause trouble around you.

- You try to get him to be nicer to the goblins and all the other creatures of the labyrinth but old habits die hard; especially since he sees them as below him. He tries though, mainly to please you.

- You’re somewhat feared by association; at least until they get to know you, which means everyone is pretty much always incredibly nice to you, even if they’re usually rude to people. After they do get to know you, then they just begin to genuinely like you enough to be kind to you.

- Although, they revert back to their; understandably, timid selves when Jareth shows up. You can; quite literally, tell when the king shows up because their smiles will drop and their eyes will widen, some cowering slightly as you glance behind your shoulder, finding the blonde watching you.

- Masquerade balls thrown in your honor.

- Strange but delicious meals.

- Nights spent in front of a fire, cuddled into his side and watching different places and dreams in his crystals.

- Watching the sun rise and set together. 

- You get anything your heart desires, all you have to do is ask or mention something in passion. He’ll either leave it for you to find in your room or manifest it right then and there, raising an eyebrow at you and smirking, a sparkling little glint in his eyes.

- Magic tricks. He enjoys seeing the wonder and awe on your face. 

- Hugs from behind. 

- Catching him talking to the goblins about you. It’s always something that you can’t help but find cute. 

- Getting dressed up in extravagant clothing. He enjoys seeing you in proper goblin ruler fashion.

- You assume your queenly duties and take it upon yourself to make the labyrinth a better place wherever you can. He doesn’t understand your need to be kind but he does find it quite adorable when you return home with dirtied clothing and mussed up hair; usually out of breath with a big smile on your face, having spent the day helping the citizens of the labyrinth.

 “Well look at your dress. You’ve ruined it.” He’ll say, usually in such a fond teasing manner that you can’t help but let out a little laugh.

- All the goblins adore you, even if you don’t necessarily fit in with them and the king. They like your little quirks and contrasting personality traits as much as they like the ones that match theirs.

- Occasionally stepping in to stop him from making brash; and oftentimes cruel, decisions.

- He’s incredibly jealous. Anytime he sees someone talking to you in a relatively “too friendly” way, he’ll threaten them with the bog of eternal stench or some other horrible part of his land.

- He’s very protective of you, the labyrinth can be a very dangerous place for someone who doesn’t truly know where they’re going. He always insists that you have someone accompany you; which you usually have no problem with. He also watches you from his crystals whenever he feels that something is wrong.

- You cant be sure but you guess that Jareth has something to do with the barn owl that follows you on your little journeys through the land.

- Arguments here and there. He usually ends up either shutting you down or snapping at you, though he doesn’t ever yell. Just to be petty, you’ll ignore him and occasionally go to stay somewhere else, usually being wholeheartedly yet wearily accepted into the home of one of your strange friends.

- He’s extremely irritable during these cold shoulder sessions, snapping at the goblins more than usual and ranting to them about how you “could dare just walk out on” him. He usually makes the creatures/goblins try to convince you to talk to him. Eventually, he’ll visit, telling you that you’re acting childish before breaking; as you refuse to say a word to him, and desperately trying to get you to forgive him.

- He doesn’t say “I love you” constantly but he does say it very often. Even so, it doesn't change how special it feels every time he says it.

- He wants to marry you as soon as he can but he thinks he’ll wait for children for a little while, wanting to savor your lives together before making a new one. As surprising as it may be, he genuinely does like children and is eager to have his own, especially with you.

[renaerys]

Prompt 50. But Berserk & Boomer😔👉👈💕

50. “I thought you left.”

We’re calling this one Unfortunately, She Impressed Him. This is a pair of characters I love with all my heart in any flavor of relationship and can’t wait to write more of in my ongoing multi-chapter fic Trinity House over on AO3.

This fic is part of a prompt challenge that is now closed to new requests, but you can read all the completed submissions here. Reminder that the challenge is to make everything SFW, so we’re getting creative here.

xxx

Boomer was halfway across the deserted lobby of Faust Keating Rogers, LLP when he realized he’d forgotten his keys at his desk. He groaned aloud because it was 8 p.m. and no one was around to hear him because they had all gone home to their families hours ago like normal people. Boomer didn’t have two to three kids and a house in the suburbs, though, and neither did his boss. The three hour lull reserved for dinner, baths, and bedtimes before the evening work-from-home grind offered him no alternative but to power through. He fully planned to grab take out on his way home and enjoy an episode of whatever was on HBOMax before getting back to the tedious work of reviewing the draft prospectus statement his boss had sent him to proof by tomorrow morning.

Except, his keys were forty floors up and he now had to risk running into her again when he’d managed to slip away so neatly. He’d even removed his tie on the elevator ride down, and now he rubbed his exposed neck, flushed with anxiety over what might happen if she saw him and asked him to stick around to finish the work here.

“Nice going, dumbass,” he lamented as he stepped onto the elevator and hit the button for the fortieth floor.

It wasn’t that Boomer disliked his job. In fact, he didn’t mind it at all. It was better than slinging drinks or waiting tables. He had health insurance, a steady paycheck, and a resumé that could proudly display the name of one of the most elite accounting firms in the country. He could pivot his career if he wanted to, as Brick would say. Boomer wasn’t thinking about his next job right now, though. Right now, he was thinking about this one and how his boss was a hard-ass and a workaholic even if she was brilliant, and how there was a one hundred percent chance she would detect him coming back to his desk (which was annoyingly set up right in front of her office so that he could answer her calls, manage her meetings, and deal with whoever passed close enough to her event horizon to get suckered into the latest heinous audit in need of staffing).

There were his traitorous keys sitting on the desk next to the framed picture of his brothers. He glared at them, as if they were a forgotten household item that had developed a supernatural grudge like in those old Japanese folktales he liked to read online. He half expected them to jingle and alert his boss to his presence, just to spite him.

They didn’t, and he slipped them into his pocket as quietly as could be. He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and took a beat. It was quiet. Most of the offices were dark, save for a few poor souls in the large conference room stuck on the ongoing year-end audit for one of the firm’s most important clients: Unicorn, Inc. His boss’s office was also lit up behind her closed door, but she hadn’t called out to him like she would during the day when he got back from his lunch break hoping for a few minutes to catch up on emails in peace before she dumped more work on him.

This, of course, was odd. The small legion of assistants who had come before Boomer were notorious for their short-term employment working this specific desk. The work was demanding and so was the boss, but there was something else that set her apart from other senior associates in the International Tax Services division, something that seemed to intimidate away any support the higher ups sent her way. Denise a couple desks down had warned Boomer not to bring too many personal effects to the office; chances were he wasn’t going to last long. Boomer had smiled thinly and thanked Denise for her advice, and brought the picture of his brothers in the next morning because he had his pride and Brick told him it was healthy to indulge that once in a while. Brick would certainly know.

So here he was, uncertain. Anxiety over having to sit here for another two hours finishing work and having tepid Doordash delivered pulled him toward the elevator and escape, while that annoying, rare pride demanded he check on his boss and make sure she knew he was here to support her, lest she get the idea that he needed to be fired.

The longer he stood there, indecisive, the greater his curiosity grew. What was she doing in there? It was quiet, even when he strained his Super hearing. He could hear Dean Matheson pouring whiskey a few offices down (that guy had a drinking problem and everyone knew they only kept him around because he had the Unicorn, Inc. account), Adebayo Hansou on a conference call with Dubai that was escalating to profanity, Shelly Kim with her head down and typing away at an Excel spreadsheet like a pro. Their assistants were long gone for the night, but here was Boomer, loitering and indecisive and what is she doing in there not yelling at me when she definitely knows I’m here?

He couldn’t take it anymore. He knocked on the closed door—rap, rap, rap—and called out softly, “Berserk?”

A beat, then: “Come in.”

Finding his boss in upward facing dog while still in her pencil skirt was not a sight Boomer was prepared for. Berserk had her eyes closed as she stretched at a near ninety degree angle and listened to music on her Airpods. Boomer had never seen her with her heels off and her mane of red hair thrown together in a messy bun; it was so casual that it was almost obscene.

“You’re staring.”

Fuck, he was staring and now she was looking right at him down her nose, even though she was the one on the floor. He stood up straighter, unable to help himself when she took that tone that reminded him so much of Brick’s when he was about to criticize, but he didn’t avert his gaze. “Sorry.”

She breathed in deeply through her nose and hoisted herself up into downward dog position. “Why are you here?”

Forgot my keys seemed like a really lame excuse that she’d probably laugh at him for, but he also was not in the habit of making shit up on the spot if he hoped to make people believe him. “I forgot my keys.” He took them from his pocket to show her, as if she might not know what keys are, as a concept.

“Smart locks.” Berserk exhaled and slowly walked her hands back on the yoga mat until she reached her feet and began to swing slowly left and right.

Huh? he almost said like an idiot, until he caught himself. “Don’t think my landlord would approve of me installing that.” Also, those things were like $200 a pop, which was not worth the occasional inconvenience and shame of forgetting his keys and then catching his boss doing yoga in her office after hours.

Berserk made some noncommittal sound like whatever, peasant and slowly uncurled upward one vertebra at a time. Boomer realized he was back to staring again, literally lingering in her door watching her and trying to equate this subdued, casual version of Berserk with the terse, no-nonsense businesswoman he was used to dealing with on a daily basis.

When she finally achieved her full height, she popped her neck. The hair that was too short for her bun fell in around her narrow face in a stylish, athleisure sort of way. The top buttons on her blouse were undone. She wore a small, golden necklace he’d never noticed before because he wasn’t in the habit of checking out his boss. “I thought you left.”

The accusatory nature of her words were totally at odds with her flat tone, only the barest hint of curiosity dangling there at the end, like she expected him to respond.

Oh, she expected him to respond.

Boomer took another step into her office because he was full of poor judgment today. “I forgot my keys.”

At which point he showed her his keys again and also had a mild stroke, because what the fuck are you doing, mate?

Berserk smiled. “Yeah, I got that part.”

Was she laughing at him? He had never heard her laugh before, unless it was at Dean Matheson, that comb-over in denial who, in addition to being a high functioning alcoholic, also had a reputation for throwing associates under the bus when a client wasn’t happy.

Boomer smiled back, because that was what he did when people smiled at him, and ‘people’ now included Berserk, apparently.

“Well, since you’re here,” she said as she padded around to her desk.

Crap, there was the work he was afraid of soliciting from her by remaining in the building. He debated an excuse to give her: picking up dry cleaning? Plausible, but transparent. Meeting up with his brothers? No, she’d probably make him stay all night for the chance to ruin Brick’s plans.

“Thai or Mexican?”

Boomer stared dumbly. He was becoming quite good at that (10,000 hours and you can become an expert at anything, they say). “Huh?”

The yoga must have put Berserk in an exceedingly gracious mood, because she actually repeated her question without getting that look on her face like she was picturing him getting trampled by stampeding monsters. “Thai or Mexican? I don’t have a preference.”

Oh.

Oh.

Boomer’s stomach picked that time to snarl at him—8 p.m. and still no dinner, the fiend.

Berserk snorted in laughter and fanned herself with her phone. “Jesus. Mexican it is.”

Which was how Boomer found himself on the small sofa tucked in the corner of Berserk’s office, shoes off and belt loosened, with enough tacos, tamales, and rice and beans to feed a small family. He even had a beer from the mini fridge Berserk kept under her desk.

She hadn’t stayed late to work. Well, she had, but only because she didn’t have a reason to go home.

“I just hate getting home to a dark apartment sometimes,” she said in between bites of food. She had her legs tucked up under her on the sofa close enough to brush Boomer’s thigh if he reached to grab the salsa.

“I thought you lived with your sister?”

“Brute got her own place a few months ago. The arrangement was only temporary while she was in between jobs.”

It was weird knowing so little about a person whose whole family had been in Boomer’s inner orbit since childhood. As far as he knew, Berserk wasn’t close to any of her cousins, not even Blossom. Boomer himself had never been more eager to leave a room than when Brat walked into it. Only Butch, Brute, and Buttercup had ever found common ground among each other once the sworn rivalries and blood feuds of their youth gave way to teenage rebellion against their respective overlord fathers and then the slog of adulthood that was inescapable even for a bunch of Supers flying high on Chemical X.

The fact that Boomer had gotten this job surprised him more than anyone. After drifting from restaurant jobs to office temp placements over the last six years, he’d never thought he would dust off his economics degree and land a temp-to-permanent position that seemed way above his qualifications. And he never thought it would be working for a woman he’d most definitely electrocuted in battle at least a dozen times before puberty.

“What?”

Boomer blinked. He’d been staring again, Jesus Christ. “Sorry, I was just thinking… I didn't know that. I’ve been working here for five months and I don’t actually know much about you at all.”

“Hm.”

Her magenta eyes were wine-dark against the murky sky beyond the window forty stories up. Boomer did avert his gaze this time to reach for the salsa, but he didn’t use it.

“I don’t even know why you invited me to stay for dinner in the office if we’re not going to do any work.”

“Why did you stay?”

“For the free food.”

Berserk grinned—the third time she had smiled at him tonight (or ever). He needed to stop counting; he’d be disappointed when it stopped happening tomorrow.

“Don’t get used to it. Much as I appreciate the company now and again, there’s no need for both of us to be stuck here while Matheson’s breathing down the associates’ necks. Can’t have him poaching you out from under me.”

“Well, I don’t work for him; I work for you.”

“It’s sweet how you don’t understand office politics.” She ate a lone slice of avocado with a fork. “He landed Unicorn back when they were early stage, and back when he was still putting in the work to earn his reputation. But since they IPO’d three years ago and make up twenty percent of our revenue now, he’s just another big name coasting by on associate work. You know he regularly schedules client calls and just doesn’t bother to show up? He forgets half the time, and the other half he’s busy playing golf or buying a yacht or whatever the fuck rich, white Boomers do.”

“Well, as a Boomer myself, I can say I’ve spent exactly zero hours buying yachts.”

She chuckled. Fourth time. “Oh, really.”

“Never even thought of yachts. As far as I’m concerned, they’re not even real.”

“Thanks for your expert opinion.”

“Any time.” Boomer turned his body to face her and draped his arm over the back of the sofa. With only the soft light from the floor lamp in the corner, he imagined himself adrift in the darkness, the sky scraper lights nearby stars. It was a lonely thought, one made romantic in the knowledge that she was here too, and he wasn’t actually alone.

“Matheson almost did poach you, you know.”

“What do you mean?” Boomer couldn’t recall exchanging more than a few words with the man.

“When we were filling support positions. Someone recognized you from the news a few years back, when the Cyclops Monster attacked the marina district and you and your brothers took it out. Matheson got it in his head that you’d be able to work at Super speed and help lower his billables.”

“Wow. Maybe you should’ve let him. What do you think the net savings would be in yacht units of measurement?”

Berserk rolled her eyes, but she was smiling again. “I claimed you before he could get the paperwork in.”

Boomer hyper-focused on that word: claimed. He also pointedly ignored it entirely, much in the same way he ignored the new count of five smiles tonight. “Showed him your bending powers, did you?”

Berserk’s Corona bottle turned frosty under her hand in a totally unnecessary, big dick energy display of said powers, and she took another sip. “No. Sharon from HR likes me. And I promised her I wouldn’t fire you after three months like your predecessors.”

Flattered was not how Boomer would describe the feeling of being claimed by Berserk and eluding Matheson’s vampiric clutches. But he was a bit tickled all the same. This was the woman Butch had once described as essentially Brick, if he were constipated all the time.

And then he realized what she was doing. “Hey, you’re sharing things about yourself.”

She clinked her bottle to his, and Boomer shivered at the frosty chill she transferred on contact. “Aw, you figured it out all by yourself.”

“Ha ha.”

She didn’t quite smile, but she did look kind of serene then, content even, as she lay back against the arm of the sofa and yawned. Her gold necklace—just a simple disk with an engraving Boomer could not make out—reflected the lamp light when she moved. It rested just beneath her collarbone, which had suddenly become the single-most interesting part of Berserk, and oh no, was he interested—

“You’re staring again.”

Son of a bitch.

“Sorry,” he said automatically. “I didn’t mean to.”

Hard no. He was not allowed to be any percent attracted to Berserk. First, she was his boss, and there was a cliché here that, while subverted on the gender role spectrum, was still very risky for both of them. Second, she was Berserk, a fellow Super, cousin to his best friend Bubbles and a shrewd, stiletto bitch in Brick’s estimation, which sounded bad. Not that she was bad, or even evil, unless you counted helping rich corporations accurately report their taxes while taking advantage of the many egregious loopholes in the Internal Revenue Code. Which, okay, point taken, but he also worked here and anyway, people should not be deemed good or evil so much as their choices ought to be—

“Are you thinking about fucking me?”

You shrewd, stiletto bitch!

She was smiling again, and Boomer pathetically logged that as the sixth time, although he wasn’t sure he should count it given the overt malice behind it.

Unfortunately, Boomer was, as had been previously established, very bad at making shit up on the fly. So he miserably said, “Yeah.”

“Hm.”

She sipped her beer slowly, and of course he watched. If it was out in the open, as fleeting a bout of insanity as it may have been, at least he could wallow in it without worrying about appearances.

It was the yoga. That fucking upward facing dog, Jesus Christ.

It was more than that too. Over the last few months, he had worked closely with her, watched her navigate the cutthroat halls full of piranhas like Matheson and other account managers, getting herself work on the best clients while managing her juniors with efficiency and professionalism. She was excellent and sharp, and she demanded excellency and sharpness in kind. After years of going it alone or temping for bosses who didn’t care enough even to learn his name, much less provide him with guidance and mentorship, it was an unspeakable relief to work under someone who knew how to rally the troops. Someone who knew how to lead, how to motivate, and how to reward loyalty with loyalty in return. It didn’t hurt that she looked amazing in her daily stilettos, either.

Unfortunately, she impressed him.

“I have some work to get done tonight.” Berserk stood up and smoothed her skirt.

Boomer scrambled to his feet. “Of course! Um.” He began closing food containers and repackaging them in the bags they’d come in, because he was panicking. “I’ll get rid of the trash. Do you want the leftovers in the fridge?”

“You take them. Otherwise my office will smell like a burrito for a week.”

“Okay.” Numbly, Boomer finished packing everything up, while Berserk made her way back to her desk and logged into her computer to check her emails.

Boomer lingered at the door. “I’ll have the prospectus back to you later tonight.”

“Thanks.”

Wow, way to go, stud.

He turned to leave, but her voice stopped him.

“Boomer?”

“Yeah?”

“Friday is good.”

He stared back at her in expert mode. “Huh?”

Berserk poked her head around the side of her large, external monitor. She was smiling again. Lucky number seven. “For fucking.”

“Okay,” Boomer said.

Okay?!

She pulled back behind her monitor. “I was going to get a cat, but you’ll do much better.”

Because she didn’t like going home to a dark, empty apartment alone. With no one to fuck.

“That was a joke.”

“Yeah, I got that,” he croaked.

Friday is for fucking, he thought, which was delightful alliteration and also completely insane and one hundred percent something he was getting more on board with by the nanosecond.

“See you tomorrow,” she said.

Boomer clutched the leftover Mexican food in his fist. “Okay. Goodnight.”

It took him the time to fly home and put the food away in his small fridge to realize that he had a sort-of date with Berserk lined up for two days from now.

He Y-posed at the window and whooped, “Hell yes!!”

Loud pounding in the floor followed by old Mrs. Cruikshank’s muffled Keep it down! couldn’t bring down his mood.

Boomer leaped onto his threadbare, living room sofa with his work laptop and took to the prospectus with alacrity. He’d send over superior work product and make Berserk’s job just that much easier tomorrow morning.

xxx

If you enjoy my writing, check out more of my fics on AO3, link in my profile. I’m currently updating Trinity House (which has a lot more Berserk and Boomer content, btw!) and The Alchemy of Us. Thanks for reading!

[obsidiancreates]

The Wrong Realization (But A Welcome One)

4,012 words long

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

Jonah wakes up with a headache like he’s got a hangover. He groans, putting his arm over his eyes as the dim light of his bedroom tries to burn out his retinas. Even with all of his thickest curtains closed and fastened together, the sunlight is still too harsh. Must be the way it’s reflecting off the snow.

He falls out of bed more so than gets out of bed, and lays on the floor for a moment. He reaches up to his nightstand and manages to pull down his phone, which bonks him on the temple on it’s way down. That gets him to wake up, with a shout and a dash of fight-or-flight response.

He sighs, rubbing his eyes. He doesn’t even feel very rested! Granted, he did stay up most of the night listening to a new podcast he discovered... fascinating stuff, wonderful deep-dives into mythologies and legends from all over the world. Something a little lighter to relax to than his usual political commentary go-tos.

He stands up, and scrolls through his playlist until he finds a good morning podcast. He heads into the bathroom, ready to grapple with his hair to get it nice and presentable-

He looks into the mirror and freezes up. His hair is perfect. Exactly how he always strives to get it to look, and always falls just one stray strand short of. But now? Not a flyaway in sight.

“I could have sworn I took a shower,” he mumbles to himself. Maybe he just forgot to use shampoo? No, he would never. Maybe too much conditioner, then. But he’s always so careful not to overuse...

“I guess it saves time,” he says aloud. “No looking a gift horse in the mouth.” He picks up his toothbrush and gets to scrubbing, but pauses when he feels something stringy in his mouth.

He spits out the toothpaste foam, expecting a hair.

Instead, it’s a scraping of plastic from his toothbrush, and several bristles.

He stares for a moment, and then opens his mouth. Does he have something completely alarming stuck in his teeth? Did he somehow eat something metal?

... No, not as far as he can see. Nothing is out of the ordinary. Absolutely nothing. Completely fine.

On an unrelated note, the two little cuts in his lower lip that are perfectly aligned with his canines are starting to sting from the mint, so he hurries up and finishes brushing his teeth.

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The sun blinds him as he drives to work, and he has to manage mostly by listening to the traffic around him (which is absurdly loud today, he can hear it with his windows rolled up).

And the sunlight is harsh on his skin, too. Does he need to invest in better sunscreen? Maybe he should revisit that article he read about SPF effectiveness and how to choose the best one...

He gets into the parking lot and parks his car. He opens the door, and promptly slams it shut again with a yelp. His hands didn’t just feel burnt, it did burn!

Definitely needs to up his SPF! And research sudden sunlight sensitivity... his hand is bright pink.

He sits in the car for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. And then there’s a knock on his window. He startles, but relaxes when he sees it’s just Glenn. He rolls his window down just a bit. “Um, hi. Good-good morning, I mean.”

“Heyyyy, Jonah,” Glenn says with a smile. “So, um, I noticed you’re stuck in your car?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, no, I just um. Well you see I-I, um-”

“Need a hand?” Glenn’s smile is a bit strained, for some reason. “Because of the sun?”

“... Well I mean if-if you’re offering then it would be... rude to say no...”

Glenn opens up an umbrella, making Jonah shout in surprise. “Where did that-”

“Come on in under the shade!”

Jonah hesitates a moment, put off by Glenn’s... odd, energy. But he can’t stay in his car forever, so he gets out and walks in with Glenn under the safety of the umbrella.

“Thanks,” he says when they get inside. “I just um, I need to update my sunscreen, you know? And I just didn’t want to risk... my skin...”

“No, no, I completely get it,” Glenn assures. “The warm, life-giving rays of the sun can be very harsh sometimes!”

“... Y-yeah. Yeah.”

“Hey, um, Jerusha and I got you a gift, actually. She was so upset by the whole attack thing yesterday-”

“Oh, you guys didn't have to get me something-”

“Well, we wanted to, so um, here!”

Glenn hands Jonah a very, very wide-brimmed hat. There’s a little bat needle-pointed onto the sides. 

“Oh! Wow! Um, it’s... so big!”

“Maybe it’ll help until you update your sunscreen?” Glenn sounds hopeful. Too hopeful for Jonah to turn down. And... it would be functional, at least...

“Yes! Yes, I think this’ll be great for that, um, thank you! Thank you both, send Jerusha my-my thanks. For this. I can um, see she put some effort into customizing it! Just-just out of curiosity... why a bat?”

“Oh, well um, because of your situation.”

“... Situation, I don’t-”

“You know. The reason you burned?”

“... I still don’t understand-”

“HEYYYY, GUYS!” Amy butts in quite enthusiastically. “How’s it going this morning?”

“Oh, good!” Glenn says with a smile and a nod. “I was just giving Jonah this hat Jerusha made for him, because of his whole condition about being a vam-”

“OH HEY, Glenn, I actually really need your help with something!”

“Really?”

“Yes! Come over here, with me, to... softlines!”

“Oh, okay. I’ll talk with you later, Jonah!”

“Okay! Buh-”

Amy drags Glenn away, leaving Jonah with his hand up in an unfinished wave.

“... Bye. I-I was saying... bye.”

Jonah looks at the hat, and heads off to the breakroom.

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

“So does Jonah have them?” Cheyenne is saying when Jonah enters the room.

“I mean, he looked like he did when he was chasing that lady-”

“Do I have what?”

Mateo and Cheyenne startle. “Oh, Jonah! We didn’t see you there! You were like... really, quiet,” Cheyenne says with a slightly strained smile.

“Yeah. So... sneaky.” Mateo looks similarly stressed.

“Well I, I did just get new ultra-soft shoes, very comfortable but I’m not sure about the long-term arch support... but um, what do I have?”

“Um... standards, for your fashion. Sometimes you have them, sometimes you don’t... usually only when you’re chasing, after... someone to flirt with.”

“Oh. ... You-you thought I was trying to flirt with that woman, last night?”

Cheyenne shrugs. “You did literally chase her into the parking lot.”

“I-I guess I did. But I wasn’t attracted to her I mean, I wasn’t attracted to any customers yesterday, even though there were a few good looking ones, that made me laugh... but-but I’m not- I mean, I wasn’t flirting with anyone-”

Jonah babbles on for a good five minutes before Glenn finally comes in and starts the meeting.

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

Jonah sighs and rubs his eyes as he mops up a puddle of... it’s either slushie vomit or watered-down blood (though he’s leaning towards slushie vomit, something in him just says it definitely isn’t blood).

He leans against the mop and closes his eyes for a moment. So tired... he felt okay this morning, but as the day creeps on he feels less and less awake...

“Excuse me?”

Jonah startles, yelping and dropping the mop. The customer jumps back as the mop drops.

“I am so sorry!” Jonah exclaims. “I um, I-I think I feel asleep, um, how can I-”

Jonah pauses, at a loss for words.

The customer, a man around Jonah’s age, looks concerned. “You alright, man?”

“Huh?” Jonah’s face feels hot (the first bit of warmth he’s felt in two days). “Oh, um, I-I just, that was very unprofessional of me.”

The customer shrugs. “It’s a Cloud 9, professional isn’t really expected.”

Jonah chuckles. He clears his throat. “So, um, how can-can I help you?”

“I was looking for the recycled paper towels?”

“Oh, yeah, um... let me help you find those. They’re only half recycled, though.”

“I know. But you do what you can on a budget, right?”

“Right, yeah,” Jonah laughs. He can’t stop looking at the guy’s face... why does he feel all jittery?

“Um, here we are. The closest Cloud 9 gets to activism.” Jonah sticks his hands in his pockets and rocks on his heels. His mouth feels dry. Why is his mouth so dry? He licks his lips quickly while the customer isn’t looking.

“Better than I’ve been doing lately. Haven’t done a protest in months.”

“What kind of protests do you go to?” Why did he say that? He’s going to embarrass himself, oh no-

“Mostly wage labor ones, workers rights kind of things. Trying to get a union going at my job.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, well, I know unions don’t have a great reputation in a lot of places but-”

“No! I mean uh, I love unions! I-I’ve been wanting one here since I started working! Just uh, don’t tell my boss that, hah.”

The customer smiles at Jonah, and Jonah wonders if the floor actually fell out from under him or if that’s all in his head.

“Well, thanks for helping me find this. Maybe we can talk about helping each other’s unions efforts if I see you again.”

“Yeah!” Jonah flashes a bright smile. “Sure! Sounds-sounds great! Um was really nice to meet you!”

The customer smiles again and walks away, and Jonah needs to lean against the isle.

He lets out a heavy breath, wondering what the hell is going on and what he is feeling. He looks down the isle to see if anyone is watching him.

Mateo, Cheyenne, Marcus, and Dina are all staring.

Jonah quickly walks away, shame burning his cheeks. So they noticed something, too.

“-looked like he was about to eat him alive-”

He’s too busy being completely embarrassed by hearing them whisper that to wonder how he just heard it from three isles away.

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

Jonah wakes up with a start as a cart rolls right over his leg. He shouts in pain and surprise, and then sighs at himself.

He peels the glue trap off of his face with a grimace. Cleaning the rat traps is a terrible time for his sudden and new case of what seems to be narcolepsy to strike. He sits up and rolls up his pant leg, expecting something nasty to greet him based on the crack he heard.

... Nothing. He frowns, and touches his leg. It doesn’t even sting.

“How did-”

“Jonah?”

Jonah looks up at Amy’s voice. She’s standing over him with a clipboard. “Oh, um... hi.”

“Hey. ... Why are you on the floor?”

“I was uh, cleaning the rat traps. And I... maybe fell asleep.”

“In the middle of the day?”

“... Yes...”

“Okay then. ... So um, I just... wanted to check in, for a minute. How’s it been going with customers?”

“What do you mean?”

“I just mean, have there been any... notable interactions, maybe, to throw an idea out there,” Amy says in her ‘I’m-hiding-the-real-reason-for-asking-this’ voice.

Jonah’s cheeks burn, and he’s sure he’s blushing. “They told you about that?”

“I... might’ve heard some gossip.”

“It-it was nothing, Amy. Really.”

“Are you sure? They said you keep looking at his neck-”

"Well I mean, he had a nice neck I-I guess but I was more looking at his face-”

“And that you licked your lips at him?”

“That-! My mouth was dry, and-and you know I hate chapped lips!”

“... And the hovering over him?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say hovering, more like just watching and... admiring... but that-that’s normal! I’ve been doing that since high school! A good ally normalizes these things, and-and when straight men, yeah, can admire other men in a-a completely! Normal way! Then it um, it helps... break down! The stereotypes!”

Amy looks... perplexed. She shakes her head. “Wait, what are we-”

“I mean, everyone does it, too! Like-like you! I’m sure you’ve looked at-at other woman, and admired their appearance, without feeling feelings for them, right?”

“Well, I guess, but- wait, Jonah, did you-”

“I mean we all wonder in college, right? But I don’t like, I mean there’s nothing wrong with liking both I just- I don’t, I wondered but I never-”

“Okay, um, this isn’t what I came over here to talk to you about-”

“Maybe there was a moment or two where I thought it might’ve been a thing but I-I never acted and if I did like both I would have acted on that, I think-”

“Okay! Um, you’re working through something right now, that is, not what I thought you were working through, so um, I’ll just check up on you later...”

Amy backs away as Jonah keeps recounting half-baked thoughts and unfinished sentences about his time in college and his roommates one friend who maybe had the best hair Jonah’s ever seen but their friendly hair-war was not flirting he swears...

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

Jonah doesn’t chew the carrot, just rolls it in his teeth as he stares at the wall, lost in thought.

“... Not hungry for you lunch?” Sandra asks tentatively.

Jonah shakes his head, only half-hearing her.

“... Are you hungry for something else? Like... a customer?”

Jonah stops, and pulls the carrot out of his mouth. “You heard about that too?”

Sandra’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head.

“You did! Did- does everyone know about that?”

“Well, it-it’s been sort of, floating around-”

Jonah groans, putting his head in his hands.

“... So um... are you?”

“What? No! No, I am not hungry for him, that’s objectifying. Not that I- I mean, I’m a straight man, I can’t, objectify another man, because that implies attraction. ... Unless I’m playing into toxic masculinity stereotypes by believing that...”

“I don’t think you have to worry about falling into masculinity stereotypes,” Carol pipes up from another table.

Jonah looks at her, annoyed. Her eyes widen and she looks away. 

Jonah puts his head back into his hands. “This is a nightmare...”

“For all of us,” Sandra whispers.

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

Jonah sighs, slumping over onto the customer service counter. Garrett just looks at him, waiting for whatever Jonah has in store.

“... It normal for straight guys to admire other straight guys appearances, right?”

Garrett blinks. “Wow, just some casual conversation, huh?”

“Just- I mean, I know people are talking about-”

“You eyeing up that dude earlier like he was a steak?”

“... Yeah. That.”

“Dude, I don’t think this is the issue you should be focused on right now.”

“I know, I know! I’m in my thirties, I should have this figured out and be focusing on more important things-”

“Not what I meant, actually, I meant the superpowers-”

“-but I don’t know, I’ve never really had anyone point it out before! And-and now I can’t stop thinking like, am I? Attracted?”

“You know there’s nothing wrong if you are, right?”

“Yes, I do, I’ve been to a bunch of rallies and stuff.”

“Did you oogle dudes at those rallies?”

“NO! ... I mean I guess I observed and-and appreciated-”

“Yeah, you might just be on the gay spectrum, dude. I don’t know what else to tell you. Except that, uh, you just accidentally slapped my shoulder and you’re as cold as a bag of ice, so maybe that should be your crisis of the day.”

Jonah is staring off into space, rubbing his arm. It doesn’t seem like he heard Garrett at all. Garrett just sighs, and rolls away.

Jonah stays there, contemplating, for quite a while.

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

“Okay, no more dancing around it.”

Jonah jerks awake. Again. God, why can’t he stay awake? ... Probably because he stayed up all night.

“No, Cheyenne.”

Jonah looks around. He peeks into the next isle, and then the next. 

... Where the hell are Cheyenne and Amy? He can hear them so clearly...

“He’s like, totally oblivious to it!”

“He’ll realize it eventually, okay? It’s not some truth bomb we can just drop on him.”

“My friends drop truth bombs on me all the time, and it just brings us closer. Best bitches don’t lie to their best bitches.”

“... Right. But, it’s kind of something for him to take the time to process.”

“What if he doesn’t? He’s just gonna like, wander around forever making excuses and being all nervous and confused.”

“Well... then we’ll give him a push. But for now let’s just... give him some space. Let him come to terms with it on his own.”

Jonah is startled out of his accidental eavesdropping by hearing himself sniffle. He quickly wipes his eyes, sticks his hands in his pockets, and hurries away. He still doesn’t know how he heard them, maybe some kind of really weird echo or sound tunnel. So he goes to the other side of the store entirely and finds the chattiest customer he can.

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

He can feel Dina and Mateo staring at him as he restocks softlines. They whisper to each other, and he sighs and hangs his head. “You know, it makes it worse when you talk behind my back.”

Mateo yelps a little. He clears his throat and quickly composes himself. “Sorry. Uh, we were just talking about-”

“Yeah, no, I know. I’m... aware, okay? And I just would like to stop hearing about it for now, please.”

Mateo looks taken aback by the tiredness in Jonah’s voice, the... weary tone. Dina, however...

“Yeah, well, not exactly something to brush under the rug.”

“Why do you even care? It’s a me problem, okay?”

“Really? You think this doesn’t impact everyone?”

“How! Would it even do that?!”

“Well, let’s see! It made Mateo afraid, it made Amy all somber and worried about you, it made Glenn cry even more than usual-”

“It did?”

“He started a trust fund for your soul.”

“... Oh.”

Dina stops, her frown slowly becoming more confused. “You... didn’t realize that would happen?”

“... I don’t know, I guess I thought... thought he’d be more open-minded.”

“Glenn?”

Jonah takes a deep breath. Ugh, why’d it make his chest hurt? Why do his lungs feel like they don’t want the air? 

The next thing he knows he’s done with softlines (it felt like he got done in the blink of an eye) and walking away. He swallows down the lump in his throat, and the urge to comfort eat. God, he’s craving a snack now. Well, he has all day, but he’s been... a little distracted.

“Excuse me? Hello? Hey!”

Jonah looks up at the customer, still feeling drained and empty.

“Finally, god. How useless do they let you people be around here? I’m looking for the shock collars, my dog keeps licking me when I tell him not to.”

“... That’s a really, really shitty thing to do to your dog.” Jonah doesn’t really mean to say it, but he’s just sort of on autopilot now.

For some reason, the customer doesn’t reply. Just stiffens.

“Follow me. I’ll sort you right out.” Jonah thinks he smiles at them. But he can’t be sure, because at that moment he blacks out.

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

Jonah shrugs his coat on, not looking anyone else in the eye as they all file out to clock out.

He waits until the very end, and clocks out last. Maybe he can avoid them all by waiting long enough?

Ugh, he can’t. He feels restless. Looking like another sleepless night already. Two in a row, great. Maybe that’s why he had that blackout. He still isn’t sure where the customer went, nor how he ended up in the No-Go zone of the Gardening Section...

Whatever. They were a jerk, anyway. Maybe he talked some sense into them? He did that during a blackout yesterday. Maybe it’s stress, then?

He keeps his head down as he thinks about it (trying to avoid some other, more introspective thoughts) and walks out.

He lifts his head as he exits the breakroom to find everyone standing in a group, smiling softly.

“Um... what’s going on?” He claps his hands behind his back. Please don’t let this be more teas-

“We know we’ve made you uncomfortable today,” Mateo pipes up. “And after talking to Garrett about your guys’s conversation, we realized we had the totally wrong idea about everything.”

Glenn steps forward and hugs Jonah. “I accept you no matter what,” he says firmly. “I would never start a fund to save your soul for being gay, that was a complete misunderstanding! You like whoever you like, Jonah!”

“And I didn’t mean to badger you,” Dina admits with her shoulder a little sunk. “I didn’t quite understand what you were going through in your head, and I made some assumptions. Wrong ones.”

“We all care about you, Jonah,” Amy says, prying Glenn off of the poor man. “Okay? We just want you to know that. Today we were being really, really shitty. But it won’t happen again.”

For the second time today, Jonah isn’t aware he’s crying until he hears himself sniffle.

“I just- I feel really, really stupid,” he admits, wiping his eyes with his palms. He laughs, not quite bitterly, but not happy. “I mean, I’m in my thirties. I-I had... so many obvious moments where I should have realized! How... oblivious, am I?”

There’s a bit of an awkward air to the group after that comment. But Amy hugs Jonah, and he feels a little... spark, in his chest. It’s nice. 

His chest has felt pretty heavy and empty all day.

“Everyone comes to terms with stuff at their own pace,” Amy says. “I lived in an unhappy marriage for years because I couldn’t accept the obvious. What matters is that you got to this point of realization, okay?”

Jonah hugs back. He thinks he feels Amy shiver, but he brushes past it. They pull apart, and Jonah sniffs and wipes his eyes again.

“And I um. I-I don’t think I’m... fully, gay,” he says slowly. He hesitates, mouth open, the words stuck. “I think... I think I’m Bi.”

There’s a moment of silence. He smiles a little, and stands a bit straighter. That feels... really right. “I think I’m Bi,” he repeats.

Sandra claps for a second, but no-one joins in. She lowers her hands slowly.

“Wow! Hah! That feels- wow! God, that feels good! Um,, what-what now, though?”

Garrett shrugs. “Flirt with some dudes? Some people in-between dudes and chicks? I don’t know, man, it’s your life.”

“Your long, long life,” Dina mutters to herself.

“Right! Oh, yeah, uh... that guy! From earlier! I-I think I want to see him again. Okay, uh, I’m going to go home, and-and maybe research some local protests he might be at-”

Everyone groans a little.

“Protester Jonah is the preachiest Jonah,” Garrett says, shaking his head.

“Can he still be preachy? Wouldn’t that hurt?” Cheyenne whispers to Glenn. 

Glenn shrugs. “I’ll ask Pastor Craig,” he whispers back.

Jonah doesn’t even notice. “Okay! I’m going to head home! I kinda feel like, I don’t know, like this is a whole new chapter in my life! Um, how do we- I mean how do- do we do a group hug, or-or maybe a high-five-”

“Or we just head home.”

“Yeah, no, Garrett’s right, head home. Let’s all head home!”

They all head out to their cars. Jonah gets into his, plops down into the drivers seat, and grins.

What a freeing realization! He doesn’t know how he missed it, it was all so obvious! 

Well, as far as he knows, there’s no other huge life-revelations waiting for him. He’s figured it all out, finally.

He starts driving home, humming along with the radio as the car next to him keeps pace, despite being in the faster lane. He never understands why people do that when the roads are empty. He chuckles to himself. Maybe he’ll realize that Life Mystery tomorrow.

What he doesn’t realize, neither when he gets home nor when he wakes the next morning, is that he never turned his own radio on. 

[fandomwriterstuff]

“Okay, crew,” Chief of Operations Annabeth Chase, a proud Minervan, held the attention of her group as she searched all of their eyes with her own piercing silver ones. “Our new First Officer, you’ve all met him. Peseus Jackson. I know at least two of you are friends with him, and Chief Science Officer DiAngelo is in an involved romantic relationship with him. I need the three of you to give us a run down on humanology so we can welcome our first and only human crew member appropriately and treat him well. My knowledge of humans is limited, but he’s not from the colonies in the Milky Way Galaxy, he’s from actual Terra,” she squeezed her face up in a common Minervan expression of distaste. “My knowledge of Terra is limited to this, which I will share with you now: Terra is a Class 2 Death Planet, humans are apex predators and the dominant species. They are reigned by the chemical imbalances in their brains and can be erratic in behavior because of it. However, despite these things, I have been advised to get a human on our team. So, Valdez, Underwood, DiAngelo: speak.” She leaned back, metallix skin glinting in the energy efficient lighting.

“First off, uh, humans are about a 2.2 on a food chain that goes to a level 5, so I wouldn’t call Percy an apex predator,” Grover Underwood, a satyr from outside the Milky Way Galaxy shuffled his hooved feet. “He’s actually a vegetarian-”

“What’s a vegetarian,” Annabeth cut in, narrowing her eyes.

“Um, well, most humans are omnivores and can eat both plant matter and animal flesh. But, because of personal choices, Percy only eats plant matter,” Grover explained.

“Humans can eat plant and animal matter?” Clarisse grunted.

“Their teeth and digestive systems have adapted to both, yes. But, again, Percy only eats plant matter, so not a scary apex predator. Plus, most humans don’t hunt anymore.”

“We’re getting off track,” Annabeth groaned. “But good to know about plant matter. Valdez, go.”

“Percy is awesome. We lived together in the academy. He is from New York City, where there are no true predators and also no real natural places, so he will adjust just fine to being on a ship for an extended period of time, but he does love his plants and having and caring for houseplants is statistically good for humans. Percy gives his names. So, we should make sure he has a leafy plant or a flower or something,” Leo added, and when DiAngelo nodded in agreement, Annabeth noted down to bring some Terran plants on board. “Also some humans have physical needs,” Leo tilted his head in confusion as he tried to explain it. “Percy uses exercise as a way to exorcise his mental demons, if you will.”

“Mental demons, is he ill? Possessed?” Annabeth cut in.

“No, but it’s how you said. They’re ruled by emotion. If we don’t have a therapist on board, he’ll need to exercise and train and use physical activity as an outlet. I suggest a training regimen with the tactical team,” Grover nodded to Clarisse, their Chief Tactical Officer.

“That can be arranged,” the Martian nodded in agreement.

“DiAngelo, anything to add?” Annabeth turned to their resident Plutonian, who shrugged his shoulders, his large black wings moving in sync with his gesture.

“If anything comes up, I’ll let you know. But if any of you make him feel uncomfortable I’ll make you regret it,” he raised a single eyebrow. His boyfriend was a big tough guy, but he was also a big softy who would pack-bond with a Roomba if he came across it.

“That’s not helpful. But thanks,” Annabeth clenched her hands.

“Oh, one thing,” Nico raised a finger. “Don’t mention that he’s from a Death Planet. Terrans don’t know they’re on a Death Planet. And it will freak him out. Don’t let him know.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Will Solace, their Chief Medical Officer squawked. “He doesn’t know he’s from a Class 2 Death Planet?”

“You don’t know you’re adaptable until you meet people who aren’t. And you don’t know you’re on a death planet until you leave it. He’ll figure it out, but don’t bring it up right away. Humans get flooded with negative hormones when their worldview is altered until they come to terms with it, and it would negatively affect his physiology and performance to be shocked like that,” Nico elaborated.

“Okay…” Annabeth sighed. “We’ll meet him tomorrow. I will see you all then and you better be on your most professional behavior.”

Nico smirked. It would surely be interesting. Everyone had preconceived notions and prejudices about humans and while Percy was a big and tough human who could kick your ass with one hand tied behind his back, he would also do anything for those he cared about and was a huge dork. And he definitely knew he was on a death planet.

So, when Percy arrived, and Nico had decorated his room with houseplants and blue blankets and decor, he was overjoyed. He would miss his Golden Pothos (lovingly named Billingsly), and his Snake Plant (William Snakespeare), and he was glad to still have plants in his life. Nico had even gotten him a plant light so they would stay alive!

He was glad to see Leo again, and Grover was his best bud so that was cool. He also got to meet Grover’s long time girlfriend Juniper, who was also a herbivore and lived solely on plant matter. The pilot, Jason Grace, was a Jovian who Percy had already formed a bro bond with, and he had taught Jason all about handshakes and high fives. He’d met Will Solace, the only person other than Nico who actually knew about human physiology. He did have to explain to Will that he had ADHD and dyslexia, so the CMO had decided to get some more Terran books on those to more adequately treat his patients. It was nice. Clarisse was a hard ass but Percy loved training with her. She taught him about more weapons than they even had at the Academy, and taught him hand to hand in various different styles.

Annabeth was confusing. Percy was convinced she didn’t like him, but he could also tell she was trying very hard not to offend him.

Probably because everyone was terrified of humans. Earth was the Australia of space after all. So, he knew that him smiling all the time was taken as a sign of aggression, like animals baring their teeth. He knew the laughter he so often emitted freaked others out because it was a non-translatable noise that nobody understood.

Percy knew they were trying, but they just didn’t know or care to know enough about Earth to understand him.

So, that’s how he ended up using plain water as a contact solution because he ran out of saline eight days ago. It’s not like he could ask Will if he could use medical grade saline for something so silly. So Percy sat in his commander chair and rubbed roughly at his eyes as they itched and fluttered.

“Commander Jackson, are you well?” Annabeth called from her position nearby, though it was loud enough for others to turn. He pulled his fists away from his reddened eyes and irritated skin.

“Oh, yeah. But my contacts have been bothering me. I ran out of solution and have been using plain old water to clean and store them in,” Percy sighed and rubbed his fingers under his eyes to readjust them.

“Contacts?” Annabeth asked, confused.

“Yeah, hold on,” Percy pulled his contacts case out of his satchel and, in an agonizingly amusing moment, he pulled his lower lid down and used his fingers to pull the contacts out and put them into the case. He heard the gasps around him and retching noises, but couldn’t see the horrified faces until he put his glasses on.

“Holy Father Pelor,” Nyssa, another Vulcan like Leo, gulped. “Did he just… remove a piece of his eyes?”

Percy pretended to be surprised, because this was just another thing to add to the “Death Planet” list: Humans can remove pieces of their visual organs when they become irritated. He loved messing with them.

“Percy, I thought I told you not to remove those in front of anyone,” Nico joined in, rolling his eyes in a very Terran gesture.

“They were bothering me, you know when they get itchy and dry it’s just easier to take them out.”

“So what are the glass and metal contraptions you wear now?” Nyssa asked against her better judgement.

“When I remove the contacts, I lose my ability to see clearly and I need glass lenses to alter my vision enough to function,” Percy explained.

“So, you removed an imperative part of your eye, and then you couldn’t see, so you made a prism that reflects light in such a way that it imitates the top layer of your eye?” Annabeth questioned.

“Essentially, yes.” He was hesitant to tell them that contacts were not a part of him, and were in fact, a foreign object. How would they react to the fact that he was actually terribly nearsighted and had to physically put pieces of flexible plastic in his eye orifices to see?

“Fascinating,” she nodded, as if agreeing with the new information. “Disgusting, but fascinating.”

[quirklessidiot]

Title: wine nights [coward series au]  Pairing: F!Reader x Miya Atsumu Genre: fluff, parents au, slice of life au  Synopsis: in which the older Miya twins and you have a heart to heart talk over wine.

Warnings: brief mentions of trauma

notes;

highly suggest to read the series for more understanding but either ways be my guest and just read it as a standalone if ya want to. also um the taglist has been closed ever since chap 7 was out so im really sorry :( 

happy 415 followers btw uwu. will be releasing my kita angst fic next week to celebrate a new milestone.

read the series here!  [ ss;; one, two, three, four ]

Osamu admits that you and him never saw eye to eye back in college (actually it was mostly him), it only took a worse turn when you left his twin. Now that he knows that the person you loved was actually his twin and that the father was the said person, he takes it back.

Yep, he takes it all back.

After profuse apologies and numerous deadpan responses from you saying that it was alright. You sort-of developed a weird friendship? He’d tell jokes and you’d just give him a blank expression and shake your head as if you were disappointed to be in the same room as him.

You always invited him and Daiki to your home every week on Sunday dinners though, he’s glad to be a part of it. He’s getting to know you a bit more and he’s slowly starting to understand why his brother loves you a lot.

The night is young and Atsumu is in the kids room, putting them to bed while you get ready for wine night. The younger Miya twin sits at the counter and nibbles on the cheese crackers as he watches you dry the dishes, “Has ‘tsumu ever told you how he first met you?” he suddenly asks out loud, curious if you knew how whipped his twin was for you and how much power you held over him.

You turn to the grey-haired twin with a plate on one hand and a dish towel on the other, “I don’t believe he or Shion-san has ever mentioned it.”

He chuckles, of course they wouldn’t. It was usually kept in the dark then and because of your strained relationships towards them when you were in college, they never actually got to tell you the story.

“He saw you one day, earlier in the school year…”

“He did mention that one time.” your forehead creases as you remember a fleeting conversation you had back then.

“Yeah, he kind of fell in love with you at first sight, Y/N.” his twin chuckled, “Sounds crazy right?”

Growing up, Osamu knows that his brother had attitude problems so imagine his shock and surprise when his twin called him up on a random night and started talking about this girl. This girl who barely paid him any attention at all.

Osamu recounts his thoughts then, how cruel fate would be for his twin to fall in love with a girl who paid him no mind when he had many others on his beck and call. He recalls how he’d call his brother a masochist, telling him to stop the fruitless chase towards you because you barely gave a time of day to Atsumu even if it was clear that he was completely and utterly enamored by you. 

Well, it ended happily for the both of you. Stable careers, dreams reached, happy family, and adorable kids. 

Son of a bitch, the old Osamu would be given a run for his money if he saw what had happened to you two now.

“That must’ve been a long time, then.”

“Oh, trust me.” Osamu breathed out, taking a sip of his wine, “It was only the first few months of the school year that time, Y/N. He says he saw you all the time but he could never pluck out the courage to actually go and talk to you.”

“Hm.” You mused, “I always thought that Atsumu had women hanging by his shoulder.”

Osamu chokes at the idea of Atsumu being a player, “Before he met you, it’s always been about volleyball. The idiot would go so far as insult the girls when they’d disrupt practice.”

“Huh,” you blink, “Was I his first girlfriend then?”

“Not exactly.” Osamu drawls, tapping his chin, “‘tsumu would say yes to girls but he never really knew what being a boyfriend was, he never hung out with the girls he said yes so it never really was a relationship. Hence why he’s got a reputation as a player.”

Osamu recounts even one time how annoyed his brother was when one of his ‘girlfriends’  came to their matches and screamed out his name when he did serves.

“She was fucking annoying,” Atsumu grumbles, walking in the middle of his brother’s tale and casting his twin a look, “Although I do wish that Y/N would come to my games. You never did come to any of them back when I was in college.”

“I was trying to graduate early.” you deadpan, placing the last dish on the dish rack to join them on the table.

“You’re forgiven, sweetheart.” He fakes a coo, making you roll your eyes as you pour yourself a glass.

“Atsumu tells me that he’s never smooth around you.”

“He isn’t.” you glazed, “Back in college when I gave him a tuna flavored onigiri as thanks after our meeting at the frat party, he had a nosebleed.”

Osamu chokes on his drink, “What the hell, ‘tsumu?” he barked, howling in laughter at his twin.

Atsumu would never deny the fact that what we had towards you was a school boy crush at first, he’d always be a nervous mess or his brain would cease to function whenever you came by then in college. He couldn’t put two and two together too, when you simply gave him one word replies, he’d be lost immediately. Not knowing what to say, all the charisma and overconfidence he had went down the drain by your curt replies.

What would anyone expect, really?

He’s never had crushes on anyone growing up.

The idea of putting time and effort towards something that wasn’t volleyball disgusted him yet here he was now, completely whipped for you and the brats while putting volleyball on second.

My, my how the tables have turned.

“You were really hard to talk to then, sweetheart.” He murmurs, “For the record, Y/N was the very first girl I asked out and you didn’t exactly make it easy after. I was thinking I was going to fail after those countless rejections.”

“You’re more pushy than Daiki, I’d have to admit. The guy stopped after his third rejection.”

Osamu raises a brow, he knows of your situation, Atsumu has mentioned it in passing but hasn’t gone into full detail about it but he’s curious, Daiki’s been around longer after all, “He’s known you longer than, ‘tsumu. Probably even deeper back then, how come you never ended up with him?”

Atsumu blinks and turns toward you, he’s curious too, Daiki has even openly admitted that he proposed to you seven years ago after knowing about the kids but you rejected him yet again (that was the last and final attempt)

You swirl the wine around, thinking of a proper response, “To be honest, I don’t know.” you answered, pondering as you turn towards Atsumu, “I just- it never felt right.”

Osamu whistles, “Dang, you just love my twin too much too. I take it back, yer both simps for each other, it's sickening.”

Atsumu lets out a childish tongue out in which he is replied by a middle finger from his other half.

You three continue to talk about random things and after deeming himself too sleepy and needing to open shop early tomorrow, Osamu says his goodbyes.

You sat in front of your vanity as you did your nightly routine, brushing and untangling the tangles of your hair after you showered and changed to a comfortable bedroom attire.

Atsumu exits the shower half naked as usual, his hair damp as he ruffles the towel on it, he slowly approaches your side and dips down to kiss your naked shoulder, “Hey Y/N.” his voice is muffled and vibrating through your skin.

You hummed a reply, still brushing your hair.

“Why didn’t you marry Daiki?”

You paused mid-action and raised a brow at his sudden question, turning to him as he suddenly stood up straighter with his hand now replacing his lips, “Are you jealous?”

“Of course not,” he grumbles, he’s been married to you for two years already and everyday’s like a honeymoon phase that doesn’t end, why would he be jealous of that scrub? as if, “I’m just curious. The idiot’s good looking, rich, good with kids, and a full package. A blind man could admit that.”

“You're a full package too.” 

Atsumu narrows his eyes and shakes his head in disappointment, as if he was saying, really?

You chuckle in a low voice, “Because he’s like my psychiatrist, Atsumu.” You simply said, shaking your head as you turn back to the mirror, “Unlike you, Daiki found out about it accidentally and we weren’t on good terms before that when we were kids. He became nicer so you could say that we became friends because he pitied me.”

Atsumu blinks for a moment, taken aback by your explanation. 

“Growing up, the anxiety would eat me up that Daiki’s friendship and feelings all stemmed because he pitied me. You could never build a decent relationship with that, it wouldn’t be healthy.” you continued then you turned to him, “Remember what I said to you then? How I felt when I was with you?”

Atsumu slowly nods.

“You didn’t pry and that was probably the best and worst thing you ever did throughout our relationship in college.” You smiled softly, “I was never ready to tell you then and you didn’t force me at all. You just kept staying and loving me without knowing anything to the point where I took advantage of it.”

“Y/N-” He dryly starts, knowing where this is going.

“I know I shouldn’t apologize but it was toxic, atsumu.” You softly said, laughing, “I’m really sorry.”

“Well you gave your forgiveness in the form of kids and being my wife until I die, I think it turned out pretty well in the end.”

You cast him a glare in which he immediately raises his two hands, “Hey, we both had our downplays in the relationship. We’re not perfect, sweetheart.” he reassures you as he walks up to you and grabs a hold of your hand with a wedding ring on it, “But we try to improve, learn,and be the best for each other and for those two brat- i mean kids. ”

He proceeds to entangle your fingers with his, “I don’t regret it, ya know.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“I don’t regret hanging onto that girl who barely gave me the time of her day then. I don’t regret seeing ya on that random spring day where you give yourself heart palpitations or better yet, I don’t regret everything. I don’t regret any of that. I’d do that shit again if I get to be here now.” He reassures you, he never gets tired to remind you of that as he squeezes your hands.

You cut the serious moment with a laugh, Atsumu is happy these days because of how easy it is for you to be like this around him, “You’re batshit crazy.”

“I was expecting a confession too.” He feigned hurt, “You wound me, sweetheart.”

“You kind of are though.” You stop laughing,wiping the little tears on the side of your eyes, “You’re probably the only person who’d come back after that wretched heartbreak.”

“And you’re the only person who I’d do that to.” Atsumu sticks his tongue out as he tugs you to your shared bed, “Jus’ so ya know, Y/N. You’re impossibly hard to forget. If we never did end up together or if you ended up with Daiki, I think I’d focus on volleyball for the rest of my life.”

“I doubt it.”

Yet Atsumu doesn’t reply and just kisses your lips goodnight as he drags you back to bed, what you didn’t know was that he was telling the truth.

It was just you, the kids, and volleyball (and his brother).

taglist [officially closed, if you guys want to be removed for the side stories, feel free to tell me hehe ilyasm and thank you once again, coward wouldn’t be possible without all you people + other readers]

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[dapandapod]

You mentioned I should drop a prompt, so what do you think of Geralt being soft? Like he’s actually a really intimate and gentle person when it comes to romance and Jaskier is in awe of this secret side of Geralt. Thoughts?

YES! Thoughts are, AMAZING!! Thank you for indulging me with this! Also Im doing a sneaky and claiming this as 2/4 for my 400 follower celebration 

I thought I was going to write a short but NO I DID NOT! Please have some soft boys and I hope I did this justice! I have many thoughts on the subject and I love them all! 

On Ao3 here, for your consideration!  Please enjoy

Jaskier is baffled. Flabbergasted. In a state of constant awe.

He has known Geralt for great many years. Pined after him for most of them, and therefore thought he knew Geralt and his ways. He has seen him at his best and his worst, from afar and up close. He witnessed Triss falling for him, and Geralt not returning her feelings. He was on the first row when Geralt fell head over heels for Yennefer, and how they fell apart over and over again. And when Geralt broke his heart, on accident and on purpose, Jaskier saw, felt, witnessed, learned who Geralt is, and how he acts. When Ciri finally was pushed into their lap by fate's cruel hand, he thought he had seen it all.

He was content with being Geralt's friend, he was fine with sitting on the sidelines, if only he got to be there. They had their fights, their falling outs, their own kind of breaking up for months. But they always found each other, and Jaskier thought he knew how Geralt expressed himself and his own place in their lives.

But something changed.

Jaskier can’t put his finger on what or when, but Geralt started mending his socks when he did his own. When he complained about his lute case being in poor shape, bought him a new one.

And Jaskier has been to Kaer Morhen a few times. It has passed its glory days, it is true, but the beauty of history in a hidden corner of the world, a place to rest and heal and grow. To breathe the stillness of a winters day high above the ground, to be a part of the sky, to feel the cold bite his cheeks. On a balcony far above everything, Geralt had kissed him.

He remembers the sky being a pale blue, almost white over the horizon, the sun high above them. They were talking about something as mundane as brushes for Roach and Pegasus.

Jaskier insisted they should have the brushes with a little longer bristles, because they were clearly superior to the soft, useless ones Geralt preferred. The longer would work better with the thick winter fur and the mud, obviously. Soft brushes are great for added shine, but they didn’t do much good before they were clean, would they?

And Geralt had smiled at him, a soft smile Jaskier had only seen at a distance before, and then Geralt had stepped right into his space.

Noses almost touching, Geralt's wonderful amber eyes almost hidden behind his lashes when he looked down and then leaned in. Dry, chapped lips against his, beard tickling him and his heart almost exploding with emotion. It took Jaskier completely by surprise, and Geralt had pulled back, smiled again and apologized. And one does not kiss Jaskier like that and apologize for it. Especially not when you have been half in love with the idiot for a decade, possibly two.

Jaskier did the only right thing and kissed the daylight out of him, right there on the balcony.

So yes, things have changed, and entirely for the better. But Jaskier, who spent most of his life watching Geralt, is finding out new things. It’s like someone lifted a curtain, opened a door, whatever cliché you would want to use. Geralt is letting him in, letting him see another side of himself. They have been through a lot, they both have changed and grown a lot. But there are more smiles, and they are brighter, softer, richer. The jokes are less cutting, and there are actual compliments. Touches. Words, even.

A late night in the corner of a tavern, perhaps a little bit deeper into their drinks than intended, Geralt leans forward and takes hold of his chin. By now Jaskier expects a kiss, but Geralt just stares at him.

“You have the most beautiful eyes.” He murmurs, and Jaskier is moments away from death. Heart, lungs, you name it, they all take a break to restart and think out new ways to function. Because never, ever, had he expected that. There is no way he could compete with Yennefer, and he say as much.

“It’s not a competition.” Geralt had frowns at him, still a little too focused on his eyes. “Each of you has something that is only you. I could never compare. Your eyes are like a piece of the sky, a droplet of water, cornflower blue. It’s hard to look at you sometimes, because it’s so hard to look away.”

Needless to say, Jaskier drags Geralt up to their room and they weren’t seen for the rest of the night.

While on the path and on one horse each it wasn’t easy to find ways to casually touch.

But Geralt lets Roach get close to Pegasus, their feet and calves touching. Jaskier smiles at him and pushes at Geralt's shoulder, and Geralt catches his hand and kisses his knuckles. And then Geralt comments on the blush Jaskier suddenly is wearing.

Sometimes when they sit next to each other, Geralt will drop a hand on Jaskiers thigh. Grabbing his hand, letting his thumb slowly caress it. Twining their fingers together, touching their feet together under the table. Gentle touches for no other reason than to be a bit closer.

More than once while sitting in front of the fire at night, scribbling on lyrics and poems, Geralt would sit close if not next to him. Sometimes he would sit behind Jaskier, trace patterns on his back as he worked. Sometimes he would fiddle with his hair, kiss his shoulder or neck. And when he peeks around at Jaskier, to see if he was getting any attention, he would pull a stray strand of hair behind his ear. His fingers are always hot, always careful.

Jaskier never saw this side of Geralt, no. But it would turn out Geralt never saw this side of Jaskier either.

Might be that Jaskier recites many poems, and writes them even more. But before this, before the balcony, Jaskier would never dare write and read one directly about and to Geralt. When Jaskier reads them, every time without fail Geralt's mouth falls open, blush stains his cheeks and Jaskier has to fight not to lean in and kiss him. It’s wonderful, he can never get enough.

Geralt is used to seeing Jaskiers easy platonic affection, but nothing could have prepared him for all the love and affection Jaskier harbors inside of himself, that suddenly is let free. How he for long, long moments can let his fingers run across Geralt’s face.

His nose, cheekbones, lips, chin, temples, over the shell of his ear. Exploring, caressing, touching. He is allowed now, after all. Sometimes he braids Geralt's hair. He sucks at braiding, they are crooked and uneven, but Geralt refuse to take them out for a day or two.

And when he finally does, his pale white hair is full of curls and waves, and there is nothing on this earth that can make Jaskier stop playing with it.

Of course there is a certain amount of flirting a bard is expected to do during his performance, but he somehow always makes sure he ends up sprawled across Geralt's lap, even with a perfectly good chair right next to them.

And it’s been but two nights they haven’t slept next to each other, or on top of each other, while together on the path. They have no reason to pretend anymore, after all.

Then of course there are the less obvious things, the things they have done for each other for years but suddenly are seen as what they should have been all along.

It seems like no one is surprised by this new development. No one but the two of them. It will take years for him, a decade, possibly more, to come to terms with this. But they have time. They practice every day. It’s not perfect.

They are still not good at talking, they fight and misunderstand and they yell and they forgive.

But it’s like they always have been. Always will be.

And they work for it, for their time and affection for each other, a little more every day.

The first I love you reverberate through his bones, etches itself on his heart. Making room for all the I love yous to come.