#the one on the left was the one i unearthed and cleaned up. also i think styx has a story/lore? so i dunno if this'd be considered like

[avephelis]

@wiiwarechronicles reminded me of the styx doodles i did a while back, so. little guys.

[adachimoe]

Atlus, please tell me the lore behind Adachi's mp3 player

Even just looking at Adachi, he doesn't exactly have the image of someone who gives a shit lol.

And this is intentional. Soejima talks about this aspect of Adachi's design in the P4 Design Works. Adachi is said to be an elite officer, one of the best of the best, and Soejima thought an elite might be smart, but lacking in other areas. For this reason, Soejima designed him with that crooked tie and messy bedhead.

That's certainly a common thing in fiction - someone who's good at one thing, but a complete space case in something unrelated. Though he comes off as incompetent in-game, to the extent that him showing competency in December surprises Dojima lol. And even when you get into the real dumb plot stuff that I write 10k words about, it took him like 4 months to figure out that "people can come out of the TV". Ma-Maybe his record was better at his old station.

Even in what Atlus has mentioned about the setting for P4 that doesn't get discussed in-game, Adachi's red tie is something Dojima gave him, and only because Dojima got tired of seeing him wear the old shabby tie he wore before and gave him one of his spare neckties.

If Dojima had never just given him a different tie to wear, I imagine Adachi would still be wearing his old shitty tie until it completely fell apart... Is Adachi pathetic enough to try and like... tape a tie together? Probably.

Him not caring too much about appearance and being a messy guy seems to extend to other aspects of his life. Even in his character profiles for P4 and P4AU, both say he's terrible at cleaning his room and the P4 one also says he sucks at filing paperwork lol.

This continues in his P4AU narration. The investigating detective pulls out 3 pieces of "evidence": A TV which ends up being used to get Adachi into the plot, a model gun which fits with his hobby being doing gun maintenance at home, and some kind of random off brand iPod-esque thing.

The actual music player itself is unimportant. Instead, it's used for a little characterization moment where Adachi confirms that it is indeed something that's his (he even remembers how he got it!), but he didn't particularly care about it and just left it wherever.

All things considered, I get the mental image of Adachi being the kind of guy who uses that meme 13-in-1 ~for men~ product, and his room is just a mountain of cup noodles and piles of random bullshit. Maybe there are more iPods and model guns to be unearthed from underneath his other stuff.

All of this is only talking about the more physical and material aspects of him, but I think you can extend this to who he is as a person and his mentality as well. Granted, some guys in real life end up being useless slobs as adults because they're used to their mom/sister/family/etc babying them, but uhhhhhhh from what Adachi says about his past, we can instantly rule that out with him.

(Edit: As a comment pointed out, upon re-reading this this does sound weird. When I wrote this, I was thinking more about doormat pushover moms. I don't see Adachi's mom doing domestic stuff as her babying him as a child because it strikes me as the Default Gender Role thing where the dad makes the money but the mom takes care of the household. And from how Adachi talks about it, you get the impression she wasn't hyper attentive towards him, as if she did like the bare minimum lol. Adachi's attitude towards the whole thing also strikes me as different than the dudes who grow up as spoiled little kings in their households.)

It seems pretty sensible to correlate his physical state and the way he uses it to express a lack of care for himself to something going on in his brain. Adult burnout, depression, lack of self-esteem & self-worth, all of the above.

I like the random anecdote about the music player, especially since it's him. A bingo game at a New Year's party............... A bingo game at a New Year's party???????????? Adachi, you went to a New Year's party? Hoooly shit dude I don't even do that.

Since he was in jail during New Years 2012 and only arrived in Inaba during spring 2011, for him to have won it during New Year's implies this is from before the events of Persona 4. E.g. it's not something Dojima dragged him to. I assume it was some work-related New Year's party when he was still stationed in Iwatodai. Keeping up appearances for the higher-ups? Did he just want free food? A bit lonely and wanted company and absolutely not gonna say that outloud? (All of the above?)

In both his P4 dialogue and his P4AU inner thoughts, he tends to look down on others. He's annoyed by the old woman at Junes (...though his voiced line on rank 6 expresses he liked her doting on him), he calls the protagonist a dumbass (...but only after admitting he misses him, Dojima, and Nanako), he doesn't think he'll ever get married (even tho I'm available).

And yet, as little blurbs like this go to show, we know he still participates. ♪(´▽｀)

Did he even use the iPod thing before chucking it? What did he put on it? Idols or something? Answer me, Atlus.

[lookinglass-fic]

A bit personal, and also cw/tw for mentions of suicide/suicidal ideation//

I lost my best friend to suicide two years ago. And I can't lie, the themes in OFMD season 2 are hitting hard. Ed is definitely my comfort character, and I love him so much and just want good and nice things for him and want him to be happy.

The sucide themes are... heart-rendingly accurate and make total sense, in ways that I feel certain that someone(s) in the writing team and/or crew have had experiences with this particular thing.

It's bringing up a lot of grief and some unearthed trauma for me, I think. But I think it's also a great opportunity to talk about what you can recognize in friends and loved ones who might be having ideation.

In re-watching episode 2, I noticed some things. The day after the cake topper incident, the morning where Ed tells Frenchie, "I had a very rough night last night, but I think I got all of the poison out of my system," he's cleaning up the cabin. He's cleaned himself up. He's chipper. It's the same morning he gives the gun to Izzy, the same night that he goads the crew into killing him.

And please note, I am not an expert. I'm not a psychologist or therapist, I'm not qualified to dole out real advice. I've just become... intimately familiar with warning signs of suicide the past few years after joining some support groups and being part of discussions and hearing dozens upon dozens of stories from the people left behind. And this is just advice from one human being to others who might need to hear it.

People who have long-term ideation can tend to have a sudden upswing in the day or two immediately preceding death, and it's because they've made the decision to go ahead with it.

My friend had seemed to be getting better. He was chipper, sending photos of things he liked and generally texting/calling people in a cheerful mood. The day it happened, he was on a hike sending me pictures of rabbits and magpies.

If your loved one is going through an incredibly rough patch and has a sudden upswing in mood, if they start cleaning up by giving things away or making big changes, it's time to check in. It's time to find a way to break through to them and see if there's anything at all you can do to stop them from going through with it.

This show brings so much attention to so many things, and they get so many things right. I'm in a kind of a weird mental place right now just because this is bringing up a lot of feelings for me, but it's only because it's so accurate and hits so close to home. If this can help even one person, then it's worth me being weird on the internet about it.

And for anybody out there struggling... just find one thing. Just one thing to keep you here until tomorrow. Just one thing to stay for. Warmth. Food. Intercourse. Anything. Just please stay.

[wildemaven]

Sweet Creature: Chapter Nine

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

WC: 8k

Warnings: 18+ Blog; Fluff, a kiss of angst, talk of past relationship and break up, pregnancy scare, mopey Poppy, nervousness and anxiety, brief mentions of sobriety, smut, self doubt, public speaking, reader has the nickname Poppy- zero physical description, to dumb dumbs in love

A/N: This is a doozy of a chapter, there was so much to pack in for these two. I can’t believe we’re nearing the end, I had definite moments of sadness as I was wrapping up this chapter but also found so inspiration to help tie up the story for these two! You can listen to Dieter & Poppy’s Playlist Here. Also a big thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for constantly listening and helping me through this one, I definitely needed it on this chapter.

Series Masterlist / Playlist / Main Masterlist

Previous/ Epilogue

It had taken a few months for Dieter to tangle himself into your life. 

Inching his way into your mind, settling deep within your bones and eventually finding shelter in the most sacred of places— your heart. 

It took only a matter of a few short days for him to imprint himself into your home, pieces of him lingering in your space, even long after he had left. 

But you can’t seem to pull yourself from the confines of your bed, each morning since his departure, you study the hollowed out spot where his worn body claimed as his, still having yet to find the energy to make it or wash the sheets clean of the hours of intensity and conversations ingrained into the plush pillow-top. 

Your fingers run over the creases of the pillow, remembering how you would trace the same lines etched across his face in the early mornings, the usual scrunch between his brows smooth and relaxed, the faintest of snores escaping his parted lips— memorizing his angelic dreamy state. 

A soft thread catches the path your finger continues to take. A silky strand of hair, no longer a part of him, now woven in through the fibers of your cotton pillowcase— proof he was here and existed in this space with you, with those unruly thick curls tousled with ardency, sweat and sleep— your fingers still managing to work through the wildness. 

*

-Saturday Morning-

“What was your last serious relationship like?” Dieter asks, laying on his side with an arm bent, head propped on his hand, your bed sheet draped over his naked lower half. 

His free hand mapping out the plains of your exposed skin, the morning sun filters through your bedroom window, providing a soft muted light as his fingers continue to unearth new details of your body he has yet to see in daylight. 

“Oof! Hitting me with the serious stuff first thing in the morning.” The rasp of sleep still coating your throat, your body turned in close towards him with one arm tucked between your pillow and resting head, your free hand mesmerized by the texture of his skin— connecting invisible lines between each freckle painted across his neck and chest. 

“Question for a question then. But you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.” 

“No, it’s fine. It’s— just a lot for some people to hear. Kind of just keep it to myself, less questions and ‘how come’ once they find out.” 

“Hey, I won’t judge you, for anything you tell me— ever.”

Dieter watches the way your eyes flit about for a few seconds, his hand stopping to rest on your naked hip with a gentle squeeze, a reassuring gesture of sincerity in his words. 

“Frankie was my high school sweetheart, we started dating our senior year. We were together— gosh…. 5, almost 6 years.” You let out a sigh, all the memories of your previous relationship flooding back to you, having been locked away for so long. 

“After high school, when we realized things were getting serious, we decided to figure out what we wanted moving forward. We were on the same page with everything for the most part, no real deal breakers. We would get married after college, buy a house— a seemingly cookie cutter life together.”

“I’m not following— sounds like the perfect life to me.” Confusion settles across his forehead, brows drawn together as he studies your face. 

“Except, I couldn’t give him the one thing he wanted— kids.” You notice the way his face drops when you say it, knowing his first thought is exactly what everyone else usually assumes when you tell them.

“I guess I should rephrase that— I didn’t want, don’t want kids. It was something we established too, both on board with living a childless life. We agreed we would be the best Aunt and Uncle for our friend’s kids.”

Dieter nods at your admission, the hand on your hip starting to leave feather-like strokes the length of your side, goosebumps scattering across your warm skin. 

“It wasn’t until we were well into our relationship that things changed. We had a bit of a pregnancy scare, we were both very careful too, so it was a bit of a shock when it happened. I was angry with myself— how could I let it happen? What did I do wrong? All the things running through my head the minute I saw those pink lines, wondering how we were going to afford a baby on our combined income, all while trying to get through finishing college— I spiraled pretty hard for a good week. But, through some routine testing, we discovered it was a false-positive— I was so fucking relieved!” 

Your fingers still over the hollow of his neck, taking a deep breath, not really sure how Dieter is taking everything you’re saying. 

“In the midst of my inner turmoil over the thought of being pregnant, I hadn’t really checked in with Frankie to see where his head was at, I had just assumed he was riding the same boat as me.”

“He changed his mind?” He asks. 

“Yeah— or it was what he had always wanted, he just didn’t realize it until that week, when it was almost a possibility.”

“So you broke up?”

“We stayed together for another year afterwards, thinking we could work through it. But I couldn’t keep that from him, it would have eaten me alive being the reason he wasn’t 100% happy. We decided it was best if we split.” You can’t help the smile that starts to develop, Dieter’s receptive demeanor made this whole moment feel a little less heavier than you thought it would be. 

“I ended up running into Frankie a few years ago. We caught up and I learned he ended up joining the army, Special Forces I think, met his wife while saving her from some bar creep, always the chivalrous one—  and they have two little girls. I like to think we both ended up where we were supposed to be.”

There’s a prick of something that ricochets across his chest— the pairing of unaltered reverence and adoration. You just want the best for others, and it shows even in how not that long ago how you went to battle for Diem out of pure love, wanting the best for her and Wren— he respects you so much now looking back on it. 

Dieter leans over and places a few soft kisses to your lips, the last one lingering a little longer before pulling away to rest his forehead on yours. 

“Thank you, for sharing that with me.” He murmurs against your lips. 

“Of course. My question now— What about you? Do you want kids?” You ask. 

Dieter gently pushes you to your back, settling himself between your legs, peering down at you with a soft smile.

“I’ll only ever be Uncle Dude— never had the desire to be a dad.” 

His head dips down to your still bare chest, the few kitten-like licks before he takes your nipple into his mouth, scorching and persistent, causing your back to arch up into him, eyes fluttering closed and mouth wide as you emit a breathless whine. 

A few intense sucking motions before he gives your breast an experimental bite, his eyes observing the way your body writhes at the juxtaposition of sensations before releasing it with a pop, blowing a stream of cold air across your wet skin and watching the way your nipple instantly tightens. 

He crawls up your body, one arm resting next to your head as the other snakes down between your bodies taking hold of his now hardened cock, a few quick strokes before he’s notching the head at your now dripping entrance. 

“Doesn’t mean I don’t like partaking in the act.” His words punctuated by him fully sheathing himself into your cunt.

“Oh fuck! Dieter—“ Your laugh quickly exchanged for a heady moan. 

Your bodies meld together in a heated indulgence. The slippery grip of dewy skin as your bodies work in a synergistic fashion, calculated snapping of hips take you both to a climactic level of bliss. 

*

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ

The vibration of your phone against your nightstand draws you back from the reliving of your weekend with Dieter, interrupting the playlist streaming through the phone speaker. 

You grab your phone to check who the message is from…

Mom ❤️: Hey Sweetheart! Let me know when you’re heading over. Going to sit by the pool for a bit until then. This place is beautiful, I might not ever leave! Talk to you soon!

The music promptly picks back up again with its uptempo beat, you connect your phone to your speakers in the living room, the words floating brightly in the background as you will yourself out of bed. 

In route to a much needed cup of coffee, you pull on the fuzzy warm jacket that seems to have established itself as an essential element in your daily life, dropping your phone in its cavernous pocket before bringing the fleecy fabric to your face for a brief moment. It’s a cognitive experience, the inhalation of the still drenched in his signature Dieter-musk, making your insides gooey and flustered. 

‘Ooh, I lose control, can't seem to get enough, uh-huh

When I wake from dreaming, tell me is it really love?’

You chuckle into your cup as you take that first sip, the words a flawless depiction, and complete coincidence of every morning this week. 

A quick text back to your mom to fill her in on the day’s plans. 

Poppy: Hi Mom! Had a bit of a slow morning, but I’m up and moving now! Going to shower and get ready. I thought we could go to this new sandwich shop that just opened. I've been wanting to try it. I’ll text you when I’m on my way to the hotel. Love you

Your mom had gotten in late last night, still having not seen her yet. Diem was so kind to put her up in the Capri for the weekend, your mom insisting she didn’t want to intrude and give you space. 

It was her first time visiting since you had moved, but not her first time to Ojai. She had visited on numerous occasions in her travels before having you, it was usually a brief stop for a few hours to grab a quick bite and then off to her next stop. 

As a child, you would spend hours browsing through her endless collection of photo albums, dreaming up your own stories about visiting her favorite places— grainy Kodak Portra 160 was her film of choice, the color grading and light leaks adding to the cinematized scenes. There was something alluring about Ojai, always spending a little extra time with those images, it had become your ‘one day I am going to move there’ place. So, when you had started actually considering moving, your mind instantly went to Ojai— it was a no-brainer this was the place you were meant to set your roots in. 

A slow sip of the ambered liquid trickles down your throat, its atomic structure hitting every nerve as it slowly expands in your veins, giving you the ample amount of energy to keep you from crawling right back in bed. 

A thrumming piano tune dances across the room, instantaneously reliving the moment you coerced Dieter to add it to your growing playlist, selfishly you hope the familiar high falsetto voice evokes the same memory for Dieter as it does for you when he shuffles through the songs. 

Just a small town girl

Livin' in a lonely world

She took the midnight train going anywhere

Just a city boy

Born and raised in South Detroit

He took the midnight train going anywhere

*

-Sunday Afternoon-

“Add. The. Song. Dieter!” A purely joking dramatic version of yourself pleads with him, you sense the song isn’t a front-runner for Dieter, but you’re enjoying the banter it’s causing. 

The popular chorus continues roaring through the living room where you’ve both been camped out for the last hour, switching off listening to music on bith your record player and Dieter’s Spotify account.

It felt silly when you suggested you both should create a compilation of songs that you could listen to and think of the other person— complete cheeseball move. It was reminiscent of junior high when you would download songs off shady sites and then burn the perfect cd mix for your crush, labeling it— I really like you but I’m not good with words, so here’s some songs instead— the cover art hand drawn sharpie doodles and emo quotes that could bring a 15 year old girl in love to tears. Being it was modern times, Dieter opted for a playlist of top favorite songs between the two of you, dubbing it ‘Dieter’s & Poppy’s Mix Tape.’

He wants to engrain this scene in his mind forever, your naked form cloaked in his beloved brown jacket, dancing around your living room, belting the lyrics in the most out of tune way. 

“Streetlights, people!— Dieter, please! You said our favorite songs— this would be a favorite of mine! Add the damn song!!” 

“This— This is your favorite song? It’s like the most overplayed karaoke song in the history of music” His cocked eyebrow as he holds his phone with the Spotify app open in his lap, finding it hard to hold off his growing smirk and not surprised in the least that it’s a top pick for you. 

“I’ll have you know, I am the reigning Karaoke Queen, west of the Mississippi River— you're in the presence of royalty, Babe. Don't stop believin' Hold on to that feelin'!” Grabbing another slice of cold pizza from the half eaten box on the coffee table, you continue twirling about on your tippy toes, maintaining your off-key singing between bites. 

“Something tells me your full of shit. Fine— It’s added. But I’m adding ‘You Need to Calm Down’ for tax.”

“I need to do what?” Your twirling ceases, the bottom of his jacket swaying about as you watch the way he stares down at his phone, fingers pecking at the screen. 

“No— it’s a song. According to Wren, “it’s a Taylor Swift masterpiece!’” His air quotes and deadpan expression almost take you out. 

“Never would have pegged you as a Swiftie, but I love it.”

“Well, it’s all she wants to listen to on the drive to school. I can’t help it if i know every word to almost every song.”

The next song plays through, Dieter continues to watch you from his spot on the couch, loving the carefree manner in which you move, your infectious smile on display as you sing along to a song you definitely do not know a single word to, eyes closed and arms stretched out letting the chorus fully envelop your mind— this whole moment solidifying his love for you. 

He brings his phone up and snaps a few pictures, each image progressively blurrier as he tries to capture you dancing, his last attempt is more or less successful, the timing just right and the result an accurate depiction of how he wants look back on this time together— a flash of your beaming smile that causes your eyes to crinkle at the edges and your audacious desire to be completely yourself in front of him is a picture worth taking. 

“Are you taking a picture of me?” Breathless and smiling. 

“Guilty. I need something to remember this day while I’m away.”

“Okay, but take a better one then.” 

Grabbing his sunglasses off the table to situate them on your face, your bare leg crossed over and kicked out to the side in an ameture Radio City Rockette fashion, middle fingers erect while your hands cover your now exposed breasts, a one-sided nose scrunch and curled lip with some semblance of a smile, all while the remaining slice of your pizza dangles from your mouth. 

“Beautiful, just like the other ones.” His chest vibrates at the sight of you, he pats his thighs motioning for you to come over to where he’s seated. “Alright Karaoke Queen, get your sexy little Believin’ ass over here!” 

Tossing your crust back into the pizza box, you skip-hop over to him, your knees sinking into the cushions of the couch as you straddle his boxer clad lap. His hands sliding under where his Jacket is splayed open, his warm touch glides over your thighs. 

“Let me see— the others, please.” You ask timidly, not sure what ‘others’ entails, pulling his sunglasses off and tossing them to the side. 

His thumb swipes and presses across his phone screen, then hands you an open folder of images, tiny intimate squares fill the screen. You click on the most recent ones of you here in your home, laughing at how ridiculous you think you look, glancing up to see Dieter’s head tilted to the side and his gaze fixed on you. Refocusing on his phone, you start swiping, so many images of times you had spent together, except you're the main focus of each photo, very much unaware of your photo being taken. 

There was the afternoon spent baking cupcakes for no reason other than they sounded delicious. Flour covering the surface of the counter, while you and Wren laugh at something completely unrelated to the making of said cupcakes— equal amounts of flour coating both your hands and faces. 

There’s the backyard dinner Diem had invited you over for. You were seated across from where Dieter and Diem were sitting, listening intently to something she was saying. The sun warm against your back as it had started its descent, your elbow propped on the table and chin resting on your hand, your attention focused on every aspect of the conversation. 

The first evening Dieter and Wren had attended your art class together, a few of you talking about something art related and then a couple of you actually painting and drawing— your face naturally lighting up at you sharing art with others. 

Each swipe revealed another image, so many of you smiling while looking off at whatever had your attention, full body laughs shared with someone out of frame, deep in thought or absorbed into something you were reading or looking at on your phone. 

Seeing your life candidly curated in a digital collection of photos has so many emotions whirling through your mind, love being the most prominent one. 

Your breath hitches when you scroll to the last image in the folder.

You're at the front of your classroom, a stack of papers tucked against your chest as your smile beams out to your class. You note your outfit isn’t your usual uniform, you're wearing your favorite band tee, jeans and sneakers— it’s the morning you were late and Dieter stepped in to help you out, bringing a sense of ease to your disarray of a morning. 

“I think that was one of the moments I knew.” Dieter’s smoky voice cuts into the air, pointing at the image you’ve been studying a little longer than the others.

“Knew what?” Looking up from the phone to see his chestnut eyes twinkling with adoration, his hands gently rubbing against your hips. 

“Knew that I needed you in my life, however that was.” 

“There were others?”

“Your art class was another.”

There’s a beat of silence between you, the start of the next song picking up its pace. 

“Do you ever imagine what it would be like if we would have met each other sooner than we did?” Something you’ve thought about at times, wishing you had more time with him, maybe if you had met sooner. Your fingers trace along the ridge of his collarbone as you wait for his answer. 

“No— you would have definitely deserved better than who I was back then. You would have hated the thought of being in the same room as me.” 

He wouldn’t have been anything close to who he is now, grateful you were never fully subjected to the asshole he used to be. 

Your hand settles on his bare chest, right where his heart is beating fiercely.

“I deserve you now though. And I definitely want to be in every room you walk into.” 

‘Tears stream down your face

I promise you I will learn from my mistakes

Tears stream down your face, and I

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones And I will try to fix you’

Your lips meet his in an unhurried embrace, Dieter pulling your lower body closer to his, his fingers digging into the meat of your backside when your hips start to gradually begin to grind against him, his cock hardening with each brush of your wet cunt. 

His hands create their own intimate paths over your body, one traveling up the length of your spine, the other moving to the underside of your breast, cupping the supple weight of it in his palm. A swipe of his thumb over your sensitive nipple has you gasping into his mouth, the catalyst for your silent plea for more— and he hears it loud and clear. 

His hands. His mouth. His cock— all working in perfect, articulate motions. Until you’re succumbing to the culmination of purposeful exertion and precise execution. 

The last 48 hours were spent with Dieter's departure looming in the background of your minds, not allowing yourselves to stew on the impending heartache that was to come the moment you said your goodbyes. 

Between the hours of relaxed conversations and alleviating desirous needs, you both managed to get through the weekend with a strong sense of optimism about the future. A shared commitment to each other, with endless promises of check-ins whenever possible and working out a plan to see each other once Dieter had his schedule set, it was enough to keep the sadness at bay— it gave you something to look forward to. 

The afternoon slowly began to bleed into your final evening together, tangled limbs and intimate memories treated with exactness, fueling hushed whispers of ‘I love yous’ embedding themselves into every single part of your soul. 

*

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK 

You hadn’t been expecting anyone, the rapid knock on your front door was a complete surprise. 

After confirming your name with the sweet delivery lady, she hands off the beautiful dried floral arrangement, mentioning a card was tucked into the center, wishing you a great rest of your day before driving away. 

You had never seen anything like it before, an incredible assortment of dried flowers, stems and oversized leaves arranged meticulously in a ceramic vase. 

Placing the flowers on the kitchen counter, you pull the small card from it, reading the small written note:

Poppy, I’m so proud of you! You’re so talented and I can’t wait to hear how tonight goes. Love you, Dieter

You smile at his thoughtfulness, missing him so much and needing to hear his voice desperately. 

Pulling your phone from the coat pocket, you dial his number and hope there’s a chance you catch him at a good time. 

“Hello.” There’s warmth in the way his voice cracks through the phone. 

“Hi. I just got the flowers— they’re absolutely beautiful, Dieter. Thank you!” 

“I can’t take full credit. Nessa, my assistant, said you might like them, something about them lasting forever. Anyways, she set up the order while I was in a meeting.” 

“Well, I’ll have to thank her at some point then.” There’s some static carrying through the line as you continue your conversation.

“How are you feeling about today?” 

“Good. Just finally pulled myself out of bed. Going to get dressed, then have lunch with my mom before I get ready for tonight. I miss you, Dieter.” 

There’s a brief moment where it sounds like the call cuts out, looking at the screen you see it’s still counting up the call minutes, still connected. 

“I— you too. ‘Ant wait— it goes….”

“Dieter?…Hello? Babe, your phone keeps cutting out.”

*Call Dropped* 

The connection was lost, conversation cut short, staring at a now black phone screen. 

Poppy💐: Your service must be shitty or something, couldn’t hear most of what you were saying. Call me when you can. Love you 💜

You attach a photo of the flowers along with your message. Knowing if he was in a bad service area, you wouldn’t be getting an immediate response, so you take that as your cue to get yourself ready. 

Poppy: Getting dressed! Should be leaving here in 20 minutes. See you in a bit mom! 😘 

*

Your mom’s presence was exactly what you needed today. Seeing her sitting across from you now makes you feel less overwhelmed by the fact that your boyfriend isn’t here and you’re hours away from sharing this passion project of yours, something so intimate and personal, with a room full of art loving strangers.

But even in her presence, you still find your mind wandering— Dieter being the central character of your deviating thoughts— even things outside your home, the smallest of details, reminding you of him in some way. 

Bart’s across the street, a favorite spot for both of you, especially after the talk you both shared coming to an understanding and moving forward together with a new perspective on each other.

Someone walking by, where your mom and you are sitting together on the restaurant patio, was carrying a merchant bag from a store you had bought Dieter’s birthday present. There was a gold colored velvet button up shirt cover in a large geometric print that you had seen while out shopping with Diem one weekend, she had made the offhand comment that it was totally something Dieter would wear and when you had found out a few days later that Dieter’s birthday was the following weekend, you immediately went back to buy it for him. 

You had also thrown in a pair of tiny Frozen charms, Elsa for Wren and Olaf for Dieter, for the Crocs you had seen him wear around Diem’s house on movie nights, in the chance he hated the shirt you knew he was a sucker for kitschy gifts— by the way he wears the shirt regularly, it’s fair to assume he likes it. 

You even think of him in the most laughable ways too, like when a car similar to his drives by the restaurant, you of course immediately think of him— you find yourself to be a lost cause at this point. 

“I’m so sorry, Sweetheart, I’m sure Dieter would love to be here if he could. Aside from him leaving, how was the rest of the week after he left?” 

“Hmm?” 

“I asked how’s your week been? We haven’t talked much since last week.” 

“Oh my gosh, Mom! I’m so sorry— I’m literally the worst person to be around right now, I’m sure. I’ve been so in my head lately, I can’t even think straight.” You cover your face as you apologize for being lackluster company to her, realizing you’ve spent most of lunch off in La-La-Land. 

“My week was good though. With summer break starting last week, I spent most of this wrapping up last minute grading and finishing up paperwork. Monday and Tuesday I went to clean up my classroom, just mainly clearing out old projects and lesson plans from the past year. Which then left me the rest of the week to get my canvases prepared and hung up over at Reverie, where the art opening is tonight.”

“Sounds like it’s kept your mind off of Dieter not being able to be there tonight.” She gives you a sympathetic look, and it makes you feel so appreciative that she flew out to be here for you. 

“If I’m being honest, it really hasn’t. I just selfishly keep wishing he didn’t have leave so I could have more time with him. And then I hate myself for even thinking that, because I’m so happy and proud of him— he deserves this, I just miss him so much. We’ve tried to talk and FaceTime when we can, but his schedule right now has been busy, so I just sit and wait for him to call most evenings. God, I sound ridiculous!” A slight crack to your voice as you’re overcome with emotion, it’s sadness and happiness all wrapped up in a perfect little box sitting in your chest, lifting your chin up as you fight back the tears that threaten to break. 

“Oh, honey.” She passes you a few clean napkins, noticing the few tears that managed to escape. “Maybe give him a call in a bit, I’m sure hearing his voice will help you feel better.”

“Yeah, I’ll give him a call when I get home. Thanks mom. I’m so glad you’re here! Let’s talk about something else, bring the mood back up. How’s retirement going?” Changing the subject to hopefully suppress your mopey demeanor, dabbing your wet cheeks lightly. 

“Oh, it’s great! I’ve actually been thinking about doing some traveling now that I have all this time.” 

“I love that for you mom. You should go, see the world— you deserve it.” 

She shared about the places she had already started planning to visit— in and around Canada, parts of Europe, then several areas of South America. You greedily wished she didn’t want to go, feeling a steady wave of emotions rock through you at the thought of her being gone for so long. But, you know how much traveling means to her, it’s pure joy watching the way she can’t stop smiling as she shows you landmark places she’ll be visiting— a true testament to chase after the things you love. 

*

Doubt. 

Fear. 

Trepidation. 

A war of anxieties. Ruthless, belligerent intruders, battling for control and power. Your mind slowly forfeits, white flag in waiting, ready to surrender yourself to the helm of your own enemies. 

Even with the excitement surrounding tonight, you hadn’t really mastered the art of calming intrusive thoughts and apprehension once they began to build their way into your consciousness.

There’s the brief moment where you consider getting back into your car and driving home— rid yourself of the stress and anxiety that is overcoming you at the thought of being the center of attention tonight— albeit your art the main focus, but with that will come talking about yourself and it has you ready to bail. 

But, you had put so much time and effort into this collection, executing and curating an intimate journey of discovery in the form of detailed lines and brush strokes that make up a whole series of paintings you are incredibly proud of. 

Breathe. 

In. 

Out. 

Dieter comes to mind, the words he shared with you before he left: 

“You were made for this, it’s who you are and it’s what you know— don’t let you be the reason you stop chasing what you deserve. I believe in everything you do, you should too.” 

His words wash over you, each one forging a path for you to conquer your reluctance to seek out something that you have always dreamed of doing. 

You pull out your phone to shoot Dieter a quick text before heading into the gallery. 

Poppy💐: Hi! I miss you and wish you were here ❤. Hope you had a great day. I’ll have Diem take pictures to send you later. Call me when you can. Love you xo

Remembering back to when  Dieter had shared something he does when his anxiety starts to surface, deciding to take a minute to borrow his technique to help ground your thoughts. 

You see the vibrant lights from the front windows of Reverie Studio, the way the moon is peeking out from behind the building making its way through the sky, the streak of lights from headlights of passing cars, blurred bodies of people milling around the streets unbothered by you rooted in the center of the sidewalk, the time stamped over an image of you and Dieter as the lock screen on your phone. 

You feel the weight of your phone leaving your hand as you drop it in your purse, the flowy dress that you picked out with Diem a few weeks ago specifically for this evening, a folded piece of paper with notes for the small speech you were going to give, a good luck charm in the form of Dieter’s 1 year chip clutched tightly into your hand. 

You hear the muted chatter of the early birds spilling from the open door of the gallery, the mingling musical instruments in the local park showering concert goers with an original melodic song, an indistinguishable mix of hello’s and goodbye’s wrapped around gossip filled phone conversations. 

You smell the sweet-vanilla-waffle confections of the little ice cream shop that stays open late during the summer, a hint of a smokey musk dusting the air reminding you of the woody spicy that’s so distinctly Dieter. 

You taste the delicate flavors of a savory future, one that has a palatable balance of sweetness and verve— something so delectable that you don’t think you’ll be able to stop reveling in its richness. 

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ

Your immediate thought is it’s Dieter, pulling out your phone to see it’s instead Diem. 

Diem: Are you going to stand out there all night?? Get your ass in here!

She’s standing in the window with Wren on her hip, both of them waving at you. 

Feeling a somewhat renewed sense of confidence, you wait for a break in the passing cars and jog across the street to join the crowd already forming inside. 

You’re completely taken aback once you’re through the front door, not by the overwhelming number of people who showed up to view your work, but by how the room is filled with a plethora of vases overflowing with poppies. 

The edges of the room, table tops, display pedestals all covered in a sea of pinks, oranges and pale yellow flowers. 

“So glad you could show up!” Diem and Wren wrap you in a joint hug, a warm greeting with a touch of her special sarcasm. 

“Where did all these flowers come from? They weren’t here yesterday when I stopped in to do some final touches.”

“A certain someone might have wanted to surprise you with something special.”

There’s an immediate pang in your chest, his thoughtfulness and his way of showing support by filling the studio space with your favorite flowers, you have to actively fight off the urge to cry tears of happiness. 

You snap a few photos, focusing on the ones that sit below where your canvases are hung on the fabricated display walls. 

You can’t contain the smile plastered across your face, seeing your work being admired by those in attendance, getting a chance to catch up with friends and fellow artists and having your mom close by listening to her talk up your talent with complete strangers— all still while wishing Dieter were here bask in the excitement with you. 

“If I could have everyone’s attention please.” The owners ask, the room’s noise quickly reduced to a curbed level. “We thank everyone for coming to show their support for this wonderful event. We’ll have her share more about it with you and then we’d like to say a few words afterwards.” 

Applause breaches the silence as you’re beckoned to the center of the room, your paper of scribbled notes in one hand and Dieter’s chip in the other, making your way to the front of the mass of people. 

You introduce yourself as you take in all the faces, some familiar and some new, Diem and your mom in a side embrace with Wren to the front of them, each person enthralled and eager to hear you share more about you and the art behind you. 

“Art has always been a part of me, in so many different ways. Growing up I would tear apart my mom’s magazines to make collages of pretty pictures, sorry mom.” Glancing down at your paper as a wave of soft laughter filters around, it elicits a surge of excitement and sureness blooms somewhere deep in your soul, deciding to for-go reading anything you had written and just share from the heart. 

“And then I got my first sketchbook, that thing never left my side. Always with me at school, trips to the grocery store and even on days when my mom worked late, I’d sit in the corner of her classroom and just draw— creating little scenes from memory. I filled the pages rather quickly too, pages were barely hanging on with the amount of wear and tear I had put it through. Before I knew it, I had amassed a collection of sketchbooks and canvases over the years. Art has always been a part of who I am and I think it always will be.”

Everyone seemed so fascinated by everything you’re sharing. Explaining the story behind your collection— starting as a literal dream and slowly becoming a now etched on canvas reality. 

Even the collaborative piece with Dieter is hung among the others, you went the extra step to add his name onto the little artist placard:

Artists: Dieter & Poppy

Title: ‘Sweet Creature’

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas

$: (Not For Sale)

“Thank you all for taking the time out of your busy schedules to be here tonight, I appreciate it so very much, I’ll be around the rest of the evening to chat more or answer any questions. And thank you to Reviere Studio, you’ve become like a second home to me. I’m so grateful that I had the opportunity to share my love for the arts with the many who attended my classes in this very space, but also to be the last art showing truly means so much to me. I will miss you all.”

Another round of applause and cheers fill the open space. You feel like it went pretty well for how nervous you were earlier in the evening, not really sure why you were doubting yourself to begin with. 

The crowd slowly starts to disperse as you start to weave to where Diem, your mom and Wren are standing, getting stopped for hugs and hellos from former class attendees, congratulatory remarks for complete strangers too— you’re even shocked when Betty and Marilyn stop to share their well wishes with you. 

“I’m so proud of you sweetheart, it’s all so amazing!” Your mom wraps you in praises and a tight hug. 

“Thank you mom, I’m so happy you could be here!”

“I’m happy to be here too!” Wren’s excitement is barely containable as she bounces off the floor. 

“I’m so happy you’re here too Wren!” You tell her as you bend down to give her a hug as well. 

Standing back to your full height, you turn to Diem and just wrap your arms around her shoulders and hold her close, she returns the same energy. 

“Thank you so much for everything, you are literally the best friend I could have ever asked for. I love you so much Diem!” 

“God dammit, Poppy! I didn’t wear any waterproof mascara because I wasn’t planning on crying tonight! I love you too!” She pulls away and starts fanning her face, drying up the tears that had started to fill her eyes. 

“Excuse me! We have a quick, exciting announcement to make before the evening continues with drinks and appetizers.” The sweet owner Susi’s voice boomed out to the guests. 

*

Dieter doesn’t like lying, not in general at least and especially not to you— open and honest is how he continues to move forward with his life. 

But this doesn’t feel like a lie, in a sense. A secret. A surprise. 

Taking this role meant sacrificing his time away and that terrified him, especially being his first project to jump back into. 

After a call with his agent on the drive back to LA Monday morning and a check in with his sponsor,  Dieter requested a meeting with the movie’s higher ups. 

That meeting didn’t happen until a few days later, but when he found out filming would be held in and around LA, Dieter learned his request for weekends to travel back to Ojai was successful. 

That gave him less than 24 hours to get flowers ordered to be delivered to the gallery, let Diem in on his plan to ensure everything was in motion, all while you had no idea what was happening. 

Dieter settles in the back of the crowd, tucked out of sight, finding it difficult to keep his eyes off you as you stand up there. 

Watching you share about your life and how art has always been a big part of it, the two of you so similar in many ways makes him feel a deeper connection to you. 

He recognizes the paper you’ve started crumpled into your hand, worn and creased from the repetitive folding and unfolding, scarred by the cross-hatching over abandoned words or shelved sentences, bullet points of importance to add substance to your speech. He likes the version you who was pacing around her living room Sunday morning, paper in one hand and pen in the other, reciting each line with a fluctuating ambivalent tone, stopping intermittently at the coffee table to rework a line or add something he had suggested. But he loves this version of you standing before him right now, no hesitation in your words, speaking with certainty and feeling— you were more than prepared. 

The way you wear your confidence stirs something inside of him— trying his best to keep a low profile, because all he wants to do is scoop you up and kiss you breathless, to tell you over and over, how perfect and amazing he thinks you are.

He notices the light catching something you’re intently smoothing your fingers over, tracing repeatedly over every word— It’s not going to be easy, but it’s going to be worth it— engraved on his 1 year chip, a habit he’s welcomed into his daily routine. You had refused to take it from him when he offered it, not wanting him to be without it longer than necessary, but he had vowed to take it back the moment you were reunited. Placing it in your palm, hinting at the streak of luck it had brought him over the past year, ensuring that it would do the same for you— but he knew you wouldn’t need any.

He wants more of this— more time with you. To feel immersed back into this normal paced life and experience the joys that you feel regularly. 

He has to shuffle himself around a bit when the crowd starts to move about, still trying to not be seen, watching you celebrate post speech with your mom, Diem and Wren— eagerly wanting to do the same. 

The gallery owner’s announcement signals the beginning of something exciting. 

He just hopes you’re as ecstatic about what’s about to be revealed as he is. 

*

Susi takes a moment for everyone to quiet down and focus their attention on her before continuing her speech. 

“Earlier this year, we had made the difficult decision to close our doors— deciding it was time to seek out a new chapter with new adventures and close this chapter on Reverie Studio.”

You’re sandwiched between Diem and your mom, hands intertwined as your head rests on Diem’s shoulder, somber as Susi’s heartfelt words about the studio’s closing. 

“But we have some exciting news to share with you all. The gallery and studio are now under new ownership and will continue to stay open. It will be under a new name, but will still retain what Reverie had previously been known for— classes, art openings, studio space. And while we’re sad to hand it over, we’re excited to see it continue to serve the community.”

The delighted commotion pours out into the streets, catching the attention of passersby’s curiosity. 

“So, we welcome you to the new home of Les Coquelicots Studio. The new owner is somewhere here in the audience too.” Heads begin to turn, seeking out where this mysterious owner is, when Susi points towards the back of the room and waves. “Ah, there he is. Please be sure to make him feel welcome and thank him before you leave. Thank you all again for coming and have a wonderful rest of the night.”

Music begins to brim over the conversations that start to pick up, guests dispersing to fill their small plates with finger foods and refilling of drinks, ambling about observing your artwork and surrounding art pieces. 

But you're too focused on the fact that you had no idea that the space wasn’t closing, as you continue turning about scanning the room for the new owner. 

Everything stills. 

No sound. 

No horde of people. 

Just him. 

Dieter Bravo. 

All Dieter-like too, leaning against the back wall, hands secure in his pockets, the slightest tick of his jaw punctuating his dimple. 

Your brain is actively working to re-hardwire your body to function properly, but you’re motionless. Speechless. 

He’s here, propelling himself forward and making his way to you, even as he stands before you, it doesn’t feel real. 

“Surprise.” His voice nearly takes you out, it hasn’t been that long since you had last spoken, but you’ve missed its gravely tone so much. 

“What are you doing here? I thought— I don’t know what I thought because I can’t think straight at the moment. How are you here?” Dizzy with total surprise and confusion. 

He leans in, laughing at your flustered smile, hands slinking their way to your face, his touch charged with fervor as his thumbs sweep over the apples of your cheeks. 

“Came to see my girl.” He smiles softly, his words a breath away from where you want him most. 

You close the distance between you, his lips fitting perfectly against yours, unbothered by the room full of people around you. You knew you would never get that same feeling or experience like with your first kiss, but this is second best and you welcome it fully. 

Before the kiss has a chance to turn into something more than what is appropriate for the setting, you pull away, resting your forehead on his, breathless and happy. 

“It’s you isn’t it— You bought this place?” The answer is clear as you look into his warm eyes. 

“I did.”

“Les Coquelicots? Monet’s painting?” 

“Poppies.” 

This is it. Your forever. With him. Always. 

“I know how much this place means to you, think of it as a thank you— for giving me a chance, for believing in me.” 

“You didn’t have to buy me an art gallery as a thank you, dinner would have been fine.” Your fingers catching the rampant tears streaming down your cheeks, emitting a breathy laugh. 

“We can go to dinner after this then.” His words mumbled in a kiss against your forehead. 

“You still didn’t answer my question— How are you here? What about your movie?” 

“When I found out we would be shooting locally in LA, I told them I had one request— that I was able to go home every weekend if I wasn’t needed on set.” 

“But your home is already there?”

“I’m selling my home in West Hollywood— my realtor is getting it ready to be listed next week, hopefully moved out by the end of the month. So I can move home.” 

It goes without saying that you know what he means, but you want to hear him say it out loud.

“Do you mean here? You’ll be moving here?” 

He nods his head in response.

“What if this place gets too boring for a big movie star like yourself?” Biting your lip with a hint of a smile. 

“Poppy— wherever I go, you bring me home.” 

The kiss is short, but full of a warmth you crave when he’s in your presence, your arms linking around his neck as he pulls flush against, white knuckle grip on your hips— the two you lost in each other as the work around you carries on. 

“Hmm— so, you’re gonna move in with Diem permanently?” 

“Nah, I’ll find some place eventually.” He winks, no real rush to move in together, but he sees it as an option at some point in the future. 

“Well, if you’re over living with your sister, I have a comfortable couch with your name all over it.” You snort at your offer. 

“Poppy, I’m not sleeping on your fucking couch.”

“Suit yourself then.” You mirror his wink before pulling him in for another string of small pecks. 

“I love you, Dieter.”

“I love you too, Poppy”

Next

[siconetribal]

Put it on My Tab (19)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!reader

Warning: Frustration, Online Gaming, and Revelations

A/N:

Please comment/like/reblog. If you’d like to be tagged moving forward, please let me know! I’d also greatly appreciate it if rebloggers remember to add the tags (or some at least).

As always, a huge thank you and shout out to @harlequin-hangout for the amazing banners you made for me.

If you’re new to the story, please check out the master post for the rest of the chapters.

All occupants of Wayne manor knew Jason was in a sour mood. To what extent or why was not clear, but it was obvious in his lack of snippy banter and increased silence, and when he did respond, it was sharper than usual. It was as if he was regressing back to the days when he was still finding his footing amongst them. He and Bruce never had an outwardly discussion clarifying everything, but there was something that was done to help build a new foundation, regardless oh how shaky that was.

They tried to approach the second Robin in a variety of ways, trying to unearth the reason for the sudden slip into anger. Some thought Bruce and him had an argument, while others thought there may be trouble in the Outlaws. Neither was able to confirm their suspicions, and any attempt to do so was met with aggression and deflection.

Annoyed by all their brown nosing, Jason left the manor and spent the next couple of nights at his own apartment. Of course, I’d have no privacy in a house full of detective vigilantes. He rolled his eyes as he rolled out of bed and made his way over to his computer. Plopping onto the chair, he let it wheel backwards before pulling himself forward by the desk. He stared at the game icon on his desktop for what felt like the umpteenth time today. His fingers drummed just below his keyboard as he eyed his mouse, which rested only a couple inches away. I can’t just log on and act like I haven’t been gone in forever. She’s probably pissed that her online buddy has been MIA for so long. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned back, the chair reclining with his weight. This is my only way to even speak to her, though. I cleared up the bill crap, maybe I can meet her again through here? Fake that I didn’t know who she was? Not like she’d ever know that I knew anyway. Pursing his lips to one side, he intensely stared at his ceiling, as if it held some sort of secret that would aid him in his decision to long on or not. 

“Fuck it, I’m logging on!” The seat swung forward with him as he sat up and logged onto the game.

Arkam_Knight has logged in. The italicized text popped up on the screen, much to Y/N’s surprise. Her character was currently standing in the town square looking at the request board for something that was easy enough for a solo hunt. Seeing the name of her dearly miss comrade was an answer to her desperate pleas for some miracle because there was no mission that allowed solo entry. She eagerly opened the chat box and began to type.

<Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes! Where have you been?! I would’ve called the police for a wellness check, but I don’t have a clue on where you live.>  She watched the ellipses bounce then vanish repeatedly for a couple of minutes. The longer he took to reply, the more concerned she was becoming. An unknown weight slowly creeped onto her shoulders. Anxious thoughts spun around in her mind. The distant ding of his response was able to rip her from the thoughts.

<Yeeeaaah, my bad. Work was crazy and shit had me all over the fucking place trying to clean up. I can’t go into detail, a lot of confidential crap.>

<Yeah, I figured. So, I know you can’t tell me what you do for a living, but I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re working as a high level officer of some kind. I won’t ask you what branch, but sounds like you do work city wide, which I have no clue how you handle that.>

<Someone’s gotta do the dirty work, right? It ain’t for everyone. It just so happens that I’ve got a knack for it.> He added a little proud sticker. <You’ve been MIA yourself, I’ve logged in a few times and saw you hadn’t been on in a while.>

<Where do I even begin? Life has been kicking both of us in the asses, it seems.> She sent an exhausted sticker. She paused for a few minutes, staring at her blinking cursor. How was she going to explain it all to him? Would it even be believable? She, herself, also found it hard to swallow was true. From dealing with Waynes to meeting two of Batman’s partners to being part of a claim investigation because of the collateral damage to the building.

I thought dealing with snobby rich kids and wild Karens was as crazy as my life was going to be. Who knew I’d be entangled with crime fighters and a Trust Fund kid. She slumped in her seat, slowly tapping at the space bar to let him know she was still there. Erasing the long gap of emptiness, she sat up once more.

<Give me a sec, gotta organize my thoughts on this.>

<Damn, that much? Take your time, I’m here.>

<Thanks.> She smiled at the animated thumbs up sticker was sent. At least I still hot my friends.

Jason sank back into his computer chair, rocking back and forth and swinging side to side as he awaited for her response. Watching the symbol of her typing appear and disappear multiple times was far more torturous than he anticipated. He knew what she was going to tell him, he was there with her. She did not know that, and he did not know how she took any of it. The only thing he could rely on were the facts, but that did nothing for his nerves.

If someone told him that he would wake up one morning in a hotel room next to a stranger, who knew how to get under his skin and take over his thoughts, he would have laughed at them. If they told him she was his online gaming buddy as well, he would have scoffed the added detail and never spoken to the person for being out of their mind. And yet, here he was, months later, talking to that very strange woman, battling between keeping in touch and cutting all ties. 

If things could just go back to when we didn’t know each other, it could just be simpler. I can’t even game with her without feeling some sort of way. He rubbed his chest as that uncomfortable weight sank onto his heart. I should’ve just paid the bill and let it be. Why did it matter if she knew me or not? I knew she got screwed over because of me, I should’ve just ended it as soon as I found her. His irrational actions bothered him. He was a cold and calculating vigilante that played by his own rules. He even ran the crime world for a time when he was completely at odds with Batman and was blinded by his heightened rage. He survived death and a beating from the Joker. Handling a hotel bill for a girl should not be this difficult, and yet here he was stuck in quicksand. He glanced at his computer monitor and his eye twitched at the site of the dots vanishing again. “What is she doing, right a novel?!” He threw his hands up and heaved a heavy sigh.

He swung his chair straight at the ding and leaned in close to the monitor, skimming the paragraph before forcing himself to read from the start.

<Ok, Dickens, you didn’t tell me you were publishing a novel! Lol, give me a sec to read all this.>

 It started off as he expected, she mentioned their first few meetings and how she fumbled with trying to hide herself. He could not help the snicker that came at her admission of being angry at him, but a grin quickly took over when she confessed that she found him good-looking. 

“Damn right, you did! I’m fucking handsome!” He boasted, puffing his chest with pride before diving back into the text. I came that night and those pricks were there, ok, Nightwing and Red Robin came crashing through the window, fine, so then-wait, what the fuck! His gaze snapped back to the two mentioned vigilantes and the incident he was not aware of at all. “When the fuck did this happen? Did Dickhead do this on purpose?! I’m going to enjoy getting answers out of him later.” He cracked his knuckles as a wicked smirk took over. He carefully read through the incident and soon realized that this was in fact a coincidence, but his ‘darling’ older brother failed to mention it to him. At least they left her a tip.

Pushing forward, he read about the following insurance claim filing that was on going to prove that this was not something staged. Then there were her concerns about a particular caffeine addicted young teen who was another Wayne with another name. His mind instantly flashed to the memory of Tim’s coffee cup.

Don’t tell me he’s in on it too! Nosy assholes, Jason was ready to flip his computer table but kept his composure. No, he can’t be. He hasn’t been asking me shit or tailing me in any way. That means this is just his need for coffee, and she makes damn good coffee. He reasoned himself back into a state of calm to read onwards. The name of the detective in charge of the claim has him seeing red. He paced the length of his bedroom to avoid breaking his only means of communication with her. “Oh, I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him the next time I see him! That was on purpose, he chose to take the lead on this because I told him her name. Dickhead is in for a world of pain.” His voice rumbled in anger as he expended the rage through physical activity. 

He sat back in his seat when he felt he was calm enough to, and continued to read the rest of what she had to say. She finally got to their last evening together. He made her brownies and she was really touched by it.

<I was purely joking about the brownies, but he actually went through with it! I don’t think I’ve ever dated a guy who made me brownies, and he’s a stranger! It’s insufferable just how perfect he is for dropping such a huge bill on my head!> She punctuated with angry stickers. <I didn’t want to eat them, though. I wanted to keep them forever, like a memento since-well, I’m getting a head of myself.> She dove into the details of their diner date. He remembered that night, they talked for hours, but it felt like hardly any time had even gone by. <I hated asking him to pay, but I had to. It was getting to be too much for me and my roomie. He was great about it, a real gentleman. I said to just help with what was left, but he paid me the whole thing! I really had him wrong in my head. We ended up staying out late, talking. I don’t think I’ve ever had such an easy conversation with a guy before. When the diner had to close, he took me home and even waisted until I got through the front door. But now I don’t have any reason to talk to him, and he hasn’t made any effort to reach out to me either. Which loops back to the brownies. I wanted to keep them as a memento because it looks like that chapter is closed. But all of his efforts would’ve gone to waste. They were really good, which sucks. Now he’s even more of a jerk wad because it’s not fair! My roomie has plans to celebrate my freedom, but I’m not so sure. I want to, but it involves the tip from Nightwing and Red Robin. Would that be considered evidence or something I should hand over to the detective at my formal interview?>

The infamous Red Hood sat there, speechless, with his head swimming from his and her emotions. She clearly wanted to keep up their friendship, and he did too, but it was not safe. She was already linked to two of them, which was bad enough. He knew he was the worst of them to ever be associated with, and that made this more irritating for him. He muttered profanities as he slammed his fist on the desk. If only he could untangle himself from all this, everything would be fine.

<Shit, you really were busy. Glad to hear he paid his dues like a man. But if he’s so hot, why not just ask him out yourself?> He suggested. He needed to act like any other citizen. He needed to distance himself from himself in her mind. <Did you really serve Nightwing and Red Robin while they were on a mission? I definitely wouldn’t have thought about giving them coffee in the middle of all that. Though, he sounds like a weirdo saying your name so many times. I doubt he was threatening you, maybe he’s got some weirdo fetish? I’d say keep away from him. As great as he is, a masked guy flipping through the Gotham night in spandex must have some sorta thing.> He insisted. That’s what you get, Dick-wing. He smirked. <The tip is yours to keep, you served them, and they gave you a tip. Unless it had some secret message or some sort of flash drive, cash isn’t going to be a dig deal. Plus, they didn’t ask you about the tip though they saw it on camera, you’re good. It’s yours, use it.>

<Yeah, she said the same thing. Said it was a gift from the heavens and I shouldn’t be so paranoid. Also, no way in hell am I asking him out! He’ll think I’m some gold digging hussy! The guy paid for dinner and the hotel bill, I think I’m the last person he wants to see again!>

<Listen to me, I’m a guy, trust me. If he thought you were a gold digger, he would’ve ended shit right away or left you at the diner. The guy made you brownies! I think you can give him some slack and think that maybe, just maybe, he likes your company too?>

<If he liked it so much, why hasn’t he texted me?>

<Because he’s a bigger dumbass and overthinks like you? Thinks you hate him or that you don’t want anything to do with him because he landed you in shit?> He countered. <You don’t have to do anything, I’m just saying thinking about it. Whatever you choose, just don’t abandon me again! Solo raiding was horrible!> He added a few tearful stickers to gain sympathy.

<You think? Alright, alright, I get it! Sheesh, I just told you, I didn’t vanish on purpose! I promise, I’ll keep in touch as best I can! I don’t have to OT anymore, so that’s promising. Thanks for listening. Now, let’s go kick some monster tail!>

<LOL, anytime! I thought you’d never ask!>

Tags:

@vbecker10 @wordsfromshona @harlequin-hangout @harpy-space @tild3ath @gone-batty-fics @princessbl0ss0m @dakotall @antiquecultist

[centuryberry]

Since jealousy is apparently the key to getting wukong to realize his feelings, and you said he didn't even realize at all in rin rin route; imagine that in saving Yue macaque kills her father, becomes the new heir cause he's Helen of Troy there, and (since I don't think Mac or Shanzha would go back to be heartbroken, but also macaque doesnt hate wukong so no reason to completely cut contact) ffm get informed by letter Yue is saved and about prince macaque. Wukong of course will visit cause he misses his "bestie" and see just how popular Mac is.

then he realize his feelings and that he missed his chance and also feel horribly guilty for feeling like this in front of his wife

To answer your question directly concerning the scenario you wrote out: yes. Wukong would be filled with a horrible mixture of jealousy/yearning/guilt. But hey, he’s not alone. RinRin would be feeling the exact same thing. What a pair they make.

But things wouldn’t exactly play out that way post RinRin Route.

(More below)

So, while the death of Yue’s Father is a certain thing after Macaque and Shanzha return to the Land of Eternal Snow, it’s a bit more complicated than that. Their intention was only to grab Yue and lead a quiet together in some corner where no one would bother them. Things happened which I won’t expand on since it’s a major spoiler to Queen of the Mountain. A lot of people died (including Yue’s Father).

After the dust settled, there were only a few members of the clan left and an empty clan head seat. And no, Macaque didn’t take it. Shanzha did. It’s her bloodline right as the oldest surviving member of the main line. Technically, it should be Yue who is next in line as the daughter of the Clan Heir, but she was too young.

Shanzha took the seat of power so she can clean things up for Yue to inherit. When other demon clans started to attack the very vulnerable Zodiac Monkey Clan, Shanzha and Macaque took arms and they led them to victory, accidentally expanding their territory. Shanzha was very, very good at fighting and winning, so she became known as a warlord - even though it was other demons attacking her and not the other way around????

Macaque took a role of an advisor since he knows what ruling is like and can see from a mile away that Shanzha was accidentally making an empire. He just wanted the best for their niece, who he’s terribly fond of and wants to give the world to her.

Since they were already co-parenting and have no interest in starting a romance with, well, anyone after their respective heartbreaks, the two get platonically married. It boosts Shanzha’s image anyways to have such a gorgeous mate who’s “devoted” to her and her alone. They make it work.

Now, Wukong - despite some changes - still somehow manages to get himself into trouble with Heaven (eats their peaches, drinks their wine, and steals all the pills) and gets thrown under the mountain. Maybe it’s a self-sabotaging thing. Or maybe it’s an effort to give RinRin immortality so she wouldn’t have to depend solely on his feelings since he realized that his love for her wasn’t as strong as he thought (lol it’s your guilt that’s keeping her there, silly).

Macaque and Shanzha respond when they hear of FFM’s burning. They give help, supplies, and troops to help defend the island as it recovers. Shanzha went directly there herself, reunited with RinRin for a time, before returning to her territory. Of course, there’s lots of unearthed feelings and pining but they leave it open ended since they have responsibilities.

Wukong, on the other hand, has his reunion with Macaque during his journey to the west. He and his pilgrim brothers come across the Land of Eternal Snow and are treated as important guests. No demon shenanigans. Just Wukong blatantly pining over his best friend. Who’s married to the warlord. And has an adorable child.

Zhu Baije: Brother, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but stop flirting. You’re going to get us kicked out.

Wukong: What do you mean? I’m not flirting. I’m just happy to see my best friend after all this time!

Everyone: …

Tripitaka and the other pilgrims are worried about Wukong offending the Warlord but nope, she’s too busy pouring her heart out on her most recent message to the Queen of FFM - updating her about her husband’s whereabouts, of course.

Macaque is doing well. He’s respected, loved, and lusted after by many. What do you mean he’s still not over Wukong? He’s the warlord’s husband. He’s the heiress’ doting guardian. What more does he want?

(Wukong, apparently.)

By the time Wukong has to move on, nothing is resolved aside from Yue getting the most powerful uncle in the world to support her claim to the clan head seat.

For the rest of the journey, Wukong is insufferable. He’s either waxing poetic about his “best friend in the world” or fuming over how Macaque still has demons throwing themselves at him despite his married status.

Whether these celestial monkey idiots resolve their complicated relationship or not is left open-ended. But there’s certainly a lot of pining. And doting over Yue because she deserves the world.

[ihateapbiology]

good news

(Help this feels like the 1D fanfics 😭😭😭😭 but just roll with it lol.)

also kinda tw- kinda like some thoughts on religion/homophobia

You joked with your friends that your ex girlfriend had broken up with you two weeks before you were seeing Julien Baker to give you the “authentic experience.” You wouldn’t call yourself a super fan, you had found her through boygenius and just really connected with her music. Unfortunately you had been connecting a little too much with her music since your ex girlfriend had “realized she wasn’t queer” and that “God was calling her away from you.” You didn’t even feel mad just so sad. So you were ready to cry. You and your closest friends scanned in your tickets and meandered your ways to your seats. You were super close. You had wanted to look nice in case one of your friends wanted to post abt the concert and if your ex saw it…you wanted to look like you didn’t want to rot in bed. The concert was everything and more than you could’ve hoped for. Each chord resonated deeply within you, the lyrics hitting close to home. Her voice was raw, filled with an emotion that seemed to echo your own pain. Tears welled up in your eyes as you let the music wash over you. As you were crying you felt more emotions than you had let yourself feel in a while, your ex breaking up with you had unearthed some of your own religious wounds. Then you felt eyes on you, not one of your friends, you were mortified when you realized Julien was looking down at you. You briefly made eye contact before you looked away fast. The concert drew to a close and you and your friends started filing out. You quickly let them know you were heading to the bathroom.

The tears you had held back during the performance now flowed freely, a silent release of all the hurt you had been carrying, not worrying about how your friends would think.

“Hey,” a gentle voice broke through your sobs. You looked up, surprised to see Julien standing there, concern etched on her face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah I just stubbed my toe really hard” you lie still sobbing.

She smiled a bit and walked next to you and sat. “Yeah did you stub your toe in the middle of my concert as well?” She says, making it known that she remembered the rather awkward eye contact you two had made.

“Alright you caught me.” You softly say. “People have said I’m good to talk to. If you want to.” She says.

You hesitated for a moment before nodding. She sat down beside you, her presence comforting. You found yourself opening up to her, sharing the pain of your recent breakup and how lost you felt. She listened intently, not interrupting, just offering a supportive presence.

When you finished, Julien placed a hand on your shoulder. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this. That..wow that situation literally sounds like what I’d write a song about. I want you to know that no matter what. No matter what a warped preaching of a religion built upon love says you are valid. What your ex did has nothing to do on you, nothing at all, no matter who she was with when she felt this she would’ve broken up with them. Just..allow yourself to feel you know.”

This unleashes more tears “thank you it was just so out of left field you know.”

You guys talk for a bit longer before she has to go finishing cleaning up stuff. “Hey do you live around here?” She asks.

“Yeah.”

“Well if you ever need someone to talk to about this I’m here..” she grabs a sharpie from her pants pocket and writes her number on your hand. “thank you that’s really sweet…you’re really sweet.” You shyly say.

She shrugs “I like helping gorgeous girls” by the look on her face she clearly didn’t mean to say all that much.

However you didn’t register that she had called you gorgeous until 3 hours later as you were watching TV and screamed to your friends.

Now the question remained…would you text that number…

[pikmingrubb]

TWD x Reader Blippit

WTD x FTM!Reader, you’re friends with Rick and here’s just some bs that you’ve experienced in your life during the apocalypse. 

Tags: Blood, gore, non-sexual nudity, hugs, Negan bickering with you, platonic Rick Grimes x reader

Word count: 1,943

Whatever he saw in you, kept you alive and safe. Nothing else but a thread holding on for dear life, and you bit and fought every step of the way. It was honestly disastrous; it took you months to acclimate being with actual humans again. Not just hiding amongst the walkers and rot of the world, you weren’t used to not smelling like corpses.

Not used to the touch of clean water spreading over your back as you scrubbed away every long day and sin you had unearthed. The sponge was probably the softest thing you had felt against your skin, not the dull blade of a knife against your throat, and Rick’s soft eyes pleading with you to allow him to help you.

It wasn’t your first encounter with Rick Grimes, you had originally met him around the time he reunited with his wife, and you stayed with his little group before disappearing. Rick assumed you either died or slipped from his life, he had other people to take care of, and he couldn’t look for a random man he just happened upon.

The next meeting was an accident, your rugged form appeared from the shadows while walkers swarmed his camp, quickly cleaving the heads as they snapped and gnashed their rotting teeth at his small group. When everything had calmed down, and you removed your blade from a rotting eye socket, all eyes turned to you. A foreigner suddenly appeared in Rick’s camp while they all tried to sleep soundly, you were a threat.

You took this moment to allow Rick to puff up and practically manhandle you, his fingers gripping your collar so hard he practically lifted you off the forest floor, “Who. Are. You?” He snapped, his angry snarl in your face, you didn’t honestly recognize him until you saw his sweating face shining in the moonlight.

Your dull eyes blinked slowly, fingers just grabbing his wrists, trying to breathe slowly, “Rick?” You prodded him gently. His eyes widened, shock reaching his face as his fingers slipped open, allowing your feet to hit the ground again.

“You’re alive?” He asked gently, he stepped away giving you some space, the people near Rick seemed to calm down as he raised his hand for them to lower their arms. A few questioning glances still scraped at your skin; you were very much aware of how dangerous of a move you pulled. You could have easily earned a bullet to the skull by saving random people in the woods.

But god were you glad you did, it felt like karma that you had chanced upon him. The lowest you had ever felt before, and now by some stupid game of life, you had found another friend in this desolate world.

Why was it him? You chuckled, Rick’s face just twinged with confusion, “I left to find my best friend, he was…Gone by the time I found him. I’ve been alone since then until I ran into you guys.” You commented slowly, your eyes peered around to observe his little group, you noticed Carl and blinked in surprise. He had gotten a lot taller; he was still just a little kid though, a smile came to your lips as he watched you curiously from behind his dad. You also noticed the gun in his hand, good.

“You’ve been…Alone?” He asked, giving you a worried look, his hands brushed over your shoulders inspecting you, as if he were to see a bite mark or something.

“Bull shit, no one lasts that long out here, he’s got to have a group.” A snarl ripped from the crowd, and your eyes met face-to-face with the most distrusting look you had ever seen. His long hair framed his face a little, his crossbow still brandished in your direction.

“Come on, Daryl, I trust him,” Rick said, stepping closer to Daryl, his hand raised gently trying to block his gaze from your form. “He saved me in the city with Glenn, he’s a good person.” He tried coaxing Daryl to lay his weapon down again.

Daryl’s eyes flicked between you and Rick, you could see the gears working in his head, a frown pulling at his lips. He cursed and let the crossbow fall towards the ground, a snarl still on his face. Rick was nodding slowly at him, “You have every right to distrust him, you don’t know him, but I do. Please,” He said firmly, you just kept your guard down, you didn’t want Daryl to think you were a problem.

This was Rick’s group, and right now he was the only one to give you the courtesy of trust, the others just shuffled around with each other at Rick’s command. You felt relief wash over yourself as Daryl abruptly turned around and paced away from the circle, needing some air.

Rick’s gaze was back on you, you stayed quiet, awaiting his verdict.

“You’re not gonna live long out there by yourself, join us. I know you’ll help,” He offered, his eyes searching yours slowly, you almost saw a glimpse of desperation in his eyes. At this point you had realized just how worn down he and his group looked, your eyes skimming over hungry and tired faces.

You closed yours momentarily, a slow breath leaving your nose, you almost glared at him. “Okay.” You nodded, Rick returned the nod, his hand coming up and brushing over his face as if to clear the anxiety. His hands met his hips and he stood there for a moment, just relaxing before you.

“Good, this is good.” He said to himself, “Okay, how about we try to get some rest then, you look exhausted you should sleep. I’ll watch with Daryl, okay?” Rick said, addressing everyone as they slowly settled back down into their bedding on the forest floor.

Body practically just wilting right there, you curled around yourself as you tried your best to sleep.

That was forever ago, you had stayed with Rick’s group for quite some time, bonding with everyone much to your dismay. You couldn’t help but want to get along with everyone, but the realization that you might lose them drove you nuts.

____

“What’s up, kitty?” Negan smirked slapping your back, you frowned and glared at him through sweaty brows.

“Kitty?” Your voice mocked harshly, Negan’s grin never slipped as he bent down and raked a little at the garden, “Yeah, since apparently you just don’t stay dead. How many lives you got left?” He teased glancing at you while moving aside for you to plant a few potato spuds into the dirt.

“Negan, what the fuck are you talking about?” Your confusion furthered, and your hands gently scraped loose soil over the spud, patting the ground over it.

A laugh escaped his lips, “I heard from a little birdy that apparently you’ve disappeared three times before and you just keep showing back up.” His voice trailed as he worked the hard soil, upturning it and revealing little worms and grubs digging around. He poked at them with the rake and continued on, “What’s with that? Do you have a secret lover somewhere? Let me guess, he’s a walker!”

You roll your eyes trying to ignore his coy remarks, “Uh huh, sure.” You mumbled trying to avoid this conversation, as much as you liked Negan’s rambling, sometimes it’s too much.

“Is it true Rick found you in the woods naked?” Your hands stopped scraping the dirt and you looked up at him, realizing he had been staring at you the whole time. He was sassily leaning against the wooden pole of the rake, his eyes glinting at you as he just smiled.

“Who told you that?” You said casually, just observing him, his grin widened like the Cheshire cat.

“He did, didn’t he!” He whistled at you and made a small motion with his hand, “Oh that is glorious! What the hell were you doing out there?” He said, eagerly awaiting an explanation. You honestly weren’t sure you wanted to relive that moment, not that you cared what Negan thought, it was just…Something that still haunts you a little.

“I was…Surviving…” You said slowly, brows knitting together, Negan just watched you quietly as you tried to gather your words. “I’m surprised he didn’t shoot me, mistaking me for a walker with all the blood on me.” You murmur, remembering the feeling of just being scared.

Blood, everywhere, not yours. It coated your body, The look of wide eyes, body stepping back away from a form you didn’t recognize, Rick’s gun was pointed at you. His words garbling inside your brain, all you knew was one wrong move and you’d be dead. Perhaps not fighting this once was good, god you felt so tired…Did it even matter?

You fell into the tall grass, your eyes watching the barrel of his colt python fall, he looked relieved. You closed your eyes, feeling the sun’s heat wash over your body, finally allowing yourself to slow down. A moment of reprieve.

The next thing you didn’t expect was to feel Rick’s arm circling around your body carefully, a hug. He was just embracing you in the dirt, the blood staining your skin and the stench of death didn’t seem to deter him. Neither did your naked form either, he just peeled off his jacket and wrapped it around you, gently zipping it up to cover your form.

It was a long time before you finally recovered from being alone and mentally unstable living in the woods. You desperately wanted to get better, to be a person again, to feel safe again. The only reason it happened was a lot of kindness and patience from Rick. He looked past the damage and coaxed you gently back to reality.

You eagerly put your hand in his, trusting him completely.

Negan’s face drew you back to reality, he almost looked concerned for you. Your brows rose and you shook yourself out of it, the feeling leaving your body a little cold. A shiver ran up your spine, “Yeah, it was pretty bad.” You said, not really wanting to tell Negan every stupid detail he wanted.

“And you two are just…” He interrupted, a chuckle leaving his mouth, obviously not satisfied with your short answer. “...Normal after that?” He asked, squinting at you a little.

“What you think I’d end my story with, ‘ and then we fucked ’?” Your scrunched face glared at him, he pursed his lips and made a thoughtful face. “I mean, that would be a hell of a lot more entertaining than ‘we’re just really good friends ’ and all that shit!” He slapped his leg a little and sighed, finishing the garden beds while you continued to plant the potato spuds.

“Yeah, that’s exactly how it went, also Rick is straight.” You pointed out, Negan just shook his head a little.

“Also, who spilled to you all that?” You shot your head back up again, now it was Negan’s turn to avoid you, “No one, I just happen to hear a lot of things.” He commented getting down and helping you finish up the work in the beds, clearing the dirt from his fingers.

“Whatever…Also don’t you dare water these, leave them alone.” You comment harshly, getting up and brushing the dirt from your pants, Negan just raised his hands in defense, nodding his head at your instructions.

“Alright, alright, garden sensei.” He said with a large grin on his face, trying to look small and innocent, you just frowned down at him before shaking your head and giving a small smile at him.

[mako-and-tails-and-stuff]

Mako Mermaids F/Feb Day 8 Grey

Day 8 Grey - Rita/Veridia/Nerissa, 803  words, Rating G

Stormy days were grey days. When the pouring rains and howling winds kept them all shut inside and made surfacing to breathe a dangerous task. Most Mermaids took to their caves and waited it out, safe with their friends and their own little treasures. 

Rita had been one of those Mermaids once, until she came onto land and built her grotto from a dusty old cavern under the house to a literal treasure trove. Treasures, potions, rare fabrics, antiques and anything one could think of to do with the sea.

Sometimes she watched the storms from the safety of the house, watching as the grey clouds engulfed the sky and the Sea mirrored it back, an endless gloom set to swallow the whole world if it was left to its own devices. 

Sometimes she used storms as an excuse to look through her collection. Each storm brought out another old chest she hadn’t looked at in years or sparked up the urge to rearrange and change her displays. She once thought about cataloguing everything but she gave up after she filled the first leather bound tome and had barely scratched the surface on her possessions. 

This newest storm was another opportunity. She’d watched the clouds while she waited for the kettle to boil then retreated down to the grotto where she found Veridia and Nerissa already settled in the lower level. Nerissa lying with her head on Veridia’s lap, the latter sitting closest to the stairs, holding a book in her hands. 

Rita kissed Veridia on the cheek before sipping her tea and deciding which area to start on first.

“Now I feel left out. Everyone’s all paired up but me,” Nerissa joked as she sat up. “Mimmi’s over with Chris, Zac and Evie are at Evie’s house and now you two over here.”

“Aww,” Rita gave Nerissa a gentle kiss on the cheek and lightly cupped her jaw, “Least it gives you time to help with some organising down here while everyone else is busy. Both of you can help.”

“I’m not helping, not after last time. You got annoyed at me for not putting everything back right, I’m going to stay here and read,” Veridia swung her legs up onto the bench in one smooth move, the fabric of her dress rippling like the waves as she did so, “Nerissa do not indulge her either.”

“Nerissa can make up her own mind,” Rita retorted,”and besides, she’s using false facts to get pity.” Rita directed her attention towards the Mermaid in question, “You know you’re one of us Nerissa.”

“If you value your peace and sanity stay here with me,” Veridia warned. 

“How bad can it be?” 

Veridia turned back to her book with a laugh as Nerissa gingerly stood up and followed behind Rita. 

As soon as Rita moved the first target box, it unearthed a cloud of dust almost as big as the storm clouds outside which immediately doused both her and Nerissa near enough head to toe. 

“Veridia was right,” Nerissa coughed, “I never should have helped you.”

Rita just shook the grey dust from her hair. “It’s been a while since this has been moved, a bit of dust is perfectly normal.”

“This is not a bit of dust, this is a literal volcanic ash size pile of dust. It’s all over you and all over me.”

“I warned you two,” Veridia called over, “but Rita never listens and it seems you don’t either Nerissa. Now who’s left out, the only voice of reason left.”

“Hearing her, the voice of reason,” Rita continued brushing dust off before raising her voice to make sure Veridia could also hear, “try getting Ondina to do what you say and then we’ll see who’s the ‘voice of reason’ amongst us.”

“Ondina is perfectly willing to follow instructions,” Veridia said, “the majority of the time.”

“When was the last time she did what you asked? She’s too much like you. Never does as she’s told

“Ondina always does what I ask,” Nerissa added. 

“You’ve got the best friend’s mum thing going on,” Rita replied, “plus Ondina was only here for a week before she left for Shanghai.”

“How about instead of arguing, you two get all that dust cleaned off of you?” Veridia asked. “It’s in both of your hair and all over your clothes and I don’t want it on me.”

“Why not? You’d look cute being all dusty with us,” Rita blew a kiss to Veridia.”

“I’m fine thank you, just clean yourselves up.”

Rita waited until Veridia had gone back to her book before cloaking herself and quietly sneaking up behind the other Mermaid and catching her in a hug. The surprise gave Nerissa enough time to catch Veridia from the front. 

“You two are horrible!”

[softsnzstuff]

Thinking about an overworked detective who just caught a big break in the case having to stand out in the rain at night overseeing a crime scene investigation (or something) when he’s already got a bad cold 🤤🤤

——

I’m here to request this!! 🤭

Ask and you shall receive!! Getting back to my roots with some classic M/ystrade goodness.

Summary - D.I. Lestrade has caught the worst cold in a long time but he’s stuck working a new lead in the case thanks to Sherlock. Mycroft stops by and fusses. As per usual. 🥰

Dedicated to @snzagaba for encouraging me to write it and also to my lovely Anon for requesting 💕

The winter rain hammered the pavement all over London, icy winter chill freezing people to the bones. Most people were inside their warm homes at this time of night, but Detective Inspector Lestrade was out near a construction site.

Sherlock had informed him earlier that they needed to go to the site immediately and search for the discarded backpack that would lock up the suspects for good - nasty fellas involved in a brutal child murder.

Greg wasn’t sure how Sherlock always managed to do it, but he hadn’t been wrong yet. This time he was on about the way the suspect wore his belt. Had to give away that he worked construction in the side.

The consulting detective and his partner were standing under two umbrellas, Sherlock barking orders at the dog team. Greg was without umbrella, soaked to his shoes.

“HURRRDSH!!”

He snapped forward, water droplets flying off the soggy whisps of hair.

Sherlock shot him a glare that said ‘you’re interrupting my thinking’.

“Bless you.” John offered before turning back to face the scene with sherlock.

With Mycroft away on business this week, no one was around to tell him to get some rest. The DI had been working late nights at Scotland Yard every day this week, running himself ragged. By Wednesday he’d already started coming down with one hell of a cold. Donovan and Anderson avoiding him by Thursday.

The silver haired man used a wet hand to try and wipe the rain out of his eyes - an effort that was futile. He pulled an already damp tissue from his pocket and coughed harshly into it.

The cough sounded worse than it was - two decades of smoking seemed to have that effect on Greg whenever he fell ill.

“You’ll catch your death out here, Gregory.”

The man in question turned around and was met with none other than the British government himself holding an umbrella over them both.

“ii’GSHHH! Heh’RRRDSHUH!”

Mycroft huffed a sigh, always startled by how loud his partner could be.

“I thi’gk I already have…” Greg mumbled from behind the tissue. He blew his nose, practically turning it to confetti.

“For heavens sake Gregory, do throw that useless napkin away.” The younger man removed a clean and pressed handkerchief from his suit’s breast pocket and handed it to the detective who was already putting it to good use.

“H’eTCHiew!”

“Bless.” Mycroft pursed his lips as he strode over to Sherlock and John.

“Ah, brother. You’ve gained weight.” Sherlock quipped.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, “Could you perhaps hurry this up, brother dear. Detective Inspector Lestrade is unwell.”

“What Grant?”

“You know his name, Sherlock.”

The younger of the Holmes’ brothers shouted at the crime scene investigators who were digging in ponchos.

“Not there you idiots. Your other left!! For Christ’s sake Anderson, didn’t anyone teach you directions?? THERE!”

Right where sherlock pointed, someone hit something solid. After a couple people joined in the digging, it was unearthed as a backpack. THE backpack needed to crack the case.

“Detective, I think you’ll find the backpack was exactly where I’d thought. Inside you’ll found damning evidence that the banker did it all along for the insurance claim. We’ll be on our way now.”

Sherlock turned on his heels, John apologizing but following after him.

“Is that enough to get you home and into some dry clothes then?” Mycroft asked. “Anthea has the car ready to go.”

“Erm… let me make sure Donovan can handle this before I just snfff leave them…”

Mycroft made a note of his partner’s growing congestion. He’d prepare the humidifier later that night.

A few moments later, Greg was trotting back over through the rain.

“Alright, she’s got it. Don’t suppose the British government can summon me a towel?” He teased.

The window of the car rolled down and Anthea handed one over. It was warm as if it had just come out of the dryer.

“How did you-? Nevermind…”

“Don’t mumble, Gregory.” Mycroft ushered him into the back of the car. “Let’s tend to that cold of yours, shall we?”

[edens-notesfromthegarden]

v1/zadkiel || gore :D (wip)

inspired by this post by @8o8o8o8o8

the aches could no longer go ignored.

zadkiel could feel it all, poking and prodding and digging into the deepest parts of himself that he was too scared to reach into. everything he had bottled up over the past few centuries, threatening to rip him apart from the inside out.

the last time he had ever unearthed those emotions was before he left heaven. too much now laid festering inside him, and he had to remove it.

zadkiel couldn't dare ask the prime souls to aid him; the work that needed to be done was far to visceral to expose them to it. gabriel was assuredly also out of the question, knowing many of the things trapped inside were brought about because of him.

which only left one.

they had taken v1 to a bathing pool in limbo, and brought along a basket, plastic mat and sharp blade. it watched them curiously as they set the items up, not moving from their place on the mat.

"so... angels have an odd function," zadkiel began explaining as he finished preparations. they sat down in front of v1, holding the knife in their hands. "we were made to serve diligently and without hesitation. humans would lose faith in us otherwise. in turn, we were told by Him that we cannot show strong emotions, lest we scare or deter those who believe in Him. Doing so does not come without its consequences, however."

unlike his usual methods, zadkiel disrobed himself properly instead of simply willing it away with his staff. the clutch on the knife grew tighter.

"in turn, these strong emotions, these thoughts that plagued the back of our minds... they physically manifest inside of us. they can take on many shapes, but its usually recommended to... clean them out, every so often, as to void the feelings quite literally killing you."

v1 silently looked down at the knife, and back to zadkiel. the angel took a deep, shuddering breath.

"v, i haven't done this in... far too long, and i'll need your help to properly clean myself of these feelings."

zadkiel pressed the knife into v1's hands, as if it had burnt their own to hold. v1 looked between the knife and the angel, before finally understanding what zadkiel was asking of it.

'you want me to...' its hand lingered for a moment, considering how to word its question. '...open you up?'

"quite literally, yes."

v1 quickly shook its head. 'no. i could hurt you.'

zadkiel scoffed quietly, "no worse than you do to gabe when you fight, right?"

'programming may hurt you. i do not want to hurt you.'

zadkiel sighed, a wobble to their lip. "v, please... i couldnt bear to ask minos and sisyphus, and i just... i just know gabriel will be the source of many of the objects you find. i couldnt bear to him to see how i felt about him while i was gone." he took v1's hands gently. "you're my best option... and im too scared to do it myself... i'm so sorry."

they both stared at each other silently, waiting for an answer. v1 could feel the shake in the angel's hands, see the tears welling behind their eyes: they were just as scared.

'you will stop me if i go too far. promise?'

zadkiel let out a pained sob, pulling v1 into a hug. "thank you. i'm so sorry. i will make up for this however you want, i promise."

zadkiel parted, laying himself down on the mat. v1 shifted themselves, hovering over the angel's body with the knife at hand.

'preferred cut?' it signed, slowly lowering the knife to zadkiel's chest

the angel took a deep breath. "i don't recall what humans would call the surgery type, or if it even was a type but... double door? directly through the middle and out the sides. you'll need access to all of it."

he smiled up at v1, tears in his eyes, and took the hand that held the knife, making it press the sharp blade against his skin. v1's wings flickered in agitation and concern, but zadkiel tried to soothe it by rubbing its other hand with a gentle touch.

"i'll be okay, i promise." zadkiel whispered, tone laced in anxiety. "angels are made to be resilient, y'know? i'll be right."

v1 could only quietly nod, and carefully press the blade into the skin.

[senversum]

Opening Character Art Commission (2-3 slot available/ 2 weeks - a Month done/ depending on the complexity

Hello Everyone… first of all nice to meet you guys. you could called me Sen, I'm known as the artist for Totem Force, Unearth Your Gays, and The Onryō of Osaka.

i've been taking hiatus on digital drawing for years, the last time i did some art was in 2021, the reason for it was something im not comfortable enough to disclose in a lot of detail (im sorry) short summary of some of them (beside the covid case) are these :

in 2019 ive been living alone, which makes me have more time to work on art

but i have to come back to my parents house at the start of 2020 to take care of them and my lil sister which taking more of my daily life time

since my parents quite old i have to fully take care of the house chores and such like taking care of my lil sister education, managing the administration file and such when she have to apply for her Junior High School

managing monthly bills like electricity, water, gas, etc (not to mention that i just become unemployed to take care of the house)

i also have to manage our daily food like doing grocery in the morning after taking my lil sister to her school, preparing food for my family (cooking for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and my lil sister packed lunch)

another house chores like cleaning the house, doing dishes and such

not to mention dealing with family drama for my mentally abusive parents (the reason why i leave the house in 2019 and living on another city away from them) which taking a lot for me to stay sane

around 2022 my mom took a turn and make a mess of our life, she ended up diagnosed with bipolar and mentally unstabled state, which cause a lot of problem with neighbours and relative. she cause harmed to herself and other which ended up making me the one to blame for "not taking good care of her"

forgot to mention i also have to deal with my parents debt on top of it (dad never pay the monthly bill for years and caught in indefility, mom taking a bunch of debt from bank and loan shark, lil sister got neglected since i left the house (and yes it was me who usually take care of her since birth she basically said im more of a parent figure for her than her own parents)

there are a lot more i couldnt mention which ended up taking me to a dark places and makes my life feels too much of a burden, i was considering to end myself in 2022 (unfortunately not my first attempt considering how tiring it was to live under my parents abusive tendency in my youth)…

it tooks me a while to get a grip on myself again, but i decide to keep on living my life in hope it get better, not to mention i hate the thought of burdening other people by taking the easy way out, i still owe a lot of people, and my lil sister still need me to keep on taking care of her, and i dont know what will happened with this house if theres no one to take care of it

im not talking to any professional yet but talking with some close friend online does help quite a lot in sorting out my thoughts.

im stable enough now to deal with my daily life in this house, and im planning to stick with it until my lil sister graduated from her high school in around 3-4 years in the future. in my vision she will be old enough to taking care of herself then so i could get my rein back to focusing on my own life

Long story short im slowly getting back on drawing digitaly since 28 march this years, and lets be honest… i couldnt fully work on my backlog without earning any income for my living cost while im at it, so hopefully by taking another comission alongside my overdue list i could get through all of it. and please dont worry and thinking i will neglect your commision, i will give my best to finish it within 2 weeks - a month (depending on the complexity of it). you could talk more detail with me if you decide to take my service offer

Im thanking all of you for even considering reading all this stuff, sorry for the long post and thank you..

TL:DR im opening character art commision for like 2-3 slots, you could find more of my samples here :

and i will post my commission sheet here :

once again sorry for the long post, and please contact me if you are interested… thank you <3

[a-skirmish-of-wit-and-lit]

Book Review: The Mystery Guest (Molly the Maid #2) by Nita Prose

What a delight to be back dusting off clues and tidying up mysteries with Molly the Maid again! Though I'd dearly hoped for a sequel to The Maid, I didn't expect one, so excitement checked me into the story even before I had opened to the first page. And with the murder of a famous author to solve, plus sudsy charm in spades, this did not disappoint at all!

Now Head Maid at the Regency Grand Hotel, Molly Gray is doing well. It's been four years since that nasty business with Mr. Black and she is enjoying life. Not only is she living happily with her boyfriend, Juan Manuel, but she is following her passion for rules, order, and organization by taking on new leadership and training recruits on how to be spotlessly efficient maids. However, when renowned mystery writer, J.D. Grimthorpe, drops dead from a poisonous beverage right before he's supposed to make a huge announcement in the Tea Room, her squeaky clean world is once again thrown into disorder and chaos.

With fingers pointed in the wrong direction for a second time, threatening not only members of her staff but also the hotel's pristine reputation, it is up to Molly to unearth the killer. After all, if there is one thing she knows for certain it's that she catches details that others tend to miss.

So can she do it? Can she follow the crumbs that were left behind to catch the culprit before another innocent is wrongly accused?

With suspects lingering in every crook and cranny of the hotel, with Detective Stark sniffing around like a bloodhound in search of answers, and with Molly harboring a secret connection of her own to the victim, there is much to tantalize readers in this book. The murder mystery unfolds itself in a cozy fashion--with oodles of warmth and quirkiness and neurodivergent richness. Molly herself is as competent and as captivating as ever, having matured into a more confident self-assured version of herself where she is able to champion her uniqueness instead of allowing herself to limited by it, and I loved being privy to her growth in that way.

I also appreciated the interconnectedness of the dual timeline, which I believe provided both endearing exploration into Molly's childhood and background, especially her time at the Grimthorpe mansion with Gran, as well as searing insight into who she is as a person, as a precocious character one can't help but love. That structure helped to add intrigue, create suspense. More than that, though, I thought it allowed Molly's infectiousness to take deeper root so that she could continue to not only thaw the hearts around her, but change their perspectives, altering other's attitudes for the better. And what's not to love about that? It's so heartwarming!

The ending left it open for Molly's crime-solving to continue in the future and, I, for one, hope it does because I'd help mop up killers with her forever!

Many thanks to NetGalley and Ballantine Books for the ARC in exchange for my review.

4/5 stars

**Follow me on Goodreads

[tact-and-impulse]

Narumayo Week 2022 Day 5

Have I been thinking about this AU for over a whole year? ...Anyway.

Prompt: Family

…Where am I?

She doesn’t know. She feels tired and weak. Grating noise fills her ears, and she wants it to stop. She blindly moves her hands, searching through touch alone, and immediately, the noise worsens. Then, voices join in, calling for help. And at last, she hears her name.

Mia Fey opens her eyes.

It’s only for an instant, before sleep pulls her under again. But at the foot of her hospital bed, she sees a bright blue jacket.

***

By the time she recovers, the case has ended. Redd White will be in prison for attempting to murder her, an attempt that would’ve been successful if Phoenix hadn’t returned to the office. And the scumbag had the audacity to incriminate Maya. Her little sister’s had an ordeal, but nevertheless, she’s there to escort Mia out of the hospital. Her smile almost makes Mia forget her renewed worry about a different patient.

“I’m fine, Sis. Phoenix defended me in court.”

“Did he? I’ll have to thank him tonight.”

The party is only comprised of the three of them, plus Charley. They feast on gourmet burgers, and Mia receives the entire story from Phoenix and Maya. She’s listening but she also notices how comfortable they are around each other. She thought they’d get along, and she might have underestimated how well. Already, it’s like they’ve been friends for years.

Unfortunately, it’s the sole break they have for months. With the takedown, the office is in high demand. Mia is soon swamped with cases, and while she can always set aside a minute or two, Phoenix has to step up in his responsibilities.

Maya volunteers to assist him. “I can back him up! Don’t worry, two pairs of eyes are better than one.”

Ultimately, Mia doesn’t argue. Her sister deserves to explore the city like a normal teenager, to learn what life is like outside spiritual training. “Look after her, Phoenix.”

“Of course, Chief.”

It’s not until after Christmas and the unearthing of the DL-6 case, that she begins to suspect something. Maya’s tearful at the train station, but her mood lifts once Phoenix reminds her of the vital evidence she uncovered. And Mia notices that her face is noticeably pinker when they hug goodbye.

***

After enough of Maya’s calls mentioning Nick, Mia decides it’s time to broach the subject. “So…Phoenix.”

He visibly gulps. “Sorry, Chief. I meant to clean the bathroom earlier-”

“What? No, never mind the bathroom. I wanted to talk to you about Maya.”

Immediately, he perks up. “Is she alright?”

Huh. Interesting. He’s been moping since Maya left, not motivated to take on new cases. “She’s doing well. In fact, I was planning to visit her this weekend, since it’s only an hour by train. Do you want to come with me?”

“Sure! Wait…only an hour by train?”

“That’s right.” She smiles. “So, we can visit any time.”

Maya’s thrilled to hear they’re both coming, and in the background of her phone call, there’s rustling and thumping. “Oh, I have to clean my room! Nick will totally make fun of me.”

Mia can’t resist laughing. She’s way too obvious.

In Kurain Village, her guard is automatically up. Despite her presence, the elders stare at Phoenix, and when Maya cheerfully bounds out of the house, Mia distracts the group of old women. It’s also embarrassing that they assume she and Phoenix are a couple.

“He’s my subordinate.” She coolly says. “And a good friend to me and Maya. He saved us both.”

They may curl their lips and give nasty glares, but as long as Maya and Phoenix are happy, Mia doesn’t care. Maya provides an animated tour of the village, while he looks the best he has in weeks.

“Mystic Mia?”

The soft voice stops her and she turns to see her youngest cousin. Little Pearl, who’s sweet and kind and unlike the other women in her family. “Pearl, it’s been a while! You’ve gotten much taller. Goodness, you’ll outgrow me someday.”

Pearl gasps. “That’s not true, Mystic Mia! But it’s good to see you too. And, um, is that man Mystic Maya’s special someone?”

“…Special someone?”

She vigorously nods. “Mystic Maya talks about him all the time, that he’s brave like a knight in shining armor! And Mystic Maya is like a princess, so…so…!”

“Well,” Mia stretches out the word, buying time. “I don’t think we’ve reached that part of the fairy tale yet. In the meantime, let’s keep it to ourselves.”

“Okay!” Pearl is delighted to share a secret, and Mia smiles at her.

Then, she happens to glance up at the Fey house and a curtain falls, obscuring a silhouette. A foreboding chill pricks at her skin; out of habit, her fingers grasp for her own magatama.

***

One disastrous channeling later, Mia isn’t surprised when her aunt goes to prison, and honestly, that makes her sad. But she takes custody of Pearl, and Maya temporarily moves in with them.

“Phoenix is a good guy.” Mia offhandedly remarks, when Pearl is out of earshot. “He’s loyal, brave, funny. And a defense attorney, which is always a plus.”

“What?!” Maya squeaks. “Sis, it really isn’t like that. He doesn’t see me as more than his assistant.”

“Oh my God.” She rolls her eyes. “He broke down a solid door for you! And didn’t you two just go to the circus?”

“With Pearl! It wasn’t a date!”

“Were you hoping it was a date?”

“Ugh, this is so embarrassing!” Belying her eighteen years, she clamps her hands over her ears and runs off.

Not long after, Mia does regret teasing her. All she wants is her sister to be safe and alive. She jumps every time the walkie-talkie hisses, and Phoenix isn’t any better. He yells Maya’s name into the receiver, without fail every time. And when Maya is finally released, Mia breaks down into sobs. She embraces her little sister in the lobby, overcome with emotion.

“Maya!” Phoenix emerges from the courtroom, and he heads straight for her. He lifts her off her feet, and when he sets her down, he holds her face with such tenderness.

Before Mia can ask, she gets a call from the hospital.

***

The subsequent years are bittersweet, of trials and triumphs. Phoenix nearly loses his badge, not to the point of disbarment, but his confidence is shaken until he helps a new attorney. His adopted daughter, Trucy, is a sweetheart who adores Maya. Her training has escalated, necessitating a stay in Khura’in, and the transition is hard at first before she grows into her role as a full-fledged spirit medium. Pearl has returned to the village, her own training guided by Misty. Their reunion had been another close call with death, but at last, their family is whole.

As for Mia, she’s continued to head the Fey and Co. Law Offices, but now as a wife and mother. Too aware of the fragility of life, she and Diego hadn’t wasted any more time. Their son had arrived four years after their wedding, and he’s certainly kept them on their toes.

She’s just finished giving Marco his lunch, when Phoenix enters the office. “Hey, Chief. Has Maya called yet?”

“No, but she should soon. Why do you ask?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you serious?” She deadpans. “You’ve been talking almost every day since she left. You should just fly over there and ask her out yourself.”

“Wait, what?!”

“I’m not blind. I’ve watched over you two for the past ten years, it’s honestly annoying at this point. And it’s not just me. Pearl is still your biggest supporter, Mom’s ready to give her blessing whenever, and even Diego’s mentioned you’re taking forever. Do you know how many times Trucy’s brought up to me that she wants Maya to be her mom?”

Stunned, he slowly replies. “Maya and I are friends. It’s not like,” He’s flustered, rubbing the nape of his neck. “I mean, she can do better.”

It’s been a long time but she’s rendered speechless. Then, the phone rings and Phoenix eagerly picks up. “Hey, Maya.” If only he could see his expression, he’s completely in love with her.

“Oh my God.” Mia mutters, and as dignified as she can be with a toddler on her hip, she marches off.

poppy: imagination, dreams, eternal life

[jonnysinsectcatalogue]

Narrow-Mouthed Snail-Eating Ground Beetle - Sphaeroderus stenostomus

Success! The identity of this insect has (hopefully) been confirmed!

This wonderful specimen was unearthed by accident from the fallen leaves, and likely it was disturbed from its overwinter preparation. As its form suggests, this is one of the many voracious and predatory Ground Beetles that prowl along the forest floor, lending a helping hand to keeping pest insects in check. They can overwhelm prey with great speed and seize them in their mandibles. For all the speed at its disposal, it ironically prefers to make meals out of land snails. With a narrow, (relatively) elongated head, it can reach into the opening of a snail’s shell until the thorax doesn’t fit and bite the soft gastropod with ease. It’s also reported that if this Beetle can’t find snails, it will turn its attention to hunt slugs or soft-bodied insects such as Caterpillars. While running around, this forest cleaner uses its large eyes to watch for hunters and the hunted, and should the former be around, it has to run for cover, squeezing under objects with its flattened body until it’s safe to proceed. It cannot evade otherwise as this type of Ground Beetle is actually flightless, and can’t escape on the wing! The wingcase is fused together forming a singular armored shell and the hindwings inside are reduced.

This showcase was one of the first sets of images uploaded to this blog, but I didn’t know what it was. To paraphrase myself from years ago: While in Muskoka there was a lot of raking to do, and while cleaning up the area I found this Beetle...but I didn’t have my phone nearby. Luckily one of my closest friends had her iPhone and was happy to lend it here. Identification took a while as the pronotum shield shape wasn’t correct on any specie I found. It’s a distinct curved shape with a line down the center, two rises in the back. It’s not a long journey like it was to identify the Bull Bush-Cricket; it’s just that there are many Ground Beetles with this general shape, shell color, and overall proportions. I initially thought it was a Pterostichus Beetle and then later settled on Carabus goryi which is confirmed to live in Ontario, but I wasn’t confident with that answer. This insect was left alone for a few months until serendipity struck on a Bugguide search. When searching through the many subdivisions of Carabidae, the genus Sphaeroderus was found, and I was delighted to finally see images where the wingcase, thorax, head and legs all matched perfectly. S. canadensis looks similar, but S. stenostomus was ultimately chosen due to abdomen’s curvature and the wingcase shape and texturing. 

This was a previously unidentified insect originally posted on November 16, 2018 whose picture was taken on November 3, 2018 in Muskoka with an iPhone 8. Thank you dear Lin for lending me a camera and sending me on a journey to discover this Beetle!

[lewis-winters]

Day 6: Reflection

part of my OC-tober 2022! though Arthur Benjamin Foster is an oc created by my friend @hellofanidea! I hope I did him justice.

tw: some gender dysphoria, though this is more about gender euphoria and the second puberty trans folks go through when on HRT! with joe teaching arthur how to shave once his first beard starts showing up after a few months on testosterone. this takes place in the 1950s-ish, an era in trans history that's more commonly known as a time where HRT for trans folk was introduced to the medical community. from what I could find, it was more toward feminizing hormone therapy, but since testosterone was first isolated in 1935 and Michael Dillon is on record as the first trans man to receive an early version of testosterone therapy as early as 1939 (when testosterone was still very poorly misunderstood) from a Dr. George Foss, it's not a massive leap that Arthur could and would receive masculinizing hormone therapy in the 1950s.......... but also at the same time since when did I care about 100% historical accuracy? here, have some trans content. because I said so.

“Quit squirmin’.”

“Can’t,” Arthur grumbles, shifting from left to right, uncomfortable for more reasons than just the height of the chair keeping his toes a couple of inches off the ground. “’M sweaty.”

That’s an understatement—he’s drenched. And oily, too. He’s never had to take so many showers in one day before these couple of months, what with him being sticky and slick in numerous unsexy places he never knew a human being can be sticky and slick in. All of that, of course, compounded tenfold by the near unbearable itchiness of growing hair, um, everywhere; from his legs to his arms to his pits, the prickly masses of brownish red appearing seemingly overnight and doubling in number, turning him into one sweaty, and occasionally smelly, auburn furball of a man.

He's never been so happy to see his reflection in his life.

“Do we have to?” he asks Joe again, trying not to make his admiration for his new, patchy beard show as he checks it out in the mirror in front of him. “It could get real bushy soon, if we jus’ let it be.”

“If ya don’t shave it, it won’t grow in evenly,” Joe patiently says, not looking up from his prep. He’s got soap, a bottle of shaving cream, a towel soaking in a bowl of warm water, and a glass bottle of what Arthur had first thought was cologne, but now knows is something called after shave. Curiously, Arthur observes the way Joe puts the pieces together, trying to memorize them for when he later has to do this all by himself, a prospect that excites him a lot.

Once he’s ready, Joe turns to him, taking Arthur’s chin with his index finger and thumb to turn his face side to side for inspection. It shouldn’t take more than a minute, but his gaze lingers for longer, a softness in his eyes he does a very bad job at hiding behind faux-seriousness. Arthur fights not to blush under the scrutiny—he fails. Spectacularly. Because aside from just being constantly sweaty and hairy, he also runs so hot under the collar. All. The. Time. He should be more embarrassed by it, having the sex drive of a teenaged boy at nearly forty years of age, but Joe and George are enjoying it immensely, and aren’t afraid to let him know. As a result, he’s only marginally embarrassed.

“You’re very close,” Arthur croaks, newly deepening voice creaking over the last syllable in giggly nervousness.

Joe smirks. “And you’re very handsome.”

It’s so unfair.

Not that Arthur is actually complaining, letting Joe lather him up, clean his face, wipe him down, then wrap him up in a warm towel to stew for a couple of minutes, allowing himself to get lost in the heat for a little while before Joe unearths him from it and brandishes a new, shiny razor. Not the straight razor like he’s seen Natalie use on her own face—that’s for the closer shave she favors, where nearly no shadow or stubble is left behind. This one’s a simpler, metal razor with those double blades you can buy from your local mom-and-pop shop convenience store that, if used incorrectly, could leave you spiky like a porcupine at best, badly razor burned at worst. Joe holds it up for Arthur to take, watches him take it, hold it, considers it for a moment, then takes it back.

“Let me do this one for you,” Joe amends, using his knee to spread Arthur’s legs further so he can slot in closer, lifting his face once more to inspect it, then nodding toward their reflection, silently instructing Arthur to pay attention. “Watch— we go with the grain first, alright? So I don't accidentally cut you.”

Joe begins, swiping down Arthur’s cheeks a few times, murmuring instruction as he goes, twitching slightly to the right or left on occasion so Arthur can see him work in the mirror, before going back in to clean up his passes. As he goes further, he takes Arthur’s hand and lets him touch, to let him feel how the hair growth patterns change, or to let him feel what freshly shaved skin is supposed to feel like. All the while, he’s careful, the gentleness in which he maneuvers the blade over Arthur’s face in great juxtaposition to his broad frame, usually so big, now made small as he hunches over and cradles Arthur’s face in his big hands, and methodically rids him of shaving cream and hair.

He's so close, too. Hovering just an inch away from Arthur’s nose, a pleasant blur except for his thick eyebrows furrowed in concentration. His delicate eye lashes fluttering distractedly over the gentle swell of an olive cheek. In times when they’re lulled into a silence, Joe getting lost in his work, inching in closer when a particularly confusing patch of hair requires him to turn the razor around for a more complicated pass. Arthur’s hands have found their way to Joe’s waist in the meantime. Partly to steady himself. Mostly in indulgence.

It takes at least thirty minutes, then another ten for a double check, before Joe declares himself done, taking a step back—though not by much—to admire his handiwork and show Arthur in the mirror. The man that stares back at them looks like a fresh boy, now. The roundness of his jaw more prominent without all the hair providing contour and shadow. Arthur can’t say he likes it, slightly less comfortable with his naked face than he used to be before, but at least now he can soothe himself with the knowledge that the hair will grow back. Possibly thicker, too. And he’ll be back in this spot in a few days’ time to once again shave his beard.

Arthur lets out a shaky exhale of giddy excitement. He gets to shave his beard.

He has a beard.

“Thank you,” Arthur says, grinning and accompanying it with a quick kiss that Joe tips his head to receive. Arthur meant it to be chaste, just a little peck, but Joe cups his face in his hands again, when he tries to pull away, and brings him back close for a harder, more thorough kiss. Not leading anywhere. Just reassuring. Like an extra squeeze in an already cozy embrace.

When they part, Joe smiles. Then pecks him one last time. “Don’t thank me yet.”

Arthur blinks. “What? Why?”

The answer is aftershave.

George coincidentally comes home just as Joe playfully slaps some on to Arthur’s freshly shaved cheeks, and laughs himself almost to tears in the bathroom doorway, as Arthur curses up a storm.