#intimacy that doesn’t always need to be explained but is understood through the energy

[anazageek]

Their love isn’t just a story—it’s an emotion that consumes us, uplifts us, and makes us believe in the beauty of unspoken connections.

[seduceme-lovestruck-thearcana]

The First: Prequel

Chapter 1: Burden of a Soul

Hello!!! This is a redo of my The First series, BUT I will start with some prequel chapters that are important :). Basically, the prequel chapters will explain a few important details (very important details) and explain stuff that will be mentioned in the main story that won’t have room to be explained.

I hope you enjoy :)💙. Feedback is always appreciated.

And if I wake up and regret the chapter, I may delete it and start over😭.

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There once was a woman named Mary Anderson. To everyone else, she was a normal girl. She was born in a normal city, lived in a suburb area with good neighbors, went to good schools, and seemed so normal. She had long, black hair, green eyes, freckles along her nose, and a lovely voice. There never seemed to be anything weird or strange about her. To her few friends, she was just another girl. She laughed, had hobbies, was kind to others, everything someone could’ve expected from a person.

But she was everything but normal.

In reality, she was a demon. Her family and a few neighbors were demons, too. Her specific kind was a soul eater mixed with succubi, so she always craved both kinds of energy. A soul and some intimacy. Despite the ability to get energy from both, her family chose the worser side, in her opinion.

None of them saw that when she went home, her glamor fell and her horns and Lilith markings were revealed again. None saw that her family, on certain nights, had souls as their energy source. As a kid, she didn’t understand and never asked. A part of her was too afraid to. But when she finally learned and understood how they got the souls, she felt…disgusted. Every demon she knew acted as if it was normal, and many told her she’d change her mind after time.

But her mind never changed, she only felt more and more disturbed.

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“We…take souls?” Mary asked, voice shaking with a fear. She knew it was pointless to ask, but she needed to.

Her mother laughed. “It’s how we live, dear.” She reached out to touch Mary’s shoulder, but she stepped back.

She shook her head and took another step. “We can take energy other ways! We don’t need,” she stumbled for words, “this to keep us alive and powerful.” She thought of the friends she had brought over, and how few she ever saw again at school. It made her feel sick, and she ran to her room, locking it. At first, her despair and guilt took over her. She couldn’t believe she did that, she took from innocent people, some she was friends with! But then she went back to her senses and knew wallowing in her sadness wouldn’t help.

She searched her room for the books of magic and rituals her family had. Somehow they obtained them, and since she was the youngest, they were given to her. To “help her become stronger,” they told her. She searched each and every book, looking for anything about soul eaters, about her. She wanted it all gone. This power inside of her, these…souls.

“Are they even alive?” She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. I need them gone.”

However, despite how hard she searched, she found nothing. Soul eaters were rare, so almost no book had any information about them and how to stop them. She would’ve kept searching through other books, or other people, but it was dangerous. Soul eaters were hated and hunted, so revealing herself in any way would harm her, and she wouldn’t be able to free the souls in her.

That night she made an oath to herself. No matter how long it took or how hard the path would be, she would free them. “Even if it takes all of me.”

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She stayed with her family until she turned 23. She left, finally able to sustain herself, and cut everyone off. Her plan always was to leave, but when she was finally gone a part of her was sad that none tried to stop her.

Once finally gone, she lived life like a normal human on their own would. She had a job, owned an apartment, ate and slept. However, most of her nights didn’t involve sleeping. There were times where she went to the hidden demon district, looking through all the books they restocked daily. Even if years had passed, she didn’t forget her oath. But one night was very different, one she held close to her heart.

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“How much are these two?” Mary asked.

She stood at at the counter of a bookstore, one hidden in the demon district. She finally found two books mentioning her kind, and that had rituals in them. The rule in the store was that they couldn’t read the entire book there, they had to buy them. She only saw the word “soul eater” a few times on the pages she skimmed in one, and a chapter titled that in the other.

“A thousand for both.”

She closed her eyes and sighed with slight annoyance. She knew the books would be expensive, but not that expensive. She prayed she wouldn’t regret the purchase.

Though her wallet cried in protest, she paid for them and left with a quiet “thank you.” While she walked through the multiple alleys to leave the district, she held them close to her chest, too afraid of letting others see and afraid of dropping them. She avoided everyone’s gaze, and blocked out any voices aimed her way. She almost made it out and felt comfortable again, but since she didn’t pay attention, she ran into a young man, almost knocking them both over.

He grabbed her arms to steady her. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” He apologized, straightening his glasses.

“Oh, it’s all right! I’m sorry I didn’t,” she stopped when she looked up at him. Being a demon, she could sense someone’s aura, and usually could sense what they were.

And that man, a man who was about to head into the demon district full of demons, was not a demon. He was a human.

He straightened his clothes and excused himself, going to move past her, but she grabbed him by his arm. “Is something the matter?” He asked confused.

“W-What are you doing here?” She asked quietly, leaning closer trying to make sure no one heard them.

“I take this route to go home. It’s a little quicker than the other,” he said, nonchalantly.

Her eyes widened. “And how often do you take this route?”

He tilted his head at her, his confusion turned to worry. “Is something the matter, ma’am?”

She nodded. “Yes! This is a,” she looked at the others gazing their way and calmed herself down before she spoke again, “not a so good route.”

He snorted with amusement and took her hand, gently prying it off of his arm. “Why? Because it’s filled with demons?”

“It’s just not-.” She stopped with surprise and blinked multiple times at him. “You…know it has demons?”

He laughed quietly at her shock. “Yes. And I know you know it does too,” he gestured to the books in her arms, “Those books aren’t found just anywhere. I’ve seen them before.”

She grabbed his arm again, tighter that time. “You have?!” He winced at her grip, and she pulled back with a guilty look on her face. “I’m sorry, it’s just… Can we speak somewhere private?” She closed her eyes and shrugged. “But I get it if not. I don’t expect you to trust a stranger you just met.”

He looked at her with curiosity, his blue eyes appeared brighter. “I may not trust you, but I can tell you need help. We can talk at the bookstore you visited.”

She wanted to suggest someplace else, but she had nowhere else. A regular public library shouldn’t know about anything demon related, she wouldn’t take him to her apartment nor would he take her to his, and the topic was too controversial to ask with many demons surrounding them, so she nodded and they went right back to the bookstore. As if the Lord looked down on a demon and a human, there was a perfect spot in the back, deserted by everyone.

They sit down at one of the small tables and Mary looked at him with confusion. “How do you know about this district? You’re human.”

He winced and shook his head. “I cannot tell you, miss…”.

“Mary,” she finished with a smile.

He held out his hand, smiling when she shook it. “My name is Harold Anderson.” He cleared his throat and the curiosity and almost boyish attitude disappeared and was replaced with a seriousness a general would have. “Now, why do you need these books?”

She bit her lip and messed with an edge of the book, suddenly feeling nervous. “I need information about soul eaters.”

“Can I ask why?”

“No,” she said quickly, voice firm. A part of her felt guilty for her tone, but it were necessary. She didn’t want another human to get hurt because of her, even if it wasn’t directly because of her.

He nodded. “Fair.” He took the book and flipped through the pages quickly, not even reading a single one, and stopped at a certain chapter. It was the, “Soul Eater,” chapter. Instead of stopping at the title page, he stopped at a page with a ritual. He gave her the book and tented his fingers while she read. “I know you won’t tell me why, but I have a feeling you need a ritual to either stop them, or get rid of a soul.”

“That’s…possible?” She asked with disbelief. She scanned the pages and took in every diagram and picture she saw.

“It’s in the book, but I’ve never done it myself,” he sighed, “so I don’t know if they actually work.”

“But there’s a chance,” she whispered. For a moment, her heart felt light and she had a rush of…excitement?

“The downside is that this ritual specifically,” he tapped a diagram on the page she was on, “can only be performed by a demon. Or, at least, it’s recommended since it requires a lot of energy.” He stared at her, and it felt like he saw through everything in her.

She dented the edge of the page, holding back a giggle when he made a noise of protest, and closed it with a sigh. She rolled her eyes at his piercing gaze and nodded. “Yes, I am a demon, and yes,” she leaned in close and lowered her voice to be almost inaudible, “I am a soul eater.”

He hummed, voice very relaxed for a human who learned they sat with a soul eater in front of them. “Then why do you need this book?” He looked concerned. “You’re not…going to do something to yourself, are you?”

She hesitated for a few moments, waring with herself. She sighed and shook her head. “Like you told me a moment ago, I can’t tell you.”

That time he rolled his eyes, and leaned back against the chair, practically sulking. “Alright, alright.” When she got up and started to leave, he quickly pulled out a small, foldable notebook and a pen. “If you need help with anything, or when you’ve resolved what you need to, give me a call.” He handed her a paper with his phone number, and he chuckled quietly when she blushed.

She took it and placed it in her pocket, avoiding his gaze, suddenly too embarrassed. “I will, I promise.”

They separated then, both going their own ways, neither aware that their lives would be more intertwined than they thought.

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[suzunofuu]

Let’s consider Lan Wangji learning to love touch thanks to Ah Yuan... We know he has never been comfortable with physical contact, but with time Ah Yuan starts to bring it out on him until it becomes another part of himself.

Like, the moment he took the child to gusu he kept him between his arms, with the excuse that the boy was scared, and lonely, and hurt, and so feverish he could die so he needed comfort... and yes, he had to go through his own punishment and heal his own wounds, but after much begging and pleading (and ater Lan Xichen insisted on his behalf), they allowed Ah Yuan to be, at least, in the same room as rich-gege, sometimes even within Lan Zhan’s arm reach, so he’d hold little Ah Yuan’s hand as he slept the pain on his back away.

And then, when he was secluded and hidden away to reflect on what he had done, Ah Yuan was kept secret with him. As he gained his mobility again and stopped feeling sick and disoriented 100% of the time, Lan Zhan recuperated some of his discipline, and forgot how to bring/ask for comfort. Therefore, he made a promise to start to learn how to do it.

In the beginning, when Ah Yuan cried and cried because he had hurt himself or because he missed his family, Lan Zhan would watch him silently, or sit next to him, rubbing his back as soothingly as he could. Ah Yuan would drop himself across his lap, or curl onto it, crying earnestly onto his chest. From then on, Lan Zhan would scoop him into his arms if the boy every cried. His hand learnt by itself to cup the back of the boy’s head, and that it’d bring a sense of protection to the little kid.

He made a promise to never let Ah Yuan feel unprotected again. No matter at what cost.

One time, Ah Yuan got a tiny cut on one of his fingers and came running to him, teary eyed and suffocated, holding the finger up as if it was burning.

“You have to heal it!” Ah Yuan pleaded, but Lan Wangji could only blink at him, without understanding. “You have to kiss it better!”

And Lan Wangji has never been able to deny this little boy anything, not since he rescued him from a premature death. He brought his little hand close to him and left a feather touch of his lips on the wound, even if the touch didn’t feel all that natural to him. Ah Yuan smiled, satisfied, and left to keep playing whichever game he had made up.

That time, Lan Wangji learnt that kisses had some sort of magic in them, and that they could heal.

Of course, Lan Zhan has to take care of the boy’s hygiene. They bathe in the river together, and Lan Wangji rediscovers, from a completely different point of view, what parents have to do for their kids, and at which times they have to function in their kid’s behalf. He comes to accept that intimacy and to sustract the uneasiness it’d bring into his chest if it were anyone else. Bodies are natural, in the end. There’s nothing gross or shameful in them. Maybe that’s the hardest part for him to learn.

Ah Yuan grows a bit, and his hair with him. That’s how Lan Zhan finds himself combing Ah Yuan’s knots off his mane, shushing the boy after an unintentionaly sharp tug, and smiling softly when the boy hums pleasedly.

It becomes a part of their routine, after that, to sit with the sunset’s light before them, combing Ah Yuan’s hair straight and listening to the sound of chirping birds and the trickling of the river nearby. At some point, Ah Yuan requests to do the same to rich-gege’s hair, so Lan Zhan lets his hair loose and closes his eyes, allowing the little boy to stand at his back and brush his already brushed hair until it’s as even as the surface of their dining table.

Some mornings, Ah Yuan would find seating space on Lan Zhan’s lap while he plays inquiry, and Lan Wangji would move Ah Yuan’s little fingers on the strings to ask Wei Ying’s spirit the same questions he’s been asking for months, to which they receive no answer. Every time, Ah Yuan would giggle and try to play by himself, or watch mesmerized as Lan Zhan did it himself. The wounds in Lan Zhan’s chest wouldn’t bleed so deliberately with Ah Yuan near him, listening without understanding to all he has to say.

When they were finally allowed to reunite with the rest of the sect, Lan Zhan had grown an habit of holding Ah Yuan’s hand as they walked up and down the mountains, or to help him up the stairs. He walked up to the main gates of cloud recess with Wen Yuan holding his hand. Before they stepped in, he told the little boy:

“From now on, your name will be Lan Yuan. Understood?”

Lan Yuan took his thumb out of his mouth and nodded. Lan Qiren frowned when he spotted father and son, hand in hand, walking into their sect, into their home, breaking a few hundred unwritten rules (and others that were written too, but Lan Wangji had paid debt for all those already).

By becoming a Lan, Lan Wangji had to give the boy his forehead ribbon, which’s meaning and symbolism he explained superficially, for Ah Yuan wasn’t old enough to fully understand. Still, he tied the headband around his head, carefully, telling him he couldn’t take it off from now on, and that only he and his family could touch it. Lan Yuan nodded, understanding. Lan Zhan’s fingertips touched the boy’s cheek momentarily, offering him a smile.

Those gestures and touches started to come natural to him with time, but with time Lan Yuan grew, and as he aged he was told he couldn’t t act like a little kid anymore, that there’s things he could and couldn’t do, love he could require and comfort he had to bring to himself. However, when he’s eight, he starts to get nightmares, and although he doesn’t want to ask Lan Wangji for help or wake him up in the middle of the night for some silly reason, he still curls at the edge of Lan Wangji’s bed (he sleeps in the jingshi with him until he’s around fourteen, when he joins in the other disciples’ dormitories) and leaves before the man wakes up, hiding back in his own bed.

It’s like this how Lan Zhan finds him one night: sitting by the bed with his head buried between his arms, a hand curled on his bedsheets. He draws him off the floor and into the bed with him. Lan Yuan is so sleepy that he doesn’t have the energy to excuse himself, or to complain that he’s a big boy and doesn’t need to, and nuzzles close to Lan Wangji’s warm body instead, sighing happily as the man embraces him with an arm.

Lan Wangji discovers there’s no specific age to stop needing your loved ones, or to ask for their love. He also learns that if he holds Lan Yuan really close, nothing bad can happen to him. Not in any existing way.

By the time Lan Yuan becomes Lan Sizhui, most of the gestures Lan Wangji learnt to be able to love him right have been left forgotten in their past. However, he can still encourage the now teenager with a squeeze on the shoulder, or by pressing a light hand at the bottom of his back.

He learns that there’s no need for touches to show affection, because there’s a thousand different ways to let Ah Yuan know he cares about him. He brings him gifts from his trips, leaving them by Ah Yuan’s table in the dormitories, the way he always dreamt he’d do to Wei Ying, at some point or another. While they eat, he puts more and more food in Ah Yuan’s bowl so he grows stronger, so he’s never sick or feeble again. Whenever Ah Yuan asks for a lesson of inquiry or to accompany him to feed their rabbits, Lan Wangji Mns, even if the boy is supposed to be somehere else. Sometimes, he’d ask for Lan Sizhui’s presence and he’d walk them to watch the sunset together, for no other reason than to enjoy each other’s company.

And it all pays off, really.

It pays off because Lan Sizhui trusts Hanguang-Jun with everything he has. When he needs help, he asks for it. When he doesn’t know the answer to a problem, he goes and learns from Lan Wangji’s wisdom. When he feels conflicted, he knows that Lan Wangji will listen to him, and help to all of his extent.

It pays off because Ah Yuan doesn’t cry anymore. Not in the way he did when he pleaded for his uncle, his aunt, the family that wasn’t going to be back. It pays off because he has the sweetest, purest of smiles, because there’s something soft and tender on his expression that has been crafted on him with pure, unadulterated love.

It pays off in Lan Wangji’s heart, too. And when he finds Wei Ying again, it’s already easy for him to give him gifts, to grab his hand, to brush the hair off his face, to smile his way, to say yes, yes, I trust you, I love you, I’m never leaving you. And he thinks that, maybe, if he had learnt how to love long before, Wei Ying would have never died.

Maybe he would have been able to save Wei Ying like he had saved Ah Yuan, and like Ah Yuan had saved him.

[lairofsentinel]

Talking about the smidgens we saw of Gale, the wizard of Waterdeep.

[Baldur’s Gate 3 Early Access Spoilers]

Updated, AGAIN, because the hell of new aspects we saw when some bugs were sorted out. Warning:  all this analysis was done for game versions 4.1.83 and 4.1.84

Well, I had to rewrite all this because the explorations of dialogue options and the bugs being, somehow, solved, allowed me to see small details from Gale that stand out or end up being more than curious to me. I'll list his main features to make things short (hopefully), and useful for... eventual fics:

Gale is a char who approves any good treatment to animals (and creatures in general). He has a cat, a Library, and writes poetry sometimes.

He doesn't like gratuitous murdering which is implied in the anecdote he told us about how he stopped a massacre in a Waterdeep city inn just by buying a round to everyone. It is also implied in his approval in most situations; even in the one with the ogres having sex.

He gives you disapproval most of the time if you use violence and intimidation as your first approach in solving a situation. He prefers eloquence, diplomacy, and negotiation. However, he is flexible enough to approve a performance-intimidation in front of goblins to avoid bloodshed. Point (2) is primary. So... he truly is a pragmatic char. It's not white and black: “never use intimidation/lie” or that kind of over-simplistic view.

He likes logical and reasonable conversations. An action that earned his disapproval can be undone if the main char (MC) talks to him and explains their reasons. You can disagree with him without having approval penalties most of the time. You can question many situations and, as long as it remains a mental exercise, there are no penalties. That surprised me a lot. Most characters disapprove you if you wonder about a potential situation, but Gale no. He is the scholar, he will allow a safe space to think around things without being too judgemental. We will see if this attitude lasts in the full game. No wonder some players see in him “the Teacher” archetype. Quite so.

He was an Arch wizard while being Mystra's Chosen One, and fell from grace when she put him aside. What is hard for me to grasp is if he remained Chosen One and therefore able to cast silver-fire during that intermediate period when he stopped having Mystra's whispers and his folly with the netherese taint. We know that in that moment Mystra removed herself from his life completely. But before, she has only stopped whispering and sleeping with him. So far I understand, being her Chosen One doesn't imply sleeping with her, most of the time.

He was a teacher (not surprising, since his over-explanation vices and details such as the pronunciation of “Trashj” make us suspect it), and had some students that he could not keep longer since their ineptitudes irked him. 

Unlike the stereotypical “scholar” type, he knows how to cook, since he has been doing stews for the party in the camp. He also loves baths. A bit siding with the stereotypical “scholar” type, but a nice change for a “standard adventurer” type, in which most of the time it is implied that they are stinky with “animalistic” scents and uglier descriptors. No, Gale likes his lavender-scented baths. Good. 

He is an over-thinker strategist. And also a char who takes responsibility for his own mistakes to the point that, when he dies for the first time, a programmed image is activated to help anyone to revive him. Despite the fact that he is dead and can give a shit about that, he is still responsible of the catastrophe that may happen if that weird magic orb stuck in his chest erupts.

He is also forcing me to check the dictionary like no other game has done in a while... the fucker uses uncommon words a lot of the time. Smidges? really? Gale is a hard char for a non native English speaker.

We can assume that during his teenage time, he was a pretty prideful peacock to the point to be blind at the reality (well, yeah, he romanced a goddess; if that doesn't give you a hell of a ego boost...) He remembers his young self's pride with a thick level of regret. He is now a mature scholar that, for a change, does not patronise you or thinks of himself better than anyone. Sure, he over-explains a lot, but that's something that most scholars/teachers do when they are worried that, maybe, they won't be understood.

He is confident in his years of study (for that reason he is a capable wizard despite having lost Mystra's favours), but he acknowledges his limits. Which is a nice change to see in the “scholar” archetype, the typical know-it-all. He knows a lot, he knows that he knows (it would be ridiculous to hide his knowledge), but he is human, and like he says: “humans are fallible”. However, it’s more than obvious that he has a big ego for everything he does, which makes sense since he follows a motto in his life: “try to excel at everything”. High accomplished scholar lifestyle, indeed.

If you don't share the Weave with him, he will state that nights are lonesome. It seems he truly is looking for some connection with a keen fellow mind. Probably it's this loneliness which triggers his urge to see Mystra's face during the night. We also know he, in general, lives in constant fear due to the Netherese taint in his chest. So, very lonely, and very scared. 

I don't know if this is his poet side unable to be switched-off or it's another implication of how he sees sexual encounters: he never says sex (at least in my many runs, he never did it). He always gets around the word: love-making, art of the body, intimacy. For a scholar who is so prone to use the technical word for everything, and has already stated he is not coy at all, the use of these metaphors make me wonder if it's because he always conceives sex as something more than mere physical pleasure. For him, it seems to come with a more emotional connection (which makes sense if we think he will only sleep with those who connected to him through the Weave). Another small detail that may confirm this is when he asks the MC if the “other night” was wonderful. If MC claims it was “fun”, Gale shows a certain degree of uneasiness by that word choice, making us infer that he certainly doesn’t see sex as “fun” but as something else, deeper. 

His tadpole dreams are about Mystra (rather obvious). His most desperate desire is forgiveness. Mystra's forgiveness.

Mystra was his first love. The affair did not last long. And since soon after her abandonment he looked for the Primal Weave book and was infested by it; one could assume he has been focused on solving his problem for the rest of his life than putting some energy in romance, especially if we think about (13). It's hard to say with certainty (especially with banters like these), but since he is a char that you can only sleep with if you share a mind-connection through the Weave, it seems less plausible that he could encourage into casual relationships during all this period of his life looking for a solution to the Netherese orb. If he got previous relationships, they may have been meaningful, but clearly not enough to win over the goddess’ and his urges to see her, lol.

He did not mind Mystra having many other lovers besides him. It seems to be the same with the MC, since he will insist in sleeping with them even after the party and even after the MC slept with someone else (however, that only occurs if the romantic connection through the Weave happened.) This fact combined with (13) and (15) make me wonder if he certainly wants to be with the MC too badly, even in an open relationship. We need to see the rest of his romance to be sure.

Since he looks for forgiveness so desperately, he is a char who will forgive most mistakes made by the MC if they acknowledge them.

He is a char who knows how grey and complex situations can be. This is inferred by the way he speaks of the tiefling girl who tried to steal the idol in the Grove: “She is not innocent, but that doesn't mean she is guilty.” (of course there is a lot of self projection there). This is also implied in his (surprising) approval of raising Mayrina's husband and giving her the control wand to search for a solution in Neverwinter. That shows that he can accept the fuckest weirdest situations, recognising that “sometimes we can’t choose situations but we can try to do our best, not always having the best results”. Also self-projection.

He appreciates his privacy to the point to leave the MC if the abuse of the tadpole power continues. However, and honouring (4), you can abuse of these powers and convince him with reasons: if you don't lie to him and explain that you have a responsibility with the group to know what happens with his secret, he will understand, and despite disapproving the MC actions, will remain without major troubles.

Certainly, as long as you give him reasons and logical concepts, he can almost understand everything with no disapproval or at least little one.

Consent and negotiation are vital to him, apparently. However, this aspect reaches a flaw. He was too angry with Nettie when she almost killed the MC, and he made a short speech about how nobody has the right to decide your options for you. Yet, in his romance scene, we see that he deliberately hid his true relationship with Mystra and his bomb-condition in order to sleep with the MC. In fact, during the party, if the MC tells him that doubts if he is the one they want, Gale will drop a curious argument: “That’s because you’ve yet to find out what your’re missing” (implying that he himself is what you need), followed by his most curious “Doubt is a spoilsport. Cast it aside”. That coming from a scholar is rotten, lol. He tries every convincing argument to sleep with the MC (if they shared the moment of the Weave, of course)

This happens in every variation of the path: whether the MC sleeps with him in the party, or afterwards, Gale will always wait for sharing a night with the MC before speaking the truth. It's hard to read this aspect since, he is a char who, apparently, needs a mind-connection with his partner for intimacy (see (12) and (13)); so this terrible strategy is like his way of trying to guarantee that the MC will not abandon him. I guess there is something along those line, specially if we keep in mind the book he explained: a book which is not only about the art of the body and the night and sex, but of other things such as conversation, exploration, and acceptance of oneself and the other. He is expecting with this night to reach the MC to a certain degree of intimacy in which, despite the raw truth, the acceptance will prevail. Remembering (16), he truly wants to sleep with the MC, baaaadly. And somehow everything feels like he wants to push things in a subtle way to a certain degree of commitment. Following the concept in (12), I think he has been alone for too long, and desperately needs someone in his lonesome nights and in helping him to deal with his burden. Finding someone who connected to him through the Weave (such a personal experience for him as it is) made him a bit desperate or eager. We know his emotion for the MC may have grown over those days since the connection with the Weave. In two occasions he or the MC can ask if both of them think about that moment. Gale says yes with such enthusiasm, that it may imply...that maybe, he has been thinking about that more times than he truly wants to tell the MC. The Weave moment had such a strong effect on Gale that, if the MC spent the night with another companion and rejects Gale’s proposition later, he will trail off a sentence that implies he was convinced that the MC and he were heading into something serious and deep.

Of course, once he sleeps with the MC, he confesses the truth right afterwards, accepting--without approval penalties--the harshest responses that the MC can give. He clearly knows that such manoeuvre was truly disloyal, especially contrasting it with all his speech of consent and rights to know about the true situation one is in. In the next morning, he acknowledges it was a rotten thing to do and apologies. But this shows that his principles can be bend and even be broken when it comes to emotions. I'm still a bit wary of his emotional stability, what can I say.

Mystra is more than an ex-lover for him, it’s magic. And Magic is everything for him, even more than life. I wonder if, given the opportunity, Mystra forgives him and asks him to return to her side, would he accept it without second thoughts leaving the romanced MC? It's true he also acknowledges that all that fascination he had with the goddess was a product of his youth; he knows he was a plaything in her hands. But I don't see he got over with it. He still idealises her, as such a good poet does. Idealisation, especially when a Goddess is involved, is a terrible thing to fight against for the next partner. No matter what speech of loyalties and consent he states during the whole game, the MC knows that magic and Mystra are Gale's Achilles’ heel, and factors in which they  can’t predict his behaviour.

We also know that, because his bomb-condition, he tries to take all the opportunities to enjoy the little things of life that make him human.

Gale is a straightforward and honest (mostly, let's say) char. But we can see that he prefers to be honest in most situations, except in his Achille’s heel. Even when he wanted to hide all the stuff about the bomb in his chest, he did it by explicitly warning us that he was hiding something he did not want to talk about. Which is an honest approach considering the hardcore burden he carries and the immediate rejection it can mean if the truth unfolds too quickly among strangers.

When it comes to concepts, Gale has the symbol of the storm attached to him. So far, we see he talks comparing things with storms or storm elements: his lack of knowledge to explain why they are not Mind Flayers yet: the silence before the storm; the fear that rushes into his body when the Weave orb asks him for magic to consume: the thunder of a storm reverberating in his soul, the day it will erupt: the lightning striking, the consumption of magic: water running through a sore throat, Life itself: a tempest. When he asked the player if they were a wizard, he explains that he needs an Arch wizard and compares them with a Tempest. If we see the main image of Baldur's gate 3, it's clear that his main element is electricity/storm... so... full witch-bolt-guy here.

[updated later] The Weave moment is important to romance Gale. Leaving the moment in ambiguity will give the MC another opportunity to make their intentions clear during the scene of the Loss. However, remaining vague will lock Gale into a friendship path. What happens during this scene may suggest that the ambiguity in the Weave was enough to keep Gale thinking about the romantic possibility, but he will not engage into it by his own, which confirms (15). Unless the opportunity presents itself clearly before him, he will not pursue the MC. Further details [here].

Last moment detail: Gale says “I cherish you” when he explains he will await death alone if the Netherese orb goes out of control. I was not sure if that meant something more or less than love or like (I can’t not overlook the subtle meaning of the words coming from Gale’s mouth, he is a poet and his word choices matter). Checking the dictionary I found that “cherish” (in a relationship) is defined as to hold or to treat as dear, to feel love for and to care for someone deeply and tenderly. This man went straight into a commitment relationship without thinking it twice, and without (I believe) the MC knowing it either xD. 

Let's see how these characteristics shift or develop deeper once the full game is out there. Now we have to wait a lot :(

To see videos where all this stuff is inferred or explicitly said, you can check [here]

More videos added later [here] and [here]

More content of bg3 in general [here]

[doodlingstuff]

Neil’s (fake) B-day

Let’s celebrate my boy’s birthday with some fluff :)

All likes, shares, kudos and comments make my day shine. Thanks for reading ❤

***

( Chapter 14 of Comeback)

Andrew was definitely allowing himself to get carried away by Neil’s joy, otherwise, there is no logical explanation as to why he is driving the pipe dream towards the stadium instead of Fox Tower after he got Abby’s clearance to get back to classes. They could be using each other time’s in more pleasant ways, but then again, Neil loves his newfound family and all their nonsense. And Andrew is no one to take that away from him. Even less after everyone thought they’d lost him for good. Twice.  

Matt’s massive truck and Allison’s hideous atrocity are already there when they arrive. Neil is still too unsteady to walk that much from the parking lot to the court on his own, and he is too stubborn to use any walking aid, but Andrew has proved his talent as a reliable walking stick, so he lets the striker hold to his arm and squeeze it all the way.  

As Andrew knew beforehand, the lounge is covered with streamers, balloons, confetti, and an enormous Happy Birthday sign.  

Every Fox approaches Neil with a big smile. Some dare to pat him on the shoulder and Matt ruffles his hair. Almost everyone gives him presents and of course, the boy looks lost. He turns to see Andrew, but it wasn’t his idea, so he won’t make it easy, although there is the faint ghost of a smile trying to break free as Neil gets more and more confused.  

 “Happy birthday kid.” Coach is the last one to approach and the striker finally finds it in him to talk.  

 “Thank you? It’s-It’s not my birthday, tho”

  His comment is received by a well-deserved couple of pairs of eye rolls.  

 “Some things never change, do they?” Aaron asks. Her cheerleader shushes him with an elbow on the ribs. Maybe Andrew doesn’t hate the woman that much after all.  

 “Sweet baby, don’t tell me you forgot your own birthday,” Nicky says.  

 “It’s March 31, Neil! We promised you a party!” Matt follows with one of his brightest smiles.  

 The auburn-haired turns to look at Andrew as if he’d had any part in that. He was only the driver and his attention is drifting away from the happy reunion as he eyes the big cake on the back. That may be worth the bother.  

 “Told you my birthday was in January,” Neil says, clearly uncomfortable.  

 “And you were getting killed then.” Allison goes on. “You deserve a birthday party. Even if it’s not your real birthday.”  

 “But-”  

 “Lookit this way,” Nicky interrupts. “You get to celebrate twice every year. Sounds like a dream.”  

 Neil looks like he wants to keep arguing, but  Wymack   steps in before. “Shut the fuck up before I get sick. These morons made you a party. Enjoy it and stop looking like a stray cat for once.”  

 The next argument in Neil’s tongue dies as everyone starts to roll food around. They are smart enough to restrain themselves from singing and the cake finally arrives. Since the junkie is happy talking to everyone and watching wide-eyed all his presents, Andrew can distract himself by seeing how many slices of birthday cake he can eat before getting sick of it. As if that was possible. It’s easier for Kevin to die from diabetes just by watching.  

 "Alright. Time to get serious.”  Wymack   is clapping to get everyone’s attention after they all are stuffed and ready to pass out. It takes almost fifteen minutes for the team to clear their heads and gather in the sofas around their Coach.  

 “As you know, we are too far away to have a normal championship, but after how things unfurled for the Ravens,” He spares a brief glance towards Andrew that the twin dismisses “They decided to get them back to their original district. That said, championships will be only a single round of deathmatches to be played on the same day. Winner teams will be qualified by points scored. The two best go directly for the championship and the rest can wait until next season.”  

 “I still don’t know which team we will be facing but from now I tell you that for once, it doesn’t matter the score. This year had brought a shitload of problems I hope I never have to face again, but we made it to this round, so  let's   take the chance as best as we can and keep showing we are not a joke anymore.  

 Wymack   is faster to keep talking before his shortest striker speaks “As for you Neil, don’t even expect to play more than five minutes. You are allowed back to practices, but I will strangle you myself if you pull another fucking stunt in the court. Depending on how you do and in the remote chance we pass, I might think about letting you play the full final match. Doubts?”  

 Everyone shook their heads or deny. Andrew can’t take the perspective of getting back to practices, but Neil is radiating energy only with the perspective of five minutes on a match, so he abstains from complaining as Kevin starts talking endlessly about every single plan and strategy he’s plotted during the past months.  

 Andrew can’t wait to get out of there, but if Neil is happy, he can stay a bit longer.  

 Campus is swollen by darkness when they get out of the gathering. Nicky spends the short ride speaking, as he always does, and Kevin is making a tantrum from traveling in the back. Andrew can’t care less. If he doesn’t like it, he can walk to Fox Tower or catch a ride with the rest.  

 When they arrive at the building, Andrew takes Neil’s duffel bag and motions towards the elevator. The junkie is about to protest, but he is finally learning to tell when he’s tired and the night hasn’t ended for them, so he steps into the elevator.  

 Andrew has the door of the dorm open for Neil. They step in and the blond makes way to the bedroom. He dumps the duffel bag on the bed and looks for the things he stuffed in there before heading out.  

 “Wait.” There it goes. The cogwheels inside the junkie’s brain finally move. Nicky and Aaron pause their silly game to see “This is not my dorm.”  

 “It is now.” Neil looks for the lie in Andrew’s eyes and then he sees Nicky laughing as bills pass between him, the other twin, and even Kevin.  

 “You are such a cute thing. Andrew kicked Aaron out as soon he knew you weren’t dying.”  

 Neil  looks   startled from Nicky’s gigantic smile to Andrew’s shrug. They had shared enough nightmares and had slept together so many times for it to be a scandal, but it was until then when the blond realizes he didn’t ask. He just acted out of spite because he wanted to have Neil close.  

 A big smile spreads on the striker’s face and then he follows Andrew to the roof.  

 After three cigarettes, Andrew still can’t find how to get this over with. They had talked about bigger demons before. They had  shared   more intimacy. It shouldn’t be a big deal. Still, his voice is almost scared when he talks.  

 “Enjoyed your party?”  

 Icy eyes send a wave of shivers down his spine. “I guess. I’ve never had one.”  

 “And you won’t ask me why I didn’t get you a present?”  

 “Do you want me to? I don’t need presents. And you had given me much more.”  

 “Then shut up.” He says and finally drops the contents of his pocket in Neil’s hands.  

 Minutes pass before the striker can talk again. “My phone and keys.”  

 “You left them on purpose.” There is a hard swallow traveling down Neil’s throat.  

 “Told you I never thought I’ll stay. And... I couldn’t be Neil Josten in the Nest. If I took these, they would’ve been more reminders of the life I couldn’t have anymore.”  

 “You have it now.” The official IDs sent by Kengo are still unbelievable to Neil. He nods as he grips the objects in his hands. The proofs that he is real, that he didn’t come out from Andrew’s drugged mind and he will stay. Probably.  

 “And this is your present.” The blond drops a packet of cigarettes in Neil’s lap. He looks bewildered and attempts to give them back.  

 “Abby says I shouldn’t smoke again.”  

 There is no point in explaining things to the pretty idiot, so Andrew settles for looking at him until he opens the damn box and takes out a couple of pieces of cloth.  

 “You want me to sew your socks?”  

 “Don’t be stupid,” Andrew replies while pulling up his sleeves. Maybe Neil can get the hint that way.  

 “Armbands?”  

 “It’s already hot as fucking hell and you keep wearing long sleeves.”  

 Realization crosses fast through his face. If the junkie thought Andrew wouldn’t notice he didn’t want the scars on his wrists on display, he was even dumber than how he looked.  

 “Thank you,” The red-haired says while slipping the pieces of cloth through his hands.  

 Words are burning Andrew’s throat worse than the smoke of his sixth cigarette. He doesn’t want a      no    , but he knows he won’t be in peace if he doesn’t ask. “Will you stay now?”  

 “I haven’t gone anywhere.”  

 The blond only spares a glance at Neil. He doesn’t want to explain. However, as silence stretches, he knows he needs to make sure the point is understood just in case Neil is indeed stupid or Andrew hasn’t been clear enough.  

 “Last year I told you to give me your back and stay. You ran away and did the exact opposite. You’re not in danger anymore. The promise stands. I’m just asking again.”  

 A wild river clashes with sweet honey. For the first time in a long, long while, Andrew can’t tell what hiding those eyes are hiding. He is the one with the blank expression, not Neil. Silence keeps growing between them. The blond is sure he talked too soon. He is expecting the dream to vanish because it has been a big strike of consecutive good weeks and nothing lasts forever. He doesn’t forget that.  

 “Your memory isn’t so perfect after all.” Andrew is startled by the comment. Of course, it is. A fucking burden he never asked to have. A good thing when it comes to Neil and the bright  smiles   he gives. The twin starts digging if he had any other slips like the room swap without asking first, but he can’t find any. “I said yes. Always yes.”  

 “It was a different question.” Relief spreads as he speaks.  

 “But the answer is always yes.” The blank stare is quickly replaced by a big smile.  

 Andrew knows he has to tell him that always can’t be his answer for everything, that there will be times when it’s no, that he will respect any change of mind, that he doesn’t want to force it, that he is afraid everything is still an illusion, but Neil is so close and he has talked so much, that the only thing he manages is a soft growl as the striker´s lips are near his neck, and then, every objection gets drowned in a kiss.  

“One condition,” Neil says when they part. “You don’t protect me. We protect each other.”  

Every complaint dies even before Andrew can voice it because it is true.

Before Neil said it, he gave his life willingly for Andrew, and the blond had turned the world upside down in a week to keep the pipe dream safe. The promise was fulfilled before it was made.  

Regardless, it’s the first time someone says to him anything like that, and it fills his chest with something so powerful and strange that he isn’t sure if his life is really this good. Perhaps he died in juvie, or in Thanksgiving, or in Easthaven, and this is all a weird fantasy created to bear the boredom of being in hell.  

When they return to the dorms, neither asks before getting inside the same bed to fall asleep with their fingers intertwined.  

 If always feels like this, Andrew can get used to having it.  

[shadowtongued]

long headcanon about the duality of love and the mahjarrat condition pertaining to it from his point of view. if you read all this babble i swear to god, i love you, i hope you have a good day. cw: sex addiction, child neglect, unhealthy coping, unrequited pains. reason for writing: hi i want to die bc of angst.

i think we all know even without playing medieval xp grind lore game, runescape, that sliske is old. very old. he tells us in endgame there's not much he hasn’t done with his life over thousands of years, even traveling to other planets and realms to just see what was out there and how far he could get. i’ve always projected his age as somewhere between more than 8,000 or even more than 10,000. we’re never given a timeline to how long the children of mah have lived. sliske has done a lot with his time; he’s killed a god, had quite a few elder relics in his grasp, SPOKEN to a elder god and managed not to die, mastered shadow magicks, has an excellent grasp on the shadow realm. he’s good with biology, chemistry, has a fair understanding of soul magic which is kind of a rare brand of knowledge, he’s tricked probably thousands into bad contracts to become wights in his army, understands the psychology and bad morals of people. he was a playwright, a high ranking officer, a spymaster. dude is just a determined polymath. you know what he hasn’t done? love. he’s never got to play with love.

mahjarrat are explained as having emotions, but dulled ones. they feel rage and pride apparently better than others. kharshai said after years of really believing he was a human, that when he came back to his true form he states “i  feel raw power coursing through my veins. i don't feel pain like i used to, and i'm sure my intellect has increased. but somehow there is something missing. a capacity for emotion that i can't quite put my finger on.” they aren’t equipped for the same range of positive emotions as others are. they feel it, but they don’t understand it fully, it has been said by developers. this whole bit is sadly funny considering in canon, sliske catches feelings. he doesn’t realize he’s attracted to the player character. it’s stated many times, in his journals, in dialogue, etc. he believes their fates are tangled no matter what. and the saddest bit is he probably doesn’t understand these feelings and it confuses him to the point of anger.  “ love! a mahjarrat in love? ... i almost wish that were true. it would certainly make the universe a more interesting place. ” “ so perhaps i have loved you. but that doesn’t mean i have to like you.”  sliske’s main goal started off as to take the players immortal, unable to be crushed by the divine, soul and give it to himself so he could live forever, as mahjarrats do not have afterlives, once they die they are done, evaporated into energy. but in endgame we learn something from him hidden in masks that refutes that;

“I love you for more than your soul.”

you STUPID fucker, you’re in love.

the remainder of this is a lot of NON-CANON, personal headcanon interpretation that pretty much only works on this blog. as a rough summary: sliske’s ol’ mum was not fond of her kids, half-brother wahisietel or sliske since she did not see them as powerful as herself and was disappointed that's what her legacy came out to. a short, beefy, average at magic son, she had another go and was still disappointed with this spidery, scrawny, gifted but absolutely annoying stick underweight child. his father, saw him once or twice in his life and that was it. dyeosuthua wanted nothing more than to make them disappear and try again until she got offspring she didn’t want to throw into a lava pit in secrecy, infanticide was against tribal law due to population issues. sliske’s mother’s neglect was so severe, ( by the absolute boundless joys of rp development and mutual heacanons ♥ ) that wahi and nabor had an attempt at raising him and keeping him from freezing to death. why is all this jargon important? because while all mahjarrats are raised by tough love, sliske’s attention deprivation from his mother was so severe, he grew up and still has a slew of reactive attachment, psychological, and social issues he still carries as an adult. several times she threatened to kill him and almost made good on it more than twice. when wahisietel had proven he was a survivor of the first ritual of rejuvenation, sliske became dyeosuthua’s  main target for abuse despite his gift for magic at a young age. nothing he did could impress her enough. and it left him constantly seeking approval and validation to an insecure mind.

the more he grew, the more confident he became mainly out of spite and to get attention. he’s loud, charming, makes you the only person in the room when he talks to you. he has an innate silver-tongued ability that persuades people to do just about anything. it was a front for his insecurities that he kept very very closed up. in the second age/senntisten capital, sliske had a pretty severe sex addiction as it was one of the few ways he felt validated and was able to get affection in a way he could digest. people with reactive attachment disorders often have sex addictions to fill the space of acceptance without having to commit.. easy, feel good intimacy without having to open up and let someone learn about your vulnerabilities and commit. it was pretty severe, considering mahjarrats find any kind of breeding or intimacies outside their ‘superior species’ as downright foul. sliske had always been the black sheep of the tribe and with his status as praefectus praetorio; head of secret police, really nothing put a damper on him trying to fill the void for affection he had. there wasn’t a species or individual he wouldn’t bed. he would easily take up propositions even for people who just wanted to fuck a mahjarrat because it was ‘exotic’ or because of his status as an officer, he now looks back on this and it bruises his insecurities even more that he allowed himself to do that. not out of pride for his species. but himself, being just a thing to be had because of rarity. azzanadra and his brother, wahisietel found out about it and while disgusted, partially understood what he was doing to negatively self soothe. at one point sliske and azzanadra, the champion of their god and head of the church, as well of one of the strongest living of their kin, had a lasting tryst for a few years and for awhile it made sliske feel very much self important in a way and alleviated his need to be needed so badly, this did not end well when sliske grew tired of their empire and wanted freedom. once childhood best friends and lovers had become absolute enemies once sliske became too unstable and azzanadra became too zealous. 

sliske gave up his sexcapades for a long time, thousands of years, his libido dropped when he became interested in other projects and self healing when he was hit with the idea that he hasd essentially allowed himself to be an exotic fling and still burned over becoming his god, zaros, scapegoat after all he had done for him. love was a weird concept to him and still is. despite being adamant love doesn’t exist for his kind, and his belief that he is flawed, unstable, and embraced the idea of ‘you want a monster? fine! i’ll be the monster!’. he expects no pity, not be forgiven to things he has done and even in game when you sycophantically try to cozy to him, he straight up calls out your text choice was awful considering some of the shitty things he might have done to you. to sliske, all attention to him is attention, whether you’re praising or insulting him. he’s on your mind, he exists, that’s all he wants.

backstory aside the real part of this headcanon is that sliske actually wants love. it’s the only thing aside from an immortal soul he hasn’t had. sliske actually has an attraction to humans because they are empathetic, curious, passionate, and determined. he has an easier time assimilating and being around them since he has ALWAYS had a better sense of humor, socializing, and happiness than his kin. he feels emotions a lot stronger than his fellow mahjarrats. it allows him to talk to and connect to humans and humanlike species better. others of his kind have told him there’s “something wrong” with him for that. he’s actually a romantic, even if he’s just mimicking romance stories, movies, and actions from others. he thinks the idea of settling with one person and loving them is both mortifying and interesting. opening yourself up to someone and giving them the hammer to smash your cherry-red painted porcelain heart and seeing if they do, to him might be the ultimate form of trust and biggest gamble of russian roulette. the stakes are so heavy he’s high on the idea. but it’s also horrifying. mahjarrat are prolific for not opening up, not allowing others in, vulnerability out in the open is a death sentence. they live in a kratocracy/meritocracy where they kill off the weakest link. it’s not pretty. being soft is a useless, unnecessary, weak gene to them. it dampers survival. 

but yet sliske keeps reading romance novels, writing his own confused poetry, and getting into unrequited one sided loves but practicing a backstabbing betrayal when one gets too close. i have to hurt them before they hurt me, betray and cut them down before they can do it to me. i think he wants to be loved. i think he kinda wants to be taught to love, for the emotions and the sake of knowledge. ( brb james newton howard’s ‘true love’s kiss’ from maleficent just came on spotify and i think i’m going to die bc i did not ask for background music thanks!!! ) he wouldn’t be the best at it, maybe a little too possessive with you, codependent, but very nurturing and fun loving. will sepnd a whole week spooning you.. people who hurt you past, present, and future may end up dead in mysterious ways or turned into a wight for you to beat the shit out of. but he’d try. he’s still got a broken child sitting behind his third rib. i think he would snarl the first few times someone genuinely got close to him, it would terrify him, being known on such a skinned, raw level. having gentle touches that are real and not a come hither to the bedroom. being known for something other than the confident, ego he has is death. he could be taught to be gentle for a crumb of consistent attention. might even cut down the murders and god killing down by 15%. love is not going to fix him, it’s not going to forgive the actual shitty things he’s done. it should never do that. but it will turn the lights on in a dark house.

love could really break him. i think so. i’d type more but this has gone on too long and i feel sad-happies. 

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

Communication Issues (AT:TTSIMBCMEOAYSFIL)- Chapter Two

Ao3,   MasterPost,   Chapter One, Chapter Three

Relationships: (eventual) Romantic Analogince

I’m finally back from my impromptu hiatus!!! My laptop, like, just fuckin broke... but now I’ve got a new one so it’s okay!!! And the first thing I did with it was make these little characters Hurt.

Warnings: Repressing Emotions (k i n d a), food mention, self-isolation/avoiding one’s friends, general angst, cursing, unreliable narrator (maybe??? by that I mean Logan is stupid and has no idea what’s actually going on.) 

Word Count: 5,244

To the best of your knowledge, the three of you are close. To see the facts: you, Roman, and Virgil spend the majority of your time together, partaking in a number of activities that all of you find fun. Comparing your time with them to how much you see, say, a friend like Janus- it becomes apparent that the three of you ought to be considered ‘best friends’. 

However, you had preferred to be 100% certain of this, as you like to be with all things. It was a few weeks after Roman’s New Idea when you finally gave in to this preference (more of a need, really). You asked outright the nature of your dynamic with them.

Roman laughed at you. The abashment you felt was, unfortunately, a very familiar thing.

‘Is the idea of us being best friends really so humorous?’ you challenged, masking the sting you felt with indignation. Virgil had elbowed Roman sharply, explaining to him that you were seriously asking. His laughter stopped at once. ‘Of course we are,’ he’d said. ‘I thought you were kidding, because it seemed so obvious,’ he’d continued. 

All you could manage was a small ‘Oh’. 

So, yes, you’ve determined that your bond is more meaningful than on average. That hardly irks you; it’s a positive thing, in fact. It’s been good for you to have some kind of affection, even if the thought still makes you want to roll your eyes. It’s what’s just beyond that affection that’s causing an itching beneath your skin when the three of you ‘hang out’, as you so often do. That itching, those crawling little mites figuratively burrowed under your skin- it’s all been prevalent in your interactions over the past weeks.

Go over the facts, then, Logan. 

Fact one: You aren’t used to intimate friendships.

Fact two: You have established an intimate friendship with Roman and Virgil

Fact(?) three: Roman and Virgil’s intimacy with each other is quickly turning away from ‘friendship’.

This brings you to the evidence, which gets a little fuzzier; some conclusions might have been jumped to, but you find that irrelevant.

Evidence (?): They share these Looks. A Look when Roman says something abhorrently stupid, but when Virgil jumps to insult him he sounds nothing but adoring. A Look when Virgil comes up with a particularly creative biting remark, and while Roman is just as quick to fire back with a playful tease of his own, there’s that obvious elated expression of pride that he holds just for the anxious trait. 

That on it’s own wouldn’t amount to much, you’ll admit, but you’ve always been a careful observer of body language (out of necessity, given how words fail you when there’s subtext to be found). Their hands brush frequently, to the point where it cannot possibly be incidental. They not-so-subtly lean into each other when they probably think you aren’t looking- though perhaps you shouldn’t be looking anyway. While you are well-accustomed to platonic physical affection in not only your relationships with the two of them, but with all of your ‘coworkers’ (the bulk of it coming from Patton and Remus, predictably), Virgil and Roman’s physical affection exudes such romantic tension that you’re surprised Roman himself isn’t going haywire, because of the overload of feelings that fall into his area of expertise.

Your third piece of evidence comes from just last night. You’d returned from the kitchen, arms loaded with snacks for you all to share, only to find Roman threading his fingers through Virgil’s hair while the embodiment of anxiety carefully sketched on a folded sheet of paper. Virgil’s eyes had flicked up briefly, widening when he saw you as though you hadn’t only left the room for seven minutes and twenty-three seconds.

“Oh, hey,” he greeted with a tiny wave. Something odd and envious and just a bit bitter simmered in your chest, but you denied it whatever it seemed to be hissing for. You gave your friend a nod, setting down the food you’d brought onto the coffee table and seating yourself a good few feet from him and Roman on the couch. 

“V and I got bored waiting,” Roman explained, “So we’re doing a little art collaboration. The rule is that we aren’t allowed to see what the other one draws until it’s done!” He seemed enthusiastic about the game, and Virgil was clearly invested in his work. You saw no reason to interrupt them, quietly deeming your original plan to watch blue planet together defunct. But you could still contribute to this new activity! You knew plenty of art history, thankfully.

“There’s actually a name for that- it’s called Exquisite Corpse. The term was coined by surrealist artists in 1925.”

Roman waved his hand, almost dismissive, and your heart- figuratively- sank. 

“Yeah, yeah, in Paris, I already know. Yves Tanguy, Marcel Duchamp, et cetera et cetera. Art’s my whole thing, remember? Do you wanna play or not?”

“Oh, I- I don’t care for drawing,” you have never understood and will likely never understand most forms of visual art. 

Roman shrugged, but before he could respond Virgil was folding up the piece of paper and handing it to him, blank side up. The vigilant trait pushed his bangs back and shook out his shaggy hair, which stuck up at odd angles due to Roman’s tangling.

“Whatever you want, L. You can put on that documentary you were talking about now,” Virgil said, reaching for the food piled up on the table. Your first instinct had been to agree, of course, and get back to the original plan for the day. As you took the remote, however, you couldn’t help but notice just how close they sat, plenty apart from you. It felt like a fitting analogy- and you’ve always had distaste for analogies.

“That’s alright,” a lie, “I’m feeling rather restless now- I think it would be best if I got some work done with this energy,” a half-truth. 

You’d left before they could respond, trying to ignore the envy seething under your skin. It didn’t even make sense- you hated having your hair touched! While the history was interesting, Surrealist art did nothing but frustrate you! You don’t like drawing games, or people’s hands on your face, for goodness’ sake. 

Presently, you stare up at your ceiling and reflect on your friendship, feeling it all start to click. You do not want it to click. You push your glasses up on your forehead and press the heels of your hands against your eyelids, soaking in the ache that results from the pressure. You’re so fucking sick of thinking, thinking, thinking- but the other option is leaving your room- which you’ll have to do very soon anyway- and interacting with other people.

It’s easier to handle with everyone else around to distract you, rather than just Virgil and Roman. Easier, but not easy. You groan, pushing yourself into a sitting position and letting your glasses fall back into place. You cannot just stew here forever, much as you’d like to.

Yet- It doesn’t make sense. You don’t want to see Virgil and Roman, sitting as close as they do now, dancing around each other so frustratingly. But you want to be around them so much that you feel you can’t help it, desperate to be caught between them like usual. But, no, you don’t!

You wish they could figure themselves out and actually get together, to save everyone the headache- but is that even really what you want? For them to officially be romantically involved, thereby distancing themselves from you even further? And then you’ll truly be the ‘third wheel’, as it were? 

What do you want, you ask yourself repeatedly.

  For things to go back to normal, you answer yourself. 

You shake your head, no, because what does that even mean? Do you want them to not have feelings for each other, just so they’ll pay more attention to you? Now that doesn’t add up at all, because first and foremost you want them to be happy. Happy, and also spending time with you as much as each other. Yes, that’s closer to the point, you think. You want that closeness to be equal between the three of you, that makes perfect sense. So, logically, it follows that what you want is-

What you want is… 

God, no, God, your eyes widen and your fists clench and, fuck, you almost shake as you try to hold back the encroaching realization.

You want-

There’s a knock at the door. 

You breathe shakily, your hands tensing and untensing. There’s a knock at the door. The door of your room, because you are in your room, sitting on your bed. You’re here, and now, and you can breathe.

Dazedly, you stand, moving as though you’re wading through honey. You swallow back whatever feelings had been building in you only for the moment. You aren't willing to actually harm yourself by repressing them, merely holding them at the reigns in order to actually function enough to talk to whoever’s come knocking.

You click the door open, pulling it back to see a worried Patton. You are immeasurably relieved that it is him specifically.

“Heya, Kiddo. It’s been a while since any of us saw you today. I was just coming by to let you know we’re about to start picking a movie for tonight. Do ya feel up to joining us?”

That’s something you appreciate about Patton: he keeps in tune with others’ emotions with almost supernatural accuracy. Remarkably high-empathy being a power granted to him by his aspect, he knew when things were off, and he knew when someone did or did not want to talk about it. He didn’t barge up to your room and throw the door open with the enthusiasm he might usually express if he saw how you were uneasy, knowing that such an action could be overwhelming. Rather, he was checking in, quietly offering you an out if you needed it. 

But you’re about to directly contradict yourself about that appreciation! Because this means that you have to decide what you do; because you maybe kind of want to be forced to see your friends, rather than forcing yourself to avoid them. You aren’t exactly sure you have the strength to be around them on your own, but you can’t imagine a fate worse than isolation in the wake of this emotional discovery that you totally aren’t focusing on right now dammit answer Patton.

“Yes, I must have been a tad preoccupied today. I’ll be down in a moment,” the answer’s out before you think about it. You regret it, and also you don’t. 

Patton grins warmly at you, obviously relieved, and promises to wait for you to head down before they start. He disappears back through the hall and down the staircase in an instant, humming tunelessly as he walks.

It’s only after arriving downstairs that you become entirely sure that you’ve made the wrong choice. Roman is practically in Virgil’s lap, his head tilted into the facet’s neck while they playfully bicker with each other. When he spots you, his head shoots up, and he waves you over. In an amazing example of self-control, you sit one cushion away from the pair.

Throughout the night, you keep your eyes trained to the screen, trying to ignore however sappy Roman and Virgil get. You need space to think about this issue and find a way to solve it, and they need more space from their little tricycle anyway. 

The movies pass in a blur. You think Virgil tries to say something to you before you go upstairs, but you don’t catch it. Your ears are ringing.

<<<???>>><<<???>>><<<???>>>

It’s predictable as hell, considering his semi-self-isolation before The Incident, that Roman is desperate for attention. He’s, in the simplest terms, clingy as fucking fuck. Something that’s mildly less expected than that is just how little you mind it. If you’re honest, with all the hugs and brushes and small comforts, it kinda rocks. Which might be an odd way to describe emotionally and physically intimate friendship, but hey. Shut up. 

You and Roman’ve become a little attached at the hip because of this- though you hold tightly onto the excuse that it’s just cuz you want Roman to get the attention he needs, and totally not because you actually like the affection, too. You know the truth, though. The truth that it all… fulfills something in you, something that’s been craving attention that you didn’t even know about. It’s weird. Not bad, just weird.

You digress; the point is that you and Roman have a Thing With Touching, and that’s not exactly a shocker. Something you’re only recently coming to notice, however, is that this preference is one shared by your other closest friend, Logan. You could’ve sworn he’d be touch averse, and while he definitely has very specific boundaries (he wouldn’t tolerate touches to his hair, neck, or most parts of his legs), he’s exactly the opposite of averse, he’s just way too stubborn to initiate anything or admit it.

Who knew that only knowing a grand total of six other beings for your entire life- most of said beings disliking each other for a good portion of that life- would leave everyone involved more than a little touch-starved? 

Oh well. No time like the present to fix that, you figure. This is all just your long-winded way of saying that whenever you’re in the room with Logic or Creativity, you’re 99% guaranteed to have at least one point of contact with them. 

Which totally wouldn’t be a problem, if you weren’t falling irrevocably in love with both of them. But, unfortunately, you totally are. 

When everything started, it was just Logan. He was too considerate and too goddamn caring not to make you feel things, the bastard. He understands you, almost perfectly, all the time- even though people understanding you completely goes against your aesthetic- and you feel like you get him all the same. In a way, your love for him makes sense. It always has, really, all the way back when he gave you that first glimpse of friendship. It’s always been Logan.

And that all would be horrible enough on its own, but then Roman blind-sided you with his teary eyes and deeply-rooted insecurity. Neither of these are technically ‘attractive’ traits, but dammit if you didn’t find yourself sympathizing to a painful extent. You not only comprehended his (gradually lessening) pain, you’re also surprised to note just how badly you want to help him through it, if only because you knew that you really could help. You can’t bear to watch Roman suffer, because the both of you, despite all the differences, are exactly alike. You find sympathy in his sadness, and affection in his joy. 

It’s disgusting.

The plan was simple; you’d keep all the feelings inside, and then one day you’d die. You’d hold them all at bay and let the infatuation fade to a dull ache against your ribcage, settling into a bittersweet friendship with the two temperamental traits. It’s easy to push down when all six of you spend family time together, hell, you hardly break a sweat when it’s just the three of you, because you can just use one to deflect off the other! You are a fucking pro at ignoring your emotions.

Then movie night happened. You have no clue what specifically did happen, but you’ve managed to track the weird behavior back to that evening. Logan was stiff as a board all night, sitting as far as he could from you and Ro. He didn’t even look back at you when you tried to talk to him before he left. He didn’t answer the door when you tried to check on him later. 

To say that Logan hadn’t left his room since would be a gross oversimplification. Oh, he’s venturing out, alright, but strategically. He comes down for meals. He comes down when Patton, Remus, or occasionally Janus ask for him, indulging them without complaint. Sure, he’s conveniently busy whenever it’s you or Roman knocking, but he’s already done so much with everybody else that day. No one could be concerned, because clearly Logan wasn’t avoiding anything.

Yeah, bullshit. He’s just diverting everybody else’s suspicions, but you know him too well for that.

He doesn’t work in the commons anymore. He doesn’t rise up in the living room, accompanied with a laptop or a kindle or what have you, just to have the quiet company of someone else while he works. He doesn’t seek you out to explain something he read on Tumblr, and from the looks of it, he doesn’t attempt to infodump about poetry with Roman anymore. And the nail in this coffin is this: when you attempt to confront him, he plays dumb. Logan plays dumb.

Logan avoiding you means two things: 1. one of your most trusted friends who you’re absolutely besotted with won’t talk to you, which is its own special kind of agony- and 2. you spend the majority of your time totally alone with the other friend that you are in love with, which is obviously not ideal.

By this point, you are well-acquainted with the various personal problems of your ‘co-workers’. Statistically, at any given point at least one side is having some kind of an emotional crisis. You figure that it’s best to get a headstart on solving this one, before you can talk yourself out of it. 

But obviously you can’t do it alone.

“Roman.”

The side in question shrieks, spinning around hastily with wide eyes. You don’t even blink, staring him down from the kitchen doorway until he has the sense to stop screaming. He cuts himself off with a cough, clearing his throat and returning to whatever it was that he was doing. After an appropriate awkward silence, he shoots you a sheepish smile. 

“Oh, ha- I- I didn’t see you there, Virgil,” he huffs a tiny laugh, his mouth twitching. It’s such a soft little expression, a bit embarrassed but mostly- Dammit, Virgil, you’re here for a reason! Keep it together, you useless homosexual.

“I guessed that, yeah,” you trudge into the room, lifting yourself up onto the counter beside the stove. “How are you?”

He pauses for a moment. It’s a simple question, but the both of you understand its true significance. You’re expecting an honest, no-nonsense answer as to how he’s been feeling. It’s sort of a system, to help prevent all that bottling up of emotions that you’re all so used to. 

“I suppose I’m… a little out of it. I got rather caught up in sculpting for a good few hours,” as he explains, you notice him absently digging clay out from under his nails, “So I figured it was time for a lunch break.”

“Good,” you tell him, because it’s important that he hears things like that. He’s staring vacantly into the water that’s beginning to bubble on the stove, but you know he will return the check-in question to you in his own time. Technically, you could have just walked in and began with what you really wanted to talk about, but this method gives the conversation a more clear-cut structure. Greeting, followed by question-response, followed by question-response; it’s properly outlined. 

“What’s going on with you, then?”

“I feel like garbage,” you see him blink in surprise, but he waits politely for you to continue. “I’m worried. I mean- I'm usually worried, but in this specific circumstance, I’m worried about-”

“Logan?” He looks up when he says it, his gaze searching. 

“Yeah- um, yes. You noticed it, too?”

“Oh, please,” there's an obnoxious clanging as Roman idly swings around a slotted spoon, “I may not be as observant as you nerds, but you could stand to give me some credit.”

You settle him with A Look. He huffs.

“Okay fine! I only caught on when he… ugh, it's embarrassing, but we like to write. Together. On Wednesdays. But he’s been ditching.”

You already had a hunch about your friends’ little poetry sessions, as neither are particularly subtle about anything, at all, ever. It's super dorky, but it’s a very them thing to do. This development is concerning, to say the least.

“Wait, then why haven’t you brought it up?” 

Roman squirms a bit, clinking his slotted ladle against the stovetop repetitively. You regret the interrogative tone that found its way into your voice.

“I didn't want to be, you know, needy. He said he was busy- and like, it was a little sketchy when he was only busy when I wanted to hang out- but- I just assumed he’d maybe gotten bored with it. I didn’t want him to get even more distant with me, so I didn’t say anything.”

Well, okay, you totally fail at not being distracted by that. Scooching a little further down the counter, you bump Roman's hip with the side of your foot.

“Hey.”

He doesn't look up. 

“Roman.”

He groans, throwing his head back and glaring up at the cabinets.

“I know! Saying it out loud, alright, I know he wouldn't do something like that- it's just- I forget sometimes, Virge.”

You don't ask him to elaborate. He doesn't need to. He shifts away from the stove and drops his head onto your shoulder, leaning against you. 

“But if you've noticed it too, then something must really be wrong, huh?”

You give a short laugh.

“Yeah. He's upset about something, I can tell. It’s fuzzy, though, that’s the weirdest thing. It's like, I can feel the anxiety from, but it's being overpowered by something else in there. I have no idea what, so it's gotta be out of my jurisdiction.”

He hums curiously. 

“What’s the plan then? Drag him out of his room and make him hang out with us?” Roman's voice rumbles against your shoulder, and it's so comforting that you can't help but hook a leg around his waist to keep him near you.

“Great idea, I'm sure that he’ll really appreciate that,” your sarcasm (hopefully) takes the impact out of your downright cuddly nature. Roman is unfazed.

“That is literally what the both of you did to me mere months ago. I'd say that turned out pretty well, hmm?”

He tilts his head to the side, dragging out the hum with his face pressed against your neck. It's a concerted effort to snark at him instead of purring from the feeling. 

“I doubt that L would appreciate something like that, just because you- Jesus,” you cut yourself off when Roman fucking nuzzles you, ew gross- “Oh my fucking God, can you- prrr- can you st- prrrrr- stop for one second? You're- re- rerrrrrr- distracting me!” You push him off of you, feigning disgust. You don’t want to, but you have to at least try to stay on track.

He just chuckles, dropping away from you if only to take his food off the stove. 

“Sorry, sorry, it's just so hard to resist. You’re a kitten!”

“I know you're God-awful at genuine conversations, so I guess I'll let it slide this time.”

You see the offended look spread across his face, and hastily hold a hand up to interrupt.

“Logan.”

“Right, yes. Logan.”

“I mean, what would he say?” you drag your hand down your face, wracking your brain for any of his advice that you could apply to the situation. “He’d be all ‘the logical course of action would simply be to confront me, Virgil, because I am a stubborn little bitch and I will dance around the issue indefinitely,’” You nod, satisfied with both your impression and the conclusion it brought you to. Roman shoots you a comically wide grin.

“That was scary, how much you sounded like him.”

You shrug, offering a hum.

“So we should just… what? Walk up to his door, knock knock,‘what’s going on with you, man?’, and see what happens?”

“As crazy as it sounds, maybe this would be easier if we didn't prolong it for three weeks and complicate it like we do with everything else?”

There's a clatter as Roman struggles to reach the top cabinet for a bowl. You drop down from the counter, reach over his head, and hand it to him. 

“When you phrase it like that, I suppose it sounds obvious,” he takes the ceramic and fills it up- without a thanks, the bitch.

“Okay. We do that, then.”

“Okay.”

You hover in the kitchen, watching him grab his meal and begin to walk away. He tosses his head over his shoulder, giving you a look that you can't quite place. 

“Are you just going to wait there while I eat my lunch? We’ll go up in a few minutes, but I'd rather not pass out from lack of blood sugar in the middle of what's sure to be a whole production.”

“Oh- right.”

<<<???>>><<<???>>><<<???>>>

At your knock, there is absolutely no response from the other side of Logan’s door. You knock again- not so much as a footstep! You push down your immediate frustration at the nerve of him, knowing that you must keep your cool (but you also know that he has everyone’s knocks memorized; he knows it’s you!). 

You spare a glance to Virgil. He stares back at you, lip worried between his fangs, hands twisting themselves at his sleeves. He’s slouching so much that he looks nearly as short as you. 

“Is it… is it that bad?” your knuckles are still barely pressing against the inky-blue door, lingering. He nods. 

“Fuck, dude, whatever he’s feeling is intense. But, I can’t figure out what the hell it is,” he makes an attempt at whispering, but it sounds more like screeching TV static than anything. 

He’s in there, and Virgil isn’t the only one who can sense it. It’s electric; whatever Virgil isn’t picking up on seems to have fallen into your domain. Unfortunately, it must be one of your non-primary side functions, because you have no idea what the specifics are. You curse the fact that you aren’t nearly as in tune with these things as he, by design, is. 

“We gotta get in there, Roman.”

The use of your proper name startles you. You grind your teeth, turning his suggestion over in your mind a few times before shaking your head sharply.

“You were the one that said we needed a subtle approach, you- Virgil,” you catch yourself before a nickname slips out, trying to share in his sincerity for the moment.

He gives a shaky sigh.

“I- I know what I said, but- Fuck, Ro, it’s bad.”

Now, it may be just because you’re a contrary bitch, but you have flipped on your original stance as well, leaving the both of you at odds. The worse this feels, the more you need to hesitate. If he’s avoiding you- both of you, the mini-him in your head reminds you, mind your mental filtering- then there's a reason for it. A reason to do with anxiety and you, which could easily be the ‘passion’ part of you, and that gives the strong implication that he’s deeply angry and hurt. In which case, you know that you could easily do something to make it much worse. You are very good at saying the wrong thing.

And so. You stare blankly at his door. Immobile.

Virgil elbows you.

You wrap your knuckles against the door and send him a glare. He groans, ramming his shoulder into yours.

“Okay, Roman, out of the way-”

“I’m getting some bad vibes-”

“Yeah, me too, that's kind of the point!”

“Well, there’s no reason to get snippy!”

“I don’t need a reason anyway, now move-” 

At a light shuffling from behind the door, you both snap your mouths shut. It’s dead silent as you wait, more patient than you've ever been before, as the muffled footsteps draw closer to the door. They stop just short of it, and for a moment you don't breathe.

“I can hear you,” came a muffled, barely-audible rasp. 

You fall against the door at once, pressing the side of your face into its cool surface. Virgil appears beside you, his claws suspended just above the knob. They hover like he’d be burned if he touched it. His voice is carefully measured, and he nearly sounds normal when he speaks.

“L, buddy, can you let us in? Can we talk?” 

You nod along, realize that he cannot see you, and then enthusiastically proclaim your agreement with the statement instead.

There's a long pause. You fear that Logan’s left again.

“Is this… necessary?”

“I’d really like to know why you aren't talking to us, so yeah,” you try not to snap, you really do, but you can tell that you’ve failed as soon as the words leave your mouth. You hope he'll understand how you really meant it. 

There's a sigh, and yet another silence. Virgil makes eye-contact with you, face twisted up with concern.

“It was not my intention for you to think me angry with you, if that's what you’re worried about.”

“That’s not it, Lo,” well, Virgil can speak for himself, because you were kind of worried about that. “I know something's going on. I know you.”

“Virgil,” his voice sounds much clearer, closer, as though he's pressed against the doorframe like yourself, “Virgil, your voice.”

“Don't know if you can tell, man, but I'm pretty anxious right now. And I know that not all of it is mine.”

At the next lapse, you don't wait for Logan to speak.

“Specs, hey, listen to me: I don't have a clue what's going on-” you let yourself smile, knowing that he can hear it in your voice, “Which is kind of my usual state, really- but the point is, it doesn't matter. We're here for you, no matter what. The three of us- best friends, right? Bee-eff-effs.”

“Best friends forever,” he mutters.

“Ah! I’m glad you agree!”

“No- it’s- I was correcting you, abbreviations have no place in verbal conversation- especially in place of simple phrases such as that one.”

“There he is,” Virgil chuckles, the distortion finally edging out of his throat. 

Logan sighs. You hear a bump.

“I suppose, if you two are really so concerned,” the lock clicks, “Then it would only be hypocritical of me to refuse to speak with you on this matter, given how I encourage you to do the opposite almost constantly,” the knob twists, pushes forwards an inch, halts abruptly, “Although… I can’t promise you full transparency. I don’t- I don’t think I’m quite ready for that conversation.”

Well that is ominous. But, then again, progress is progress.

You step back, and the door swings open. 

You fail to stifle your gasp.

Logan stands in the doorway, his head up, spine straight, and his hands behind his back- his usual stance. The posturing does nothing, however, to hide just how bloodshot his eyes are behind his glasses. He trembles, almost, when he looks from you to Virgil, and then back again. As soon as you meet his gaze, he glances down to the carpet, tapping his foot on the floor compulsively. It’s a state you’ve seen him in plenty of times, but the knowledge that this time you were somehow responsible for it pushes daggers under your skin. 

“Well,” he falters, “Come in, I suppose.”

[skylarmoon71]

Harrison Wells x Reader- Chapter 4 (Final)

You hummed along to a tune in your head, a cup of coffee in your hand as you bounced through the halls of S.T.A.R Labs. It was the afternoon, Cisco had a date with gypsy, Caitlin was off covering some research and Barry was probably somewhere following Iris around like a puppy dog. You were grateful for the space, now you could have some well deserved one on one time with Harry. It was tough, with your workload at the hospital, and Central City constantly being attacked by metahumans, there was rarely any down time for you and Harry. 

The sadder part was that not much happened after you both admitted your feelings. You hadn’t even kissed yet. You didn’t pay much mind to it though. This was still pretty new, and he was from another earth. Maybe dating was different on their earth. You kept telling yourself that because Harry hadn’t really made much of a move on you. Which was weird because he was the take charge type. Aside from longing looks from across the room and cute smiles exchanged between you two, there wasn’t much going on. 

As slow as you were willing to take it, three months had passed. He should have at least tried to kiss you by now. 

“(Y/N).” you jumped, turning at the person calling to you. 

“Detective West.” you smiled. “You startled me.” He smiled back. 

“Well you were standing there just spacing out for a good few seconds. I just came to grab some paperwork Barry left here.” he moved over to the desk, picking up a box. When he got it he titled his head. “Well enjoy the rest of your evening. “ 

When he said that and got no response he just looked at you. You blinked and then answered. “O-Oh yes, thank you. “ you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear moving to sit down and gather your thoughts. Joe seemed a bit conflicted to leave now. “Is everything okay, you look a bit off?” 

“That obvious huh.” you laughed. He nodded, moving closer, he braced the box on the table giving you a comforting look. 

“What’s bothering you?” you didn’t know how to phrase this in a way that wouldn’t make the entire conversation awkward, so you just flat out said it. 

“Harry he..he hasn’t really done anything yet. I feel like I made my feelings known and he did too yet, we’re at a sort of impasse.” Joe understood. You could see the gears turning in his head. 

“Well, if I’m being honest, in the time I’ve known him he’s not been the most socially adapted person. It took a while for us to even tolerate each other. Chances are he wants to be more intimate with you, but he isn’t sure how. I think you just need to let him know what you want. Hints are already hard for us regular guys to pick up on, so for him it might be near impossible. “ you almost burst out a laugh. 

“That’s true.” you said trying to contain your smile. You knew Joe was a pillar of wisdom, but what Barry told you didn’t do him justice. You were glad you could confide in him. It didn’t even make you uncomfortable. Somehow it felt like a parent-child conversation. The guy oozed paternal energy. “Thank you, really. “ Joe nodded, lifting the box.

“Always here to help!” he called while walking out the building. With your recent advice you figured you’d go and do just that. If you didn’t tell Harry what you wanted, you were positive this would go on for the next three months. You couldn’t have that. You picked up your coffee, moving to go and find the brooding scientist. 

Just as you stepped into the hallway, a flash of lightning caught your view. You almost fell back on your butt. Your eyes moved to where the red suited hero was laying on the ground screaming in pain. You tossed your coffee rushing over to him. 

“F-Flash what’s wrong!!” Your eyes caught an arrow that was lodged into his stomach. You pulled out your phone dialing Caitlin. 

“C-Caitlin get everyone to the lab now, s-something's wrong with Flash!” she didn’t stay on long enough to ask questions. You dropped your phone trying to console him. From what Cisco once told you he had incredible healing abilities so why weren’t they working. The more he moved the more blood seemed to come out of his wound. 

“(Y/N)!!” Harry had his gun in hand, he lowered it when he saw you on the floor with Barry. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong he isn’t healing!” you were panicked. Harry reached over pulling off his cowl. Your eyes widened at the face of the person behind the mask. You looked up at Harry in confusion and he gave you a look. Probably saying you would discuss it later. You felt stupid, how did you not put the pieces together. All the clues were there. Barry was crying now. 

“P-Please get it out..” he begged. The blood was pooling below him. If you didn’t do something quick it might be too late. 

“H-Harry..” you couldn’t bare to see him in so much pain. You knew you told Harry you wouldn’t use your powers recklessly, but this was Barry, your friend. Harry nodded.

“It’s okay (Y/N).” Harry turned back, hands gripping the edge of the arrow. “One three we’re going to remove it okay Allen.” Barry just whimpered, barely conscious. 

“One, Two, Three!” Harry yanked it out and Barry yelled. You stared in horror at how large the other end was. There was a small blinking light on the end. Your eyes looked back when you saw how pale Barry’s skin looked. He was letting out shallow breaths. 

“His healing is delayed, he should be recovering. “ Harry’s statement made you a bit unnerved. 

“Shit!” you made quick work, hands outstretched. A red light emitted from his body. There were also sparks that followed. You just watched, slowly you could see the wound in his stomach closing up. The red light that left his body ran through your own. You felt a bit dizzy. When the wound was no longer there you lowered your hands, putting them in front of you on the ground to keep you upright. Your heart was pounding in your chest unnaturally. Your eyes wouldn’t focus.

“Breathe, breathe.” you tried coaxing yourself. 

“(Y/N)!!!” when your gaze finally cleared you were shocked to see Barry sitting up. He looked a bit guilty. You waved him off before he could even speak. “Don’t give me that look, it’s fine. I understand why you didn’t say anything. “ When your heart got back under control you sat up. 

“So… when am I going to get a suit?” your question made a grin stretch on Barry’s face as he pushed your shoulder playfully. 

~~

“That was a close one, that arrow was pretty bad. But everything had healed nicely.” When Caitlin was done with her observation Iris stepped forward fretting over Barry. You stifled a giggle. Cisco was examining the arrow. “This is really something. There was a power dampening chip inside. It explains why you couldn’t heal, especially this size. The effects must have lingered because of how long it stayed in your body. You’re lucky it didn’t rupture to many vital organs.” Barry nodded. “Yeah, I was just investigating a lead. I didn’t even see it coming. “ 

“Well be more careful next time, you’re fast, not invincible.” you added. 

“Exactly.” Iris agreed. You could tell from her tone she was about to give him another lecture. When they talked you moved closer to Harry. You bumped his shoulder slightly, looking up at him. He smiled down at you. “Harry, thank you for trusting me. I know it’s probably not easy for you every time I use my abilities. “ Harry shook his head. “You were right before. I know you can handle yourself, I can’t say I love seeing you hunched over in pain, but I can’t ask you to give up something that defines you. It would be the same as telling Allen to stop being The Flash.”

“Yeah, how did I not figure that out!” he chuckled. “Most of the city still doesn’t know so don’t feel bad.” You grinned. For a moment the both of you just continued to stare at each other. You thought for sure he would do something. He didn’t though. His eyes fell and he looked like he was about to step away. 

“Harry.” he stopped, gaze moving back to you. “Please kiss me.” you could tell from the stunned look in his eyes he didn’t see that coming. You weren’t sure what was going through that big brain of his, but you just wanted him to know that he was enough. Maybe the entire time he just felt like you didn’t want him making any advances. You don't know what it was. And you didn’t care. Whatever insecurities he had you would squash them once and for all. 

“I’ve been very straight about what I want Harry, I want you. So please just kiss m-” you didn’t get a chance to finish. He leaned in pressing a searing kiss to your lips. You pressed back into the desk at the sudden action, hands reaching up to grasp at anything. They finally settled on his chest. He stepped forward, one hand swiping the contents of the desk unto the floor. 

“Hey!!” Cisco protested. Harry ignored. His hands gripped at your thighs, lifting you unto the desk. When you were comfortably seated he slipped between your legs, still kissing you hungrily. You moaned at the insistent way his lips moved against your own, as if he’d been starved of your taste. The audience in the backward quickly realized that neither of you looked like you were stopping anytime soon. They started to slip out, Cisco was the first to dive through the door. 

“Don’t forget protection!!” his warning fell on deaf ears. Harry was still pawing at you. When your lips finally separated you were sucking in heavy breaths. Harry’s lips moved to your neck, pressing heated kisses to every inch of skin he could. “You..have no idea..how much I’ve been holding back..” he mumbled between kisses. 

“I-I think I have any idea..” you whispered. His eyes moved back to yours. The gleam that shone made your heart skip a beat. “This entire time I was wondering why you didn’t even kiss me. I guess we were both reading the situation wrong. “ His palms caressed your cheek. 

“It’s a bit difficult for me to show how I feel sometimes. I wasn’t sure if you were comfortable with this level of intimacy. There are so many differences between my earth and this one. I didn’t want to make a mistake that would jeopardize our relationship.”

That made sense. At that moment you realized just how thoughtful Harry really was. He was willing to hold out just to make sure you were comfortable. He really did surprise you. 

“Next time let’s talk like adults okay. Don’t just make a decision like that on your own. I was honestly doing the same. I thought this would be hard for you so I was waiting for you to make a move.” 

He smirked. “And that I did. “ you blushed remembering your position. He really did. It caught you completely off guard. You wouldn’t say it to his face though. His ego didn’t need any more boosts. Although maybe you didn’t have to. He could read you like a book. 

You broke eye contact, looking over at the items he threw on the floor. It took you a while to recognize that everyone else already left. When your eyes reconnected with Harry’s you swallowed at the hungry look in his eyes. 

“Damn...” from the looks of it, you weren’t leaving S.T.A.R Labs anytime soon. 

[early-sxnsets]

soulmates? (oh my god they were soulmates)

(im so sorry this took me a hot second. i’m also sorry this is a bit of a meme/crackfic. probably not what you were expecting, but definitely something i’m here to offer. i blame the discord for encouraging me.)

(the following fic is like, a vague rated M/E. depends on how you rate.)

Everyone’s who’s got magic has got a soul mark.

For some, it’s easy to find. Handprint on their neck, on their cheek. Commonly on their hands, or forearms, while for others, it’s more hidden. Penny’s got two, laying right on her sides. She showed me once, back in fifth year, where her’s is.  They perfectly fit Micah’s palms.

Then there’s people like Baz, whose mark I’d first caught when he thought I was asleep and he’d just gotten out of the shower, having forgotten a change of clothes and letting his towel hang around his hips.

His mark is a single palm pressed to his lower back, settling along the sloping, intimate curve right above his bum.

We all know what it means. Everyone knows what it means.

The slightly off-fleshy pigmented print is wherever your soulmate’s touching you when they first tell you they love you. Whether a light brush, or a firm grip, it fills in where their skin meets yours. Down to the lines of their palms.

For some it’s platonic–a matching one with your best friend, with palms pressed together or hands around shoulders. For others, it’s clearly romantic.

Which is, probably, why I can never stop thinking about mine.

Because it’s around my dick.

Which is something I never really put on full blast, and only two people know–Penny and Agatha.

Penny’s the first person I’ve ever told, after having told her for a while “It’s under my clothes”. But, eventually (as in, when I started dating Agatha), she’d asked me if we “Tested it”.

I asked her what “Tested it” implied, and she gave me a funny look.

“You haven’t tried to put her hand on your mark?”

That brought a load of other questions, partially narrowing down to “Is this cheating?”, then going to “Nah. If it fits, it’s right”, but then the panic set in of knowing Agatha would have to touch my prick, so I’d blurt out an answer right there.

“But we’re not there yet!”

Penny gave me a weird look, followed by me trying to explain as quietly as possible, that my mark isn’t somewhere… normal.

She just looked my trousers, and burst into laughter.

Really helped my confidence there.

But, of course, eventually we had to test it (and it wasn’t the sexiest of tests either). See, Aggie’s mark is one of those brushing marks–the nondescript, light though of fingertips to her knuckles on each side. When we were 14, I caught myself staring at them during dinner every night for a week, wondering how it’d happen. I came to the conclusion, eventually, that it was most probable that someone would be brushing their hands over hers, probably as she’s holding something, like a mug, while saying it.

Intimate, but not in my way. The sort of intimacy you’d get from late night conversations.

Mine’s the unavoidable intimate. The kind where I know we’ll be more than just friends.

Which is why it wasn’t until our Christmas that we tried.

It was in her room, late on Christmas night. We were a bit tipsy, and she was smiling more than I’ve seen her smile in over a year or so.

She’d told me, then that she’s never seen my mark. I told her it depends on a lot. She laughed, and said “What? Our virginity?”

I didn’t laugh back.

Then the room got silent. Nothing beyond the soft crackle of her fireplace before she giggled again, eyes wide at me. “Does this mean?”

“It’s on my prick, yeah. We’d have too…”

Long story short, with a lot of fumbling and awkward stares, we’d realized pretty soon that it was definitely too big of a hand to be her’s.

We broke up the next week. Nothing too emotional–it was understood on both ends. She said she didn’t want to drag us out, and I said I didn’t want to force it if it isn’t fate.

Baz made jokes when we’d split. Said I’m probably mark-less, since I’m Normal born, but I’d shot back that I hadn’t seen his either (I did), so he must be mate-less. His lips twitched, as he snapped off, telling me it’s hidden (I knew) before dropping the conversation entirely.

Two things came about that experience. One, that it’s definitely a larger hand (not particularly guaranteed that it’s a man’s hand, but I have a sneaking suspicion that a bit too big to not be). (Okay yes. It’s bigger than my hand. I’ve checked, with a bit of awkward repositioning of my own hand, and whoever’s it is is probably taller than me. Or just has longer fingers. Or maybe I just have small-ish hands?) Two, that it probably isn’t something I’d particularly want to test.

That is, unless I’d want to invite all the blokes I know over to put their hands on my prick.

(Probably should dabble in the idea that this might make me a bit gay, but that’s a thing I thought not to focused on too much.)

From that point I’d let it slip my mind.

Recede back to where everything else I’d rather not think of sits–nestled between where Watford has come to sit, along with memories of The Mage. I’d much less forgotten about it rather than ignored it, figured it wasn’t worth thinking of.

Even when I got with Baz, we decided not to test it. Neither of our marks.

Not until this morning, when he went to leave for class with a quick peck to my cheek. I’d turned, settling a hand to the small of his back as he spun around to meet me, and hummed a content “I love you, be safe” without really thinking.

We usually just say “Love you”.

I don’t know what came over me for the extra “I”, but I suppose I’d felt it today.

Then is when he promptly froze, staring at me wide-eyed and opened mouth as it hit both of us where my hand is. Where I was holding.

He, to an odd expected relief, didn’t say it back then.

He just murmured a quiet “Love you” before practically running off with a dazed look across his face.

Which is where we’re left now.

Me, waiting at Penn and I’s flat.

Baz, bringing take out for dinner.

And nothing on my mind but my prick, sadly. And it’s in the least-sexual way.

We haven’t quite broken this boundary. Nine months in. Usually, I’m not in the mood (it’s been hard to find any mood recently), or he’s too tired from classes (he began some in early summer), or he’s worried his fangs will pop and… It’s always something. We joke about it, and it isn’t like we haven’t seen each other naked, it’s not something we’ve found a proper way to break through.

But I guess this means we should figure it out today.

I startle a bit when I finally hear him, letting himself in with his key. He greets me with a kiss to my hair, unnervingly silent as he goes to unpack our food.

“So…”

“We don’t need to talk about it.” He’s got his voice his usual icy-flatness, gaze dragged over to me and looking borderline tired. I wonder if he just doesn’t have the energy.

“Do you not want to?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Looks like you don’t.”

He looks over at me, then sighs. “No…”

“Then just tell me if you don’t want to. It’s fine, I’m partially a grown up.” I sit up more. “There’s a lot to process.”

I watch as he drops his hands onto the countertop, gaze studying over the bag as he does his usual, you know, thinking before he speaks (wonder what that’s like). It’s a few seconds before he finally starts, eyes still locked on what’s below him. “It’s not just the action of it. It’s the premise. It’s… knowing something I was scared of being wrong, and the standing fear that–” he tries not to sound choked. He tries so hard, but I can hear it. The small catch in his voice. “That it isn’t right.”

I try to sit up and move towards him, but he shakes his head and exhales.

“If you want to test it, Snow,” he mumbles. “Then we can test it.”

“I…”

“What?”

I bite my lip. “Well, I’m the first one who said ‘I love you’, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Then what makes you think my mark doesn’t match your hand?”

He shrugs. “The constant denial of it for years? The hopefulness I’ve held since you and Wellbelove broke it off–”

I can’t take his moping anymore. Really, I can’t. I spring up from the couch and march over just to snog him silent, nudging him up against the fridge doors as he relaxes and kisses me back. And holds onto me. And keeps me snug, letting me rub my hand over his lower back, feeling safely assured that yes, my hand most definitely does fit there.

“Simon–”

I break us apart, nudging our foreheads together as I shake my head. “Nuh-uh. Nope. Don’t.”

“But…”

“I know you’re the one, Baz. Why else would I put up with you?”

He starts to smile, trying to stop himself before it spreads out to an actual, normal sort of grin, settling his head back against the fridge. “Yes, well,” he chuckles breathily. “Feelings mutual.”

I grin, kissing his cheek and shifting our hips. “What feeling?”

He quirks a brow. “You know I can’t say it.”

“Well, you can. You’ve just gotta put your hand in my trousers.”

He scoffs, still grinning. “You’re ridiculous, Snow.”

“It’s not me!” I laugh back, “It’s the universe telling you to touch my dick!”

“Fuck the universe.” His hand catches on my chest, starting to drag down in a mind twistingly, unfairly teasing way.

“Bold words for someone complying,” I whisper heavily, tugging him closer as he pushes away my waistband.

His fingertips settle against the exposed bit of skin before starting to sink deeper. “It’s not being complicit,” he purrs back, “if it’s something I want.”

I practically moan, skin tingling as he slowly takes grip of me, and making my knees wobble. “Baz…”

“I love you.”

[infpisme]

10 Things You Should Know About Being In A Relationship With An INFP

Love is the life-blood of those who identify as the INFP personality type. As “lovers of love,” finding a compatible partner willing to investigate our complex nature can be hard. Thankfully, we found you.

In a relationship, our No. 1 desire is to be understood and accepted for who we authentically are. While INFPs are keenly self-aware, we can struggle to explain our perplexing ways to others. If you haven’t already noticed, we can be paradoxical, possessing many traits that contradict each other.

Getting to know an INFP can be an expedition full of surprising twists and turns. Here’s what you need to know about your compatibility with an INFP — and how to decode us in a relationship.

Who Is the Perfect Partner for an INFP?

Rest assured, any type is compatible with the INFP in a relationship — or with any other type. It is true, however, that INFPs tend to most commonly date certain types, which include the INTJ and ENFJ (ENFJs are often described as the “perfect match” for INFPs, although this is highly subjective).

Truth is, there are advantages (and drawbacks) to every match. INFPs who partner with a similar personality — like the ENFP, our extroverted twin — will have almost endless traits in common, but the two will share glaring weak spots with no one to balance them out. On the other hand, an INFP who choses to date or marry an ISFJ will have to overcome some major differences, but the ISFJ can help hold them accountable and keep them organized. (On the flip side, the INFP will help the ISFJ think big, dream big, and express the emotions they may normally bottle up.) There are some very strong couples who are complete opposites.

As with any relationship, maturity and communication are key. And nothing helps more than knowing what to expect from your INFP partner and understanding what they need in love and relationships.

10 Things You Need to Know if You’re in a Relationship with an INFP

So, here are 10 things you should know about us:

1. We reveal ourselves slowly.

In the beginning of a relationship with an INFP, you may notice their hesitance to reveal certain parts of themselves. Extremely private by nature, we reveal ourselves in layers, and the stuff that matters most to us will take time to unveil. We take emotional (and physical) intimacy very seriously, as we want to be sure that you are fully capable of accepting us.

Tip: Despite our reserved nature, one of our romantic ideals is to share our innermost self with you. But we may need help doing that, so ask (gentle) questions to draw us out. Conversely, pressuring us to open up may result in more resistance — we’re stubborn that way.

2. We’re genuine romantics.

Think: a Shakespearean sonnet as opposed to a Hallmark greeting card. Sure, we’ll enjoy those fresh flowers or dinner by candlelight, but more personalized gestures will make us really feel special.

Tip: A foolproof way to accomplish this is through handmade gifts. Whether masterful or loaded with imperfections, your gift is thoughtful because you put in the effort. Finding creative ways to say, “I love you” that are uniquely suited to your INFP demonstrate that you understand us — which is the greatest gift of all.

Bonus tip: After spending many years counseling couples, Dr. Gary Chapman concluded that there are five love languages, or in other words, five ways that people speak and understand emotional love. The five love languages are: words of affirmation, quality time, receiving gifts, acts of service, and physical touch. I’ve noticed that INFPs tend to appreciate quality time the most. Try deliberately fitting us into your schedule for some one-on-one time so we can feel connected to you.

3. We’re hopelessly devoted to you.

Thanks to our ever-present idealism, when we fall, we fall hard… to the point where we might overlook our own needs and desires. We love to please others, especially you, the one we adore.

Harmony is important to us, and we value working together so we both win. Unfortunately, as the song lyrics suggest, being “hopelessly devoted” can result in staying in relationships that don’t serve us well. Due to our devotion, we’re sometimes taken advantage of — and we may end up damaging important parts of ourselves to serve our partner’s needs.

Tip: If your INFP has dealt with codependency in the past, remind them that it’s all about balance. Take care of them the best you can, but make sure they consider their own needs, too.

4. Take our emotions taken seriously.

INFPs think with their emotions. Using our dominant Introverted Feeling (Fi), we navigate the world via our personal feelings, tastes, and values. As a result, we feel things deeply and intensely — even when we don’t obviously display it.

Tip: If you aspire to understand an INFP, you must understand that emotions are how we perceive the world. And, you must aspire to respect this. We are accustomed to judgment and criticism when we share how we feel. Dismiss our emotions or values and you might as well be rejecting our entire self. Please choose to listen. And of course, kindly assist us when we aren’t being objective and it’s clearly called for.

5. We’re open-minded (most of the time).

Due to our auxiliary Extroverted Intuition (Ne), we have a penchant for exploring ideas, possibilities, and patterns. This is what makes us unconventional, easy-going, and (almost) always willing to try something new.

Nevertheless, these traits can come with the price of indecision. Don’t expect us to know where we want our life to be in five years — or where we want to go for dinner. We’re much better at laying out options and deciding together when the time is right.

It’s tempting to bask in the convenience of our open-mindedness, kicking around even the craziest ideas… until you hit up against one of our core values. We’re compromising — to a point — but when it comes to our ideals, we don’t give an inch.

Tip: Highly individualistic, each INFP will have values worth defending and standing by, no matter what. These may appear unexpectedly, and seem to come out of nowhere, so be ready for them. You don’t have to agree with what we believe (or feel), but if you show respect for it — and don’t push us to change on these key points — you will be even dearer to our hearts.

6. We can be cryptic.

Being direct can feel impossible for us, as Extroverted Thinking (Te) — our logical, no-nonsense straight-talking function — is our last and least developed cognitive function. That means we can be reluctant to divulge specific emotions straightaway, which can make our roundabout manner of communicating hard to decipher.

In moments of affection, this may mean we prefer to tell you how much we care about you through a heart-felt letter rather than a face-to-face conversation. In moments of frustration, we may unfortunately resort to passive-aggression, along with some uncharacteristic lashing out.

Tip: If we lash out, approach the situation directly, so it can be resolved. Try not to take this personally (we know, it’s hard). INFPs who feel “heard” will also feel loved, and INFPs who get a clear, direct message about your feelings will appreciate you even more.

7. We need a lot of time and space for processing — alone.

This need manifests a number of ways. As introverts, we need time by ourselves to regain lost energy. Our creative process also requires isolation so we can form new thoughts and ideas. Without sufficient alone time, we may become overwhelmed, irritable, and unable to focus.

Tip: Please note that alone time is the most critical when an INFP is processing their emotions. We often know how we feel instantaneously, but we need time to sort through our labyrinth of emotions before sharing them with others. Be mindful that we may be unable to properly share how we feel unless we’ve had time to think things over on our own.

8. We may need your help when we’re stressed.

Everyone has to deal with stress from time to time, but it can be particularly daunting for INFPs.

We can quickly become distraught when our perfectionism kicks in. Tedious day-to-day activities can add up and contribute to the madness. As I mentioned earlier, we have trouble being direct — and this applies to asking for help. Step in and help us when we need it, even if unasked, and we’ll love you for it.

Tip: Crossing things off our to-do list for us will win you major points, especially the little things. Sometimes we’ll need to vent while you dry our tears of exasperation. Thank you in advance for this; you don’t know how much it means to us.

9. We want you to be honest, despite how sensitive we can be.

Being completely honest with us can seem dangerous. We don’t take criticism well and can often respond emotionally when confronted with an issue. However, we truly believe that it doesn’t help anyone to withhold concerns, and we will become hurt if we realize that you can’t share your heart and mind with us completely.

Tip: INFPs can be receptive to negative statements if they are explained in a loving and affectionate manner. Try to phrase things in a way that won’t be perceived as an attack. We recognize compassionate intentions. Approaching potential conflict this way shows you’re trying to help us, and ultimately, help our relationship.

10. Be our rock.

The world can be a harsh place for the sensitive and emotional INFP. We regularly feel misunderstood. We worry that our attributes are not highly valued by those around us. We can struggle with crippling self-doubt. As a result, our imagination often serves as our place to retreat and feel free.

Tip (and the way to our heart): When we come back to reality, we want to rely on you, our romantic partner, first and foremost, for support and care. Be our refuge when we’re caught up in the unfairness of the world. Be our champion and point out when we’re not properly sticking up for ourselves. Be our source of comfort and assurance when we’re in need of empathy and a warm hug.

by Aute Porter, IntrovertDear

[maveirn]

Just found out that there is this thing called gynecomastia where there is a non-cancerous growth in male breast tissue. It is usually associated with benign puberty changes. It usually occurs between 10-12 and disappears within two or so years. I hit puberty a bit later than my peers, I believe it started when I was around 13 or 14 and the noticeable, significant changes didn’t start until I was 15. Things like hair growth on the body and a sex drive. Now... I’m dealing with some serious anger right now. Like, the kind of latent simmering anger that just creates an energy in you. I’m not exploding or boiling because lets face it, its the internet. It doesn’t tell me shit. But, I’m starting to realize that I never learned to talk about my medical worries. My mother was always in the doctor’s office with me and she would drive the conversation between the things happening to me at home with the doctor. Now, when my chest began to swell up my mother and the doctor already had a conversation where they discussed my late-onset puberty (not sure if its a real thing or not, just using medical language to give you an idea of what was going on). So when my chest began to grow it was coincided from weight gain that, looking back, was a very obvious indicator of regular major depression (symptoms of depression that last for 2 or more weeks)...

*NOTE: Despite the fact that I struggled with anxiety and depression for nearly 3-4 years of my life I DO NOT want to call my depression during that time chronic because I believe that to label it as so would require “in-the-moment” study and analysis from a healthcare professional and me looking back on it is not enough.

So yeah, with my chest growth coincinding with the weight gain and the understood nature of my late-puberty-ness the doctor determined it completely natural. He theorized that it is either totally normal for a boy going through puberty to have his chest grow (a la gynecomastia) or my weight gain just increased the size of my chest. Despite this, I noticed that many men when they get fat and have their breast size increase their breasts tend to sag. Mine did not do that, mine stayed perky and I coded that as feminine. Now when I, a boy, codes his body as “feminine” he starts to question his identity. I knew there were issues wherein a boy “goes through puberty wrong” and prodcues estrogen rather than testosterone or any other issue with my endorphin that would result in not enough testosterone and more than usual estrogen. I kept these things very quiet and never discussed them because my helicopter of a mother was always in the examination room with me. 

So why am I blogging about this? Why am I angry? Why am I so, fucking, all over the place with this? Its so unreadable! Well... the Wikipedia page for Gynecomastia states that gynecomastia can last for somebody’s entire life! So now, as I sit here 22 with the exact same fucking breasts I’ve had since High School, I realize that my doctor did not do his due diligence to explain to me what was going on with me medically. He, and my mother, decided to focus on my rising weight. When he gave directions for whatever changes I needed to make, he made them to my mother more than he did so to me. “He needs to …” rather than “You need to …” So now, after 4 years of not seeing a doctor, I am realizing that I don’t know what conversation I need to have. I don’t know if I want or need plastic surgery to remove this stuff. I don’t know what I need. I don’t fucking know. And that pisses me off.

I COULD HAVE AVOIDED SO MUCH SHIT! SO MUCH DEPRESSION! SO MUCH ANGER! AND QUESTIONING! AND PSYCHOLOGICAL TROUBLE! AND INTIMACY ISSUES! AND FUCKING EVERY GODDAMN FUCKING THING WRONG WITH ME! IF HE JUST SENT MY - FUCKING MOTHER - OUT OF THE ROOM TO DISCUSS MY ISSUES! TO MAKE ME UNDERSTAND IT! GOD - FUCKING - DAMMIT!

Instead of it being natural it could be caused by an issue with my fucking hormones and it could NOT BE NATURAL! IT COULD BE A MEDICAL PROBLEM! THAT I’VE BEEN AVOIDING FOR YEARS! I might have body dysmorphia because of this shit. I might have an eating disorder because of this shit. I might be fat because of this shit. I might have had issues with gay people because of this shit. So many of my problems I can trace back to me getting fat and getting breasts. Holy fuck...

[jordan202]

Maybe This Time

Hey guys, I was watching the scenes from episode 12 and it just got me thinking… I don’t usually write a different story while working on something else, but I was probably going to forget about the idea I had. I didn’t plan for it to take this turn but the story got a life of its own :) 

Oh, I am in a hurry for a double shift so I didn’t ask anyone to proofread. I apologize in advance for my mistakes. The title isn’t coincidental.

Maybe This Time

Amelia nervously tapped her fingers on the working desk, too anxious for the computer results. During the past week, as she watched her patient being submitted to radiotherapy to treat a recurrent tumor, the neurosurgeon had struggled to come up with a viable plan that might allow her team to properly fund their ambitious plan.

While she knew the procedure was a sort of a Hail Mary and had its flaws, Amelia was desperately in need of something that would give her patient hope.

Maybe the reason behind all that was that she needed something to give her hope.

Lately, her life had been nothing but a mess. After a failed marriage, which she refused to think much about, and a brain tumor that had given Amelia answers about her impulsivity but had also served to confuse her feelings even more, the neurosurgeon longed for something that would be good and actually help someone. It was actually easier to focus her energy on the study for Kimmie’s tumor and devote her entire time to it than trying to figure out the mess that her personal life had become.

“So, have you come up with anything yet?”

Amelia’s thoughts were distracted by the sound of Alex Karev’s words and she saw the look of defeat on his face. Much to her own dismay, he also hadn’t been successful to get any kind of support for their project. It pretty much seemed like a dead end for them. Even Bello and DeLuca were losing motivation and Amelia couldn’t blame them. There were several other projects out there that were soaring and the eager interns probably would rather spend their time actually learning something than staying immersed on a computer all day doing research.

Alex gazed at the neurosurgeon and saw the consternation on her face.

“It looks like we’re really going to lose this battle,” Karev commented, obviously unhappy about it.

Amelia hated that situation. And she hated what she was about to propose. But then she thought of Kimmie’s joy and the girl’s happiness at sharing her gift with the world. Something had to be done.

“Not yet,” Amelia said with determination, looking into Alex’s eyes. “I have an idea…”

.

“You have to be kidding me,” Thomas Koracick’s annoyance was obvious not only in his voice, but also on the look on his face and the way he walked, “you have to be freaking kidding me.”

“Look, Tom, I…”

“YOU tricked me here saying you had a groundbreaking project for me,” Koracick nearly hissed, looking at his former’s student with impatience. “I actually bailed on presenting a case at the American College of Surgeons and got on a flight to this hell hole because I believed you and this is what you have for me?” he frowned, absolutely irritated. “HIFU? Are you kidding me?”

Amelia sighed heavily, knowing she shouldn’t be surprised. A couple of days before, she had gotten in touch with her former boss at Johns Hopkins. Tom Koracick ran the neurosurgical department there and had more resources at his disposal than anyone else she could remember. A few weeks prior to that, Tom had flown over to operate on her brain tumor and he’d even stuck around to help her get her department back on track once she was recovered. Before he could return to Hopkins, the two of them had slept together but Amelia knew it hadn’t really meant anything. Not to her, at least, and she supposed that not for Tom either.

For Amelia, it had been all about having a rebound after her complicated separation from her husband. It still sounded funny to think of Owen as that, since they weren’t even living in the same house anymore… But until their divorce was finalized, Amelia knew that technically, that was what he was.

And for Tom, sleeping with her had probably been about his own ego. Amelia knew he was a womanizer and even though during her residency the guy had been extremely professional, never had he hidden the fact that if Amelia ever gave him an opening, he wouldn’t hesitate to sleep with her. She had never really been interested, especially while he was her boss. But now, the two of them were at a leveled position, both ran neurosurgical departments and Amelia had impulsively done it. Physically, it had felt okay, but emotionally, Amelia knew it hadn’t really meant anything.

“It has never been tested on brain tumors before…” Amelia tried to reason and hopefully convince him.

“Oh, why do you think that is?” Koracick sarcastically asked, looking at her as if she should have known better. HIFU, or high frequency focused ultrasound was a non-invasive method that recently was being studied to treat tumors. That wasn’t exactly news in the surgical word.

“No one has really studied it on brain tumors…” Amelia sheepishly gave it another try.

“Yes, exactly!” Koracick interrupted her. “I am sure I don’t need to tell you that even if you successfully blast tumor cells with this new technology there is just no way you can guarantee clean margins and without the full, resection the likelihood that the tumor…”

“…will grow back is high, I know, I know,” Amelia sighed, hating to admit he was right. On tumors that could be later operated or managed with follow up, the HIFU method seemed like a good option. But for brain tumors, there were no guarantees it would work on the long run. “But it could help her buy some time and who knows even…”

“This is exactly why your project got rejected,” during the brief time he’d been at the hospital, Thomas had been brought to speed on the contest and saw the few projects that had made it. “It’s not cost effective, you should know that” he condescendingly rolled his eyes at her. “It doesn’t matter how noble your intentions are, Shepherd. Haven’t you learned this by now? Why would anyone in their right minds invest money on a study that promises no different outcome than a partial resection would?”

“You’re being extremely pessimistic!” Amelia lost her patience with him. “You’re putting all these obstacles when you’ve barely given me a chance to try.” She understood his frustration but he was throwing a bucket of ice water on her plans and that infuriated her.

Especially because she couldn’t refute any of his arguments.

“Look, you know I would love to help you if I could but my hands are tied,” Koracick sighed heavily, regaining some of his calmness. “Trust me, I deal with this kind of debacle all the time and I know you desperately want to help this kid, but it’s better if you just play it clean with the family instead of playing God here, okay?” Amelia scowled, hating to feel like once again he was the professor and she the inexperienced intern, but at the moment, it was exactly how she felt. “I have promised Catherine I’d have dinner with her. She wants me to properly meet her husband,” the neurosurgeon rolled his eyes, as if he was dreading the idea. “I am sorry I can’t help you.”

Amelia watched as Tom Koracick left, hating the fact she couldn’t really hate him for what he was doing. In his place, she probably would have done the same. And now she was back to square one.

For the rest of the day, Amelia stayed immersed in her project, trying to think about any loopholes she could fix to make the idea more tempting for Koracick. She knew he would be in town at least until the following day, so she was racing the clock.

After hours reading in front of the computer, too focused on what she was studying, the click of the door handle started Amelia, causing her to nearly jump from her chair at the unexpected interruption.

“Uh, sorry…” a deep male voice spoke in a low tone. “I had no idea the room was taken.”

Amelia looked up to meet the eyes of the man she was married to. Other than the brief, awkward encounter at the house when she’d walked in on him having breakfast with another woman, they hadn’t really been alone in the same room ever since the day they’d returned their wedding bands to each other.

“It’s okay,” Amelia rubbed her tired eyes, shocked to realize it was nearly midnight. “I was just reading and lost track of time.”

“I was printing some papers earlier today and I think I left my phone charger here somewhere,” Owen justified his presence, pointing at his dead phone. “I’ve been looking for it everywhere and realized I last used it here.”

Amelia got up from her chair and helped him look, scrolling through the files and forgotten objects in the room that was mainly used by interns and residents.

For the following seconds, the neurosurgeon unsuccessfully tried to find the charger, but the lingering silence was growing uncomfortable by the second.

“So…” she cleared her throat, eager to make small talk, “you’re on the liver project, right?” Amelia distractedly asked. She wasn’t really sure. “How is that working out?”

“I was actually trying for a clot factor study but I dropped it,” Owen answered with a shrug. He saw the question on her face and elaborated, “research is not really my thing.”

“Yeah, you’ve always been more of a do-er than a planner,” Amelia smiled.

The neurosurgeon failed to realize at the time of her comment just how personal she sounded. But Owen captured the intimacy it implied and he avoided thinking much about it, choosing instead to focus on his search.

“Why clot factors, though?” Amelia asked after a few seconds of silence.

“I had read about this chained Polymer that was isolated not long ago,” Owen explained. “It basically adheres to hepatocytes and you can sort of choose the cell you’re working with.”

“Really?” Amelia frowned heavily, uncontrollably assaulted by ideas. “You mean like a selective binding protein?”

“Yeah, there is a full catalogue of those at Polymer that have been isolated but even though it sounds good, it’s not very viable for out type of research,” Owen added. “It has an extremely high cost and the patents are just insanely hard to get.”

“Can you tell me more about your clot factor work?” Amelia asked. The more information she had, the better would be to fit all puzzles together.

“Uh… Okay,” Owen saw the eagerness on her face and agreed. It was late and he was tired, but if that was going to make her happy, he could stick around for a few more minutes.

Very patiently, Owen sat down near a computer and logged into a system. For the following minutes, he thoroughly explained Amelia about the idea he’d had. During the entire time, it became kind of hard to ignore her presence. Especially when she stood so close like that. Was it just him, or did her hair smell especially good today?

“This is actually very helpful,” Amelia leaned forward to examine the computer screen a little closer, unaware of the reactions she was causing on the man sitting right next to her.

Owen closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He really shouldn’t be having those thoughts. Well technically, he should, because the woman responsible for invoking those feelings was his wife, but a thousand complications and unspoken issues stood in the way and he really didn’t want to deal with his feelings.

“Do you mind if I print this?” Amelia looked at him with expectation in her eyes.

Owen knew her well enough to realize she was up to something. And judging by the look on her face, it was good.

“Sure,” he instantly agreed, satisfied that his abandoned project had served at least to the purpose of making her smile like that again. He hadn’t seen in ever since the day she’d left their home and his life. “Feel free to use it.”

“Thank you,” Amelia shyly bit her lower lip and made eye contact with him, seeing the warmth in his eyes. She smiled brightly and tried to ignore the way her heart accelerated when he smiled back. “Good night, Owen.”

“Good night,” he reluctantly left the room, knowing that it was the wisest decision.

.

“So you’re telling me you want me to fund a multi million project in which you’ll basically buy the most expensive protein I’ve ever seen so you can blast it with high frequency waves?” Tom Koracick frowned, looking at Amelia with a mix of surprise and admiration.

“Precisely,” Amelia smiled widely, struggling to contain her excitement, “but the real catch here is that, when I blast those cells, the whole tumor will be gone.”

“I don’t know this is insane or purely genius,” Koracick commented, skimming through the paper that had her detailed project.

Amelia had spent the last ten hours coming up with the plan. Her body was tired, but her mind was too alert and excited for her to want to sleep.

“Where did you get the idea?” Koracick frowned, hating that he didn’t have it first.

“A colleague inspired me,” Amelia confessed. “He was going for something along those lines and I adapted his idea to mine.”

“Get him here,” Koracick unceremoniously demanded.

Amelia desperately needed Tom to embark on the project, because she depended on him to finance it. So she decided not to refute. Grabbing her cell phone, she called Owen, gently asking if he could meet her in one of the conference rooms.

About fifteen minutes later, the trauma surgeon joined them, supposing Amelia needed help with something they’d discussed the previous night. But to his surprise, he found her sitting next to Thomas Koracick, the same guy who had taken out her tumor.

Before Owen could ask any questions, Amelia started to fill him on what she’d spent the entire night working with. After Owen had introduced her to the Polymer idea, she had basically filtered through a huge catalog, finding the heaviest binding protein she could that would link to a receptor present only in cancerous cells. Those would heavily increase the mass of the tumor, including the tissue near the margins. Then, once with the ultrasound technique she was working on, it would be possible to work with the HIFU at a frequency that not only would kill the sick cells, but also make sure they had clean margins. Without the heavy Polymer, it was hard to tell and adjust the machine to sort out the diseased tissues from the healthy one, but once Amelia made the cancer cells much heavier, chances of success were incredibly higher.

“This is a brilliant idea,” he stated with conviction after taking a look at her initial proposal. “But the cost would be beyond the charts,” Owen affirmed, certain it would be a problem. “I mean, this Polymer chain you selected costs nearly twice as much as the one I had. It’s going to increase the cost of the project. And it’s not guaranteed it’ll work.”

Amelia was aware of that. She on purpose kept silence, sneakily turning her head to the side very slowly until her eyes finally met Tom’s.

“Give me a concrete reason why I should invest my money on this,” the arrogant surgeon demanded, raising his eyebrows.

“I am going to make history treating gliomas. And if you don’t fund my idea, I am going to sell it to someone who is going to make it happen.” Amelia raised her eyebrows in defiance. “And if I do that, your name won’t be on the paper when it gets published,” she sneakily reminded him, knowing nothing would infuriate Koracick more than letting an opportunity pass. “You’ll lose.”

Tom narrowed his eyes, studying Amelia’s features. She was serious, he knew it. Rolling his eyes, the prestigious surgeon finally made up his mind.

“Fine, but you’re going to report to me. I am going to be here when we use the HIFU for the first time. My name goes before yours on the project,” he dared her, seeing on Amelia’s scowl that she hated it. “And keep this guy, he clearly is more familiar than us with the Polymer thing.”

“No, thanks,” Owen straightforwardly answered. He wouldn’t mind doing it if it was for Amelia, but he had never sympathized with the guy who had once been her mentor and he definitely wasn’t going to be a part of something that would benefit him more than the true author of the project.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Amelia protested Koracick’s terms. “Hell no. Your name is not going before mine.”

“These are my conditions, it’s give or take,” Koracick said in a final tone.

“God… I hate you!” Amelia complained. But she knew she couldn’t give it up. Koracick was her only chance to keep the project going and most importantly, actually give Kimmie a chance. The hard work was just beginning and she would need a lot of help, but it all started with the funding.

“I have a plane to catch, you keep me updated,” Koracick wickedly winked in her direction, loving that he was coming out on top. And just as he was reaching the door, Amelia was collecting her stuff and Owen was logging out the computer, the controversial surgeon turned around, unable to help himself. “If you thought that sleeping with me would give you special treatment, you better think again, Shepherd,” he smirked, knowing he was causing a scene. Even though Amelia hadn’t said it, Koracick had recognized the guy in the room as the husband she’d recently separated from. He was glad he was leaving, because fixing marital drama wasn’t his thing. He was much better at causing it. “Email me as soon as you have phase one initiated.”

Koracick exited without another word, leaving Amelia in absolute shock. Not because he had been inappropriate, rude and extremely unprofessional. She was used to his teasing and didn’t mind it when it was just the two of them. But at that moment, her heart was racing and she had an awful feeling in her stomach.

Amelia knew that, by the time she’d slept with Koracick, she and Owen had already broken things off. She also knew that he had no right to judge her on it, considering he had pretty much slept with the first woman he found right after that.

But she was well aware of how possessive men could be. Especially men like Owen. And she recalled just how they’d agreed to blame all the problems of their marriage on her brain tumor, as if her feelings for him had been questionable while Owen didn’t really have a similar excuse to justify why he’d broken the marriage…

“Owen, I…”

“Good luck with your project,” he violently shut off the computer without waiting for it to properly turn off.

It was obvious he was furious and Amelia got instantly mad at that too.

“You can’t be serious, right?” she asked him just as Owen was about to exit through the door. “Are you really that upset that I had a one night stand? Really?” she followed him to the door, hoping Owen would calm down. He had always failed at keeping rational when he was furious like that. And she was actually surprised that he had been so bothered by it, to the point of getting that mad. “You spent the past weeks fooling around with that…”

“Don’t,” Owen grabbed her slim wrist and stopped Amelia from touching him just as she’d been about to. “Don’t say anything. You don’t owe me any explanations,” Amelia looked at him and instead of the warm, caring eyes, she found the scowl of a guy who was just too mad to even pretend he was okay. “You are a free woman. You can do whatever you want,” he said and Amelia instantly noticed his calm, rational speech completely contrasted with his infuriated reaction. But even though she noticed something was off, never would she be prepared to hear what would come next. “If you have to sleep with Koracick to get funding for your project, then so be it,” he cruelly accused her, knowing he was being extremely unfair. But Owen couldn’t help himself. The news had caught him totally off guard, and the way it had infuriated him had surprised him even more. “Next time just leave me out of it, okay? I don’t want to be a part of another one of your games.”

Amelia felt the blow the instant the words fired out of Owen’s mouth. She didn’t know what hurt her the most, the way he had cruelly accused her of something they both knew wasn’t true, or the cold look on his face as he’d done it.

The first tear rolled on her cheek, enraging Amelia even more.

Screw Owen, she thought, trying to contain the tears that insisted on falling. He had been the one to change his mind… It had been Owen the one to break off their marriage… It had also been Owen the one to jump into someone else’s bed and take a random woman to the house they’d once shared the minute she’d left the house. So he had no right to play that low.

How dare him accuse her of that? Amelia sighed heavily, heartbreak and hurt slowly being replaced by anger and determination. Briefly, she thought about giving up the project and telling Owen to shove his Polymer idea up his ass. But she couldn’t do that because Kimmie’s life depended on it.

And as she went on with her day, blaming exhaustion and sleep deprivation rather than her hurt feelings for the way she struggled to keep focus, Amelia felt more determined to make her innovative project work. It was the only thing in her life worth focusing on.

Owen could take care of his bruised ego on his own. Maybe their idea to become friends was really faded to disaster. After all, they could barely interact without the heavy cloud of their unresolved issues lingering on their heads. And if Owen’s display of anger served as example for what was about to come, Amelia thought maybe it was better to simply never go there after all.

[abigailtremaine]

I wanted to live the life, a different life. I didn’t want to go to the same place every day and see the same people and do the same job. I wanted interesting challenges.

                                                                                                       -- Harrison Ford

VIRTUOSO PERSONALITY (ISTP, -A/-T)

Virtuosos love to explore with their hands and their eyes, touching and examining the world around them with cool rationalism and spirited curiosity. People with this personality type are natural Makers, moving from project to project, building the useful and the superfluous for the fun of it, and learning from their environment as they go. Often mechanics and engineers, Virtuosos find no greater joy than in getting their hands dirty pulling things apart and putting them back together, just a little bit better than they were before.

Virtuosos explore ideas through creating, troubleshooting, trial and error and first-hand experience. They enjoy having other people take an interest in their projects and sometimes don’t even mind them getting into their space. Of course, that’s on the condition that those people don’t interfere with Virtuosos’ principles and freedom, and they’ll need to be open to Virtuosos returning the interest in kind.

Virtuosos enjoy lending a hand and sharing their experience, especially with the people they care about, and it’s a shame they’re so uncommon, making up only about five percent of the population. Virtuoso women are especially rare, and the typical gender roles that society tends to expect can be a poor fit – they’ll often be seen as tomboys from a young age.

Dare to Differ

While their mechanical tendencies can make them appear simple at a glance, Virtuosos are actually quite enigmatic. Friendly but very private, calm but suddenly spontaneous, extremely curious but unable to stay focused on formal studies, Virtuoso personalities can be a challenge to predict, even by their friends and loved ones. Virtuosos can seem very loyal and steady for a while, but they tend to build up a store of impulsive energy that explodes without warning, taking their interests in bold new directions.

Rather than some sort of vision quest though, Virtuosos are merely exploring the viability of a new interest when they make these seismic shifts.

Virtuosos’ decisions stem from a sense of practical realism, and at their heart is a strong sense of direct fairness, a “do unto others” attitude, which really helps to explain many of Virtuosos’ puzzling traits. Instead of being overly cautious though, avoiding stepping on toes in order to avoid having their toes stepped on, Virtuosos are likely to go too far, accepting likewise retaliation, good or bad, as fair play.

The biggest issue Virtuosos are likely to face is that they often act too soon, taking for granted their permissive nature and assuming that others are the same. They’ll be the first to tell an insensitive joke, get overly involved in someone else’s project, roughhouse and play around, or suddenly change their plans because something more interesting came up.

Nothing Is as Boring as Everyone Agreeing With You

Virtuosos will come to learn that many other personality types have much more firmly drawn lines on rules and acceptable behavior than they do – they don’t want to hear an insensitive joke, and certainly wouldn’t tell one back, and they wouldn’t want to engage in horseplay, even with a willing party. If a situation is already emotionally charged, violating these boundaries can backfire tremendously.

Virtuosos have a particular difficulty in predicting emotions, but this is just a natural extension of their fairness, given how difficult it is to gauge Virtuosos’ emotions and motivations. However, their tendency to explore their relationships through their actions rather than through empathy can lead to some very frustrating situations. People with the Virtuoso personality type struggle with boundaries and guidelines, preferring the freedom to move about and color outside the lines if they need to.

Finding an environment where they can work with good friends who understand their style and unpredictability, combining their creativity, sense of humor and hands-on approach to build practical solutions and things, will give Virtuosos many happy years of building useful boxes – and admiring them from the outside.

VIRTUOSO STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES

Virtuoso Strengths

Optimistic and Energetic – Virtuosos are usually up to their elbows in some project or other. Cheerful and good-natured, people with the Virtuoso personality type (especially Assertive ones) rarely get stressed out, preferring to go with the flow.

Creative and Practical – Virtuosos are very imaginative when it comes to practical things, mechanics, and crafts. Novel ideas come easily, and they love using their hands to put them into action.

Spontaneous and Rational – Combining spontaneity with logic, Virtuosos can switch mindsets to fit new situations with little effort, making them flexible and versatile individuals.

Know How to Prioritize – This flexibility comes with some unpredictability, but Virtuoso personalities are able to store their spontaneity for a rainy day, releasing their energy just when it’s needed most.

Great in a Crisis – With all this hands-on creativity and spontaneity, it’s no wonder that Virtuosos are naturals in crisis situations. People with this personality type usually enjoy a little physical risk, and they aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty when the situation calls for it.

Relaxed – Through all this, Virtuosos are able to stay quite relaxed. They live in the moment and go with the flow, refusing to worry too much about the future.

Virtuoso Weaknesses

Stubborn – As easily as Virtuosos go with the flow, they can also ignore it entirely, and usually move in another direction with little apology or sensitivity. If someone tries to change Virtuosos’ habits, lifestyle or ideas through criticism, they can become quite blunt in their irritation.

Insensitive – Virtuosos use logic, and even when they try to meet others halfway with empathy and emotional sensitivity, it rarely seems to quite come out right, if anything is even said at all.

Private and Reserved – Virtuoso personalities are notoriously difficult to get to know. They are true introverts, keeping their personal matters to themselves, and often just prefer silence to small talk.

Easily Bored – Virtuosos enjoy novelty, which makes them excellent tinkerers, but much less reliable when it comes to focusing on things long-term. Once something is understood, Virtuosos tend to simply move on to something new and more interesting.

Dislike Commitment – Long-term commitments are particularly onerous for Virtuosos. They prefer to take things day-by-day, and the feeling of being locked into something for a long time is downright oppressive. This can be a particular challenge in Virtuosos’ romantic relationships.

Risky Behavior – This stubbornness, difficulty with others’ emotions, focus on the moment, and easy boredom can lead to unnecessary and unhelpful boundary-pushing, just for fun. Virtuosos have been known to escalate conflict and danger just to see where it goes, something that can have disastrous consequences for everyone around if they lose control of the situation.

VIRTUOSO RELATIONSHIPS

When it comes to romantic relationships with Virtuosos, it’s a bit like nailing Jell-O to a tree. Dating Virtuoso personalities is a tango, complex and interesting, with alternating coldness and detachment, and passion, spontaneity and enjoyment of the moment. Nothing can be forced in Virtuoso relationships, but so long as they are given the space they need to be themselves, they will gladly enjoy the comforts of a steady partner for a lifetime.

If Songs Could Change Lives, We’d All Love Each Other

Early in dating, people with the Virtuoso personality type can be especially flighty – they live in the present, always looking for new activities and experiences. If a potential partner doesn’t measure up, Virtuosos have no real problem walking away. Virtuosos also need a great deal of personal space, both physically and mentally, and any attempts to control them or forcibly schedule their activities only accelerates their departure.

On the other hand, Virtuosos have no problem trying to change their partners’ habits, most likely with attempts to get them to loosen up a bit and relax and have fun. Virtuoso personalities are hardly strict or traditional when it comes to dating, and often try to introduce sex into their activities early on. Sensual individuals that they are, Virtuosos make ready use of all of their senses, viewing intimacy as an art, a performance, and a source of pleasure.

As their relationships progress, Virtuosos’ partners tend to find that intimacy is about the closest they get to open emotional expression. It’s not that Virtuosos don’t have feelings – they actually run quite deep and strong – just that they conceal and protect them because they are unsure how to deal with them and express them. Virtuosos have no trouble leaving something they think is mutually understood unsaid.

This applies in a broader sense in Virtuosos’ relationships as well. Any attempts to push understood arrangements, even the relationships themselves, into open discussion in order to secure commitment, especially early on, are often met by Virtuosos with something close to panic. Nothing is so acutely terrifying to Virtuosos as knowing that there’s no way out. Every day is a new day, and Virtuosos review their obligations from moment to moment.

If Virtuosos are to be lifelong partners, it must happen as a natural progression of these day-to-day decisions, on their own time.

None of this should be taken too personally by Virtuosos’ partners – it’s just how their minds work. People with this personality type live in the present, in a world of physical activities that engage the senses, and they just need to know that they have the freedom to be passionate about something one day and indifferent the next, without being grilled on when they’re going to finish something, or why they’ve “suddenly changed their minds”.

At the same time, being a little more expressive and a little more comfortable with the idea of consistency and follow-through can go a long way in rounding out the Virtuoso personality type. The best partners usually share Virtuosos’ Observant (S) trait, that interest in what the world is here and now, with one or two opposing traits to help them to explore a world that also involves other people and others’ expectations.

VIRTUOSO FRIENDS

When it comes to friendships, Virtuosos seem made for Bushnell’s Law of game design: Easy to learn, difficult to master. With their well-rounded and interesting array of hobbies, people with the Virtuoso personality type have no trouble at all making acquaintances to share their activities with. It’s getting beneath the surface to become Virtuosos’ true friends that is the real challenge, leaving them with a lot of good will and friendly faces to call on, but only a few people who they feel truly understand them.

Maybe... But Not Today

A lot of this comes down to Virtuosos simply not wanting to be bound to any particular person or activity. Virtuoso personalities live in the present, enjoying whatever life brings, and feel no real obligation to shift course on account of others’ plans. If friends don’t want to do what Virtuosos are doing, then they are free to go do their own thing, and they’ll hang out some other time. Sometimes their shifts in attitude can catch their friends flat-footed, but Virtuosos’ motto remains “everything can be changed”. Forcing them to constantly commit to scheduled activities is probably the quickest way to end these friendships.

As long as everyone keeps things relaxed and flexible though, Virtuosos’ friendships can be rich and rewarding. People with this personality type are talented when it comes to using their senses, and usually enjoy a little competition. This makes Virtuosos’ hobbies, especially the more physical activities like fishing and crafts, especially enjoyable with a little company, and they are usually the basis for their friendships. Virtuosos’ interests are pretty diverse, so they should have no trouble coming up with exciting things to do.

Virtuoso personalities are also thoughtful, rational people. Being fairly creative individuals themselves, they often enjoy discussing new ideas – but in the end, the point of sharing those ideas needs to be to take action. Dreaming is well and good, but talk is cheap, and discussions on abstract or distant subjects like Eurasian politics can only hold Virtuosos’ attention for so long before they decide to shift their focus to something they can do.

This makes friendships with Intuitive (N) types, who have a much less physical approach to life, challenging for Virtuosos to maintain. With their enjoyment of firsthand experience, these personalities just feel more comfortable alongside other personality types with the Observant (S) trait. So long as they share a hobby, philosophical differences and contrasting world views really don’t matter too much – it’s what people do that matters to Virtuosos.

I Never Set Out to Be Weird, and yet...

Virtuosos are unusually popular, almost in spite of themselves. Their open-mindedness, interesting hobbies and relaxed attitude are attractive to a remarkably broad range of personality types. With so many acquaintances, Virtuosos are sure to strike up deeper friendships with at least a few.

VIRTUOSO PARENTS

When it comes to parenting, Virtuosos give their children more freedom and opportunity to do whatever they want, within sensible limits of course, than any other personality type. It’s a big world out there, meant to be explored and experienced. Nothing is quite as perplexing to Virtuoso parents as their children sitting inside and watching television all day. Relaxed, open-minded and flexible, Virtuoso personalities expect their children to use their freedom wisely – that is, to exploit it in the name of exploration and experience.

The World Is Your Oyster

Early in life, this attitude is tremendously beneficial for Virtuosos’ children. At this age, every little thing is a miracle, to be explored with every sense. Blocks don’t just have distinct colors and shapes, but smells and tastes too, and this sort of sensory exploration is right up Virtuosos’ alley. As their children learn their motor skills, people with the Virtuoso personality type are happy to stack those blocks right along with them. As their children grow and develop more complex abilities, Virtuosos find joy in showing them how to use real tools to build real things.

If Virtuosos’ growing children share their basic qualities of spontaneity and passion for physical activities, they are happy to accompany them on just about any activity, be it sports, hiking or hobby engineering. None of this is anything that gets forced on their children though. Virtuosos see little need in imparting their principles and interests on their children, instead just enjoying that their children enjoy doing things.

Ensuring that Virtuosos’ children are responsible enough to not do anything life-alteringly reckless in their teenage years, though, often falls to luck or (with luck) a more security-oriented partner.

Where Virtuoso parents struggle most, as with their other relationships, is in emotional bonding. Emotional control is something that children learn and adapt to over years, and comparatively unemotional Virtuosos are often left at a loss for what to do in the meantime. Virtuosos may just need to rely on a more able partner. Otherwise, it takes a great deal of conscious effort on their part to be able to provide the sort of emotional understanding and support their children need.

VIRTUOSO CAREERS

The Virtuoso personality type is probably the hardest to pin down in many aspects of life, but especially in their careers. Virtuosos thrive on diversity and unpredictability, on wondering “what’s next?” every morning. This makes Virtuosos one of the most mysterious personality types, but also one of the most versatile in the professional world.

Virtuosos are born problem-solvers with an unwavering focus on practical solutions (though perhaps not always solutions to practical problems). No other type is quite as fascinated by how things work, how tools can be used, and how facts can be put together to create immediate and satisfying results. This combination of curiosity and hands-on vigor make people with the Virtuoso personality type excellent mechanics, engineers, graphic designers, and forensic scientists.

Abstract theory and purely academic work that will never see the light of real use hold little interest for Virtuosos.

“Practical” is the word of the day. But it’s not the practicality of routine administration that Virtuosos crave – they need variety and action, perhaps even a little adrenaline in their work. Highly structured environments leave Virtuoso personalities bored and tired. Jobs that focus on crisis response, such as firefighters, paramedics, detectives, pilots and police officers seem made for Virtuosos.

Perhaps most important to Virtuosos though, is the feeling that they aren’t stuck. The freedom to wander, the freedom to declare their own schedules, their own responsibilities, their own environments – nearly every other consideration pales by comparison to the need to avoid inflexible commitments and stodgy colleagues. While this can be a significant hurdle to overcome in traditional employment, it is the chiefest allure of entrepreneurship.

Do Whatever Makes Your Heart Sing

Nearly any creative or constructive skill or interest can be offered on a freelance basis or on a business-owner’s own terms, be it blogger, systems analyst, athlete or driver. Virtuosos need to face down their weak long-term planning abilities and preference for instant results in order to make this path work, but livelihoods can be made selling bits and crafts in their free time. It’s also possible to find more traditional work to satisfy these needs, and forest ranger is a sought-after line of work for many Virtuosos.

Virtuosos have a natural skill with troubleshooting, a relaxed, self-confident nature and a results-oriented focus. People with this personality type understand that risk equals reward, and as long as they can use that understanding with maturity, rather than just kicking the ant’s nest whenever they get bored, they are highly desirable in any dynamic field or environment.

VIRTUOSOS IN THE WORKPLACE

When it comes to the workplace, Virtuosos’ top requirement is often a sense of unpredictability and excitement. This quality makes Virtuoso personalities’ personal relationships challenging enough, even among close friends and immediate family – for those they’ve only come to know in a professional environment, it can be downright frustrating.

Of course, this all comes down to knowing what makes them tick. With a little space and a hands-on problem to solve, Virtuosos can be some of the most productive people around. As with anyone, forcing people with the Virtuoso personality type into a mold that doesn’t fit just doesn’t work. Recognizing their unique perspective and gifts can lead to extraordinary results.

Virtuoso Subordinates

As subordinates, what Virtuosos crave most is a little wiggle room. Relaxed and easy-going, people with the Virtuoso personality type are happy to stick around with surprising loyalty, as long as their employers and managers don’t try to force them to commit to anything that can’t be undone the next day. Strict rules, guidelines and formal agreements make Virtuosos feel cramped and bored. If their habits or methods come under criticism or are forced to change, Virtuosos can also be surprisingly mulish.

Something that’s likely to make Virtuosos’ day is a random list of things that need to be fixed or dealt with. Virtuoso personalities have a talent for conserving their energy for just such an occasion, and can tackle such a laundry list with surprising enthusiasm. Their tasks do need to be hands-on though – if the items all start with “Come up with a strategy to...”, it’s probably better to find an Analyst type.

Virtuoso Colleagues

Virtuosos are often much more liked by their colleagues than they would expect. Quiet and reserved, people with this personality type usually need a little physical space, but at the same time enjoy peeking in on others’ work to see if there’s anything interesting going on. Not naturally emotional or empathetic, Virtuosos have a blunt way of communicating that can lead to misunderstandings or hurt feelings.

Yet, Virtuosos combine this rationalism and reserve with a sense of spontaneity that, among other things, creates a lighthearted sense of “do unto others” fairness. Turnabout is always fair play, and the odd prank, and the retaliation, are usually enjoyed by all. Virtuosos have a great sense of humor, if sometimes a little risqué, and are not only resistant to workplace conflicts, but are great at defusing them with a well-placed joke that puts it all into perspective.

Virtuoso Managers

Virtuoso managers treat their subordinates as they’d like to be treated: with minimal talking and loose boundaries. Virtuosos aren’t big on chattiness or emotional expression, and more sensitive types may see them as cold and distant – effusive praise and back-slapping just isn’t in Virtuosos’ nature. In fact, there isn’t likely to be a lot of feedback at all from Virtuoso managers, good or bad. But when problems do arise, they are great listeners who devise practical, fair, and impartial solutions.

VIRTUOSO PERSONALITY – CONCLUSION

Few personality types are as practical and inventive as Virtuosos. Known for their rational thinking and willingness to improvise, Virtuosos are good at finding unique solutions to seemingly impossible challenges. Virtuosos’ desire to explore and learn new things is invaluable in many areas, including their own personal growth.

Yet Virtuosos can be easily tripped up in areas where their logical and practical attitude is more of a liability than an asset. Whether it is navigating interpersonal conflicts, confronting unpleasant facts, pursuing self-realization, or managing your workload, you need to put in a conscious effort to develop your weaker traits and additional skills.

[diariesof-kg]

Accountability.

08_12_21

I don’t have much to blog about.  I was thinking of not typing my blogs but record and post.  It would be easier for people to listen than read a 4-page letter about my thoughts.  This helps me cope with my thoughts, since they are all over the place and some things come to the forefront that I forgot about.  I want to take time to reflect slightly.  I want to take accountability for myself.  As I get more comfortable speaking about what happened to me for nine months, it’ll be easier to post it on my IG.  It’ll be easier for my followers to understand me.  To understand the mind of someone who lived in silent.

After everything ended, I cried for a week straight.  And it wasn’t no small cry, it was so bad, I couldn’t breathe.  It was so bad, I felt like I was so empty.  And as I reflect, I see myself sitting at the desk, trying to work and crying.  But I also see the light at the end that I could not see before.  I remember telling my therapist, that I was officially beyond repair.  And that I worked so hard to self heal from the same shit I told myself I would never deal with again.  That’s the accountability for myself.  After 2016, I worked very hard to heal with no therapy and was dating easily.  I was likeable asf.  So it hurts and I am disappointed in myself that I repaired me just to have to do the shit all over again.  I think when I think about that, I cry a lot.  Because I’ve been through so much and of course everyone watched my relationship on IG, because I posted it all over.  And when I got out, everyone was happy for me.  I am disappointed because I allowed myself to allow the things to happen to me.  The moment she appeared at my house unannounced because I didn’t come to dinner was a red flag to remove myself.  And I didn’t.  The moment when she cursed me out just for asking about posting photos of me and her, was a red flag.  There were so many flags waving and I ignored them.  I have to take responsibility for my ignorance.  Some of it is my fault, because I allowed it.  I told myself and I told God, I WOULD NEVER end up in a situation like I was years ago.  I had understood the signs of abuse, I had read so many blogs and articles.  But I fell hard and fast.

There is a lot of disappointment that I feel and although they tell me, it’s not your fault, it still sucks.  Maybe if I was less of a lover I wouldn’t feel this way.  I legit was going on dates and had no interest in anyone.  Although they really wanted to date me or see me again, I declined.  Plus I had booked this TV show and in order to get a Capricorn attention or time, you have to honestly work for it.  And I think this Taurus knew that.  That’s why it was so easy to capture my attention and so easy to get me.  And it sucks.  Especially when she said I flaked on her, when I really had to film this show.  That should have been some sort of sign from the universe to skip over this one and date someone else.  I feel so eh.... I am still trying to figure that out.  I am according to so many others “hard to get...” I am not hard to get, you just have to have that vibe that vibes with me.  I think I liked her from the conversation and I never felt that type of energy from any other women I went on dates with.  But still after that, I should have known.  By now I’d be proposing or some shit to the right women.  But instead I’m picking up the pieces of myself to start healing all over again. 

I don’t even have the energy to date.  I feel like I am stuck on her, like some weird ass soul-tie, but I no longer want her.  It took about 90 days to get rid of those feelings and wanting someone who never wanted you.  It was hard.  Despite having a restraining order, parts of me wanted to just talk to her, parts of me wanted to be intimate, parts of me never wished it happened.  But I realize that it was meant to happen.  And this portion, I can’t wait to share with the public, because the push-pull was real.  It’s a battle between your mind and heart.  It’s a battle between those on the outside.  But at the end of the day it was me who made the choices to remain strong and not fall for it.  I am also realizing that, I was used for the moment.  At the beginning she said she was talking to someone else before me and parts of me wished she chose the other girl.  Parts of me is wondering why me?  Was it easier to manipulate me?  Was it because I am a Capricorn and I love money?  Because of what?  I feel used.  I even feel more disgusted, because I broke my 90day rule of intimacy and later she tells me before our date she had sex with some female who had a whole girlfriend.  If that doesn’t scream RED FLAG, I don’t know what does.  I don’t condone infidelity.  I have to take responsibility for falling deaf on things that were clearly present.  I don’t date cheaters!!! And she’s a damn serial cheater.  I fault for myself again for just not paying attention.  If yall don’t understand how the signs were clearly present, I don’t even know.  I honestly don’t date cheaters and I am very adamant about that.  I never cheated in my life! So WTF.

And it’s so crazy how women think that I have multiple women when I don’t.  Yes I have women interested in me, but do I talk to them all at once, No!  We usually end as friends and they date someone else, while I’m single and they keep in contact, because they like me.  And when they do bring up about wanting me, I put them in their place, because if you do that, then you lose me as a friend, so they understand.  My phone has no lock or code on it.  You can look through my shit.  It’s mind boggling.  So the advocate today asked, what did you guys argue about the most?  And honestly there was no answer to that.  It was either I wasn’t communicating enough or I wasn’t doing what she wanted.  It’s got to be an issue with the Taurus, someone ask Chris Brown. Lol.  Like seriously my friend dated a Taurus and that taurus physically did harm.  You can’t tell me they are not violent.  She has a restraining order on that bish.  So.... if everything is good with a Taurus and a Capricorn except the communication is 3/5 then, what’s with the violence.  I don’t think anyone can decipher it, except all the taurus I spoke to said they love hard.  I love hard too, but you don’t see me controlling or manipulating anyone I dated.  I don’t need to be in control.  Just some sort of weird chemical imbalance to me.  

You know what sucks is my brother.  He never got along with other people I dated and he just jumped into her arms and was so happy.  Damn *insert sad face*  My brother matters and I always said, I can’t date people if you don’t get along with him, because humans with disabilities are beautiful and deserve the same recognition.  And it definitely shows your character.  One time he said her name and I had to explain to him, that she gone home and never to return.  Isn’t that crazy.  He doesn’t understand, but understands. I can’t tell him NO, don’t say that, because he would not understand it.  I feel sad about that, because my brother had a “friend” someone that acknowledged him and he loved that.  And I am responsible for sort of taking that away.  Plus he’s a dude he love thick women. Lol, I’m done with him, he’s a character. 

I need two days of a break from blogging.  Lol, My weekends are to relax.  But I am disappointed that I may not buy a Tesla, because it’s so damn complicated.  Like wtf Elon. Lol, I need to do an interview or an update, because I am so different now.  But like I said several celebrities follow that page and one I know.  And I just don’t have that confidence to be okay with them knowing, it’s so weird.  I mean when I meet H.E.R. like on some intimate shit, best believe we having a whole conversation. Lol. I did reach out to H.E.R. management though.  I am serious about her singing at my reception after I’m married.  

I still need to write this will and beneficiaries documents.  I am still very sure that my next partner can have my assets.  Because you honestly never know.  It’s not something I’d bring up on the first date, Lol, but it’s there.  I am always a planner.  I be two years ahead but still be stuck in the current year.  I do want to fall in love again.  It’s still there, maybe by 2022.  I thought I’d bounce back but I can’t and I’m impatient but I can wait.  But I signed up for classes, and I am going back to OT, so I really don’t have time for no one else unless they were persistent like she was, but even then I couldn’t trust them.  It’s a process.  It really is.  And of course I think once I feel this soul-tie completely break and separate Ill be ready.  And ignorance is a bliss.  Because I told her she was my person and when you say things out loud, the universe listens.  So that’s why it’s taking longer to move on.  I am so spiritual it sucks sometimes. 

It’s past 10pm and I need to sleep... until next time.

[shoreearchive]

EMMA PERKINS RE: MYERS-BRIGGS -- ISTP.

introverted, sensing, thinking, perceiving

Virtuosos love to explore with their hands and their eyes, touching and examining the world around them with cool rationalism and spirited curiosity. People with this personality type are natural Makers, moving from project to project, building the useful and the superfluous for the fun of it, and learning from their environment as they go. Often mechanics and engineers, Virtuosos find no greater joy than in getting their hands dirty pulling things apart and putting them back together, just a little bit better than they were before.

Virtuosos explore ideas through creating, troubleshooting, trial and error and first-hand experience. They enjoy having other people take an interest in their projects and sometimes don’t even mind them getting into their space. Of course, that’s on the condition that those people don’t interfere with Virtuosos’ principles and freedom, and they’ll need to be open to Virtuosos returning the interest in kind.

Virtuosos enjoy lending a hand and sharing their experience, especially with the people they care about, and it’s a shame they’re so uncommon, making up only about five percent of the population. Virtuoso women are especially rare, and the typical gender roles that society tends to expect can be a poor fit – they’ll often be seen as tomboys from a young age.

While their mechanical tendencies can make them appear simple at a glance, Virtuosos are actually quite enigmatic. Friendly but very private, calm but suddenly spontaneous, extremely curious but unable to stay focused on formal studies, Virtuoso personalities can be a challenge to predict, even by their friends and loved ones. Virtuosos can seem very loyal and steady for a while, but they tend to build up a store of impulsive energy that explodes without warning, taking their interests in bold new directions.

Virtuosos’ decisions stem from a sense of practical realism, and at their heart is a strong sense of direct fairness, a “do unto others” attitude, which really helps to explain many of Virtuosos’ puzzling traits. Instead of being overly cautious though, avoiding stepping on toes in order to avoid having their toes stepped on, Virtuosos are likely to go too far, accepting likewise retaliation, good or bad, as fair play.

The biggest issue Virtuosos are likely to face is that they often act too soon, taking for granted their permissive nature and assuming that others are the same. They’ll be the first to tell an insensitive joke, get overly involved in someone else’s project, roughhouse and play around, or suddenly change their plans because something more interesting came up.

Virtuosos will come to learn that many other personality types have much more firmly drawn lines on rules and acceptable behavior than they do – they don’t want to hear an insensitive joke, and certainly wouldn’t tell one back, and they wouldn’t want to engage in horseplay, even with a willing party. If a situation is already emotionally charged, violating these boundaries can backfire tremendously.

Virtuosos have a particular difficulty in predicting emotions, but this is just a natural extension of their fairness, given how difficult it is to gauge Virtuosos’ emotions and motivations. However, their tendency to explore their relationships through their actions rather than through empathy can lead to some very frustrating situations. People with the Virtuoso personality type struggle with boundaries and guidelines, preferring the freedom to move about and color outside the lines if they need to.

Finding an environment where they can work with good friends who understand their style and unpredictability, combining their creativity, sense of humor and hands-on approach to build practical solutions and things, will give Virtuosos many happy years of building useful boxes – and admiring them from the outside.

STRENGTHS

Optimistic and Energetic – Virtuosos are usually up to their elbows in some project or other. Cheerful and good-natured, people with the Virtuoso personality type (especially Assertive ones) rarely get stressed out, preferring to go with the flow.

Creative and Practical – Virtuosos are very imaginative when it comes to practical things, mechanics, and crafts. Novel ideas come easily, and they love using their hands to put them into action.

Spontaneous and Rational – Combining spontaneity with logic, Virtuosos can switch mindsets to fit new situations with little effort, making them flexible and versatile individuals.

Know How to Prioritize – This flexibility comes with some unpredictability, but Virtuoso personalities are able to store their spontaneity for a rainy day, releasing their energy just when it’s needed most.

Great in a Crisis – With all this hands-on creativity and spontaneity, it’s no wonder that Virtuosos are naturals in crisis situations. People with this personality type usually enjoy a little physical risk, and they aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty when the situation calls for it.

Relaxed – Through all this, Virtuosos are able to stay quite relaxed. They live in the moment and go with the flow, refusing to worry too much about the future.

WEAKNESSES

Stubborn – As easily as Virtuosos go with the flow, they can also ignore it entirely, and usually move in another direction with little apology or sensitivity. If someone tries to change Virtuosos’ habits, lifestyle or ideas through criticism, they can become quite blunt in their irritation.

Insensitive – Virtuosos use logic, and even when they try to meet others halfway with empathy and emotional sensitivity, it rarely seems to quite come out right, if anything is even said at all.

Private and Reserved – Virtuoso personalities are notoriously difficult to get to know. They are true introverts, keeping their personal matters to themselves, and often just prefer silence to small talk.

Easily Bored – Virtuosos enjoy novelty, which makes them excellent tinkerers, but much less reliable when it comes to focusing on things long-term. Once something is understood, Virtuosos tend to simply move on to something new and more interesting.

Dislike Commitment – Long-term commitments are particularly onerous for Virtuosos. They prefer to take things day-by-day, and the feeling of being locked into something for a long time is downright oppressive. This can be a particular challenge in Virtuosos’ romantic relationships.

Risky Behavior – This stubbornness, difficulty with others’ emotions, focus on the moment, and easy boredom can lead to unnecessary and unhelpful boundary-pushing, just for fun. Virtuosos have been known to escalate conflict and danger just to see where it goes, something that can have disastrous consequences for everyone around if they lose control of the situation.

ROMANCE

When it comes to romantic relationships with Virtuosos, it’s a bit like nailing Jell-O to a tree. Dating Virtuoso personalities is a tango, complex and interesting, with alternating coldness and detachment, and passion, spontaneity and enjoyment of the moment. Nothing can be forced in Virtuoso relationships, but so long as they are given the space they need to be themselves, they will gladly enjoy the comforts of a steady partner for a lifetime.

Early in dating, people with the Virtuoso personality type can be especially flighty – they live in the present, always looking for new activities and experiences. If a potential partner doesn’t measure up, Virtuosos have no real problem walking away. Virtuosos also need a great deal of personal space, both physically and mentally, and any attempts to control them or forcibly schedule their activities only accelerates their departure.

On the other hand, Virtuosos have no problem trying to change their partners’ habits, most likely with attempts to get them to loosen up a bit and relax and have fun. Virtuoso personalities are hardly strict or traditional when it comes to dating, and often try to introduce sex into their activities early on. Sensual individuals that they are, Virtuosos make ready use of all of their senses, viewing intimacy as an art, a performance, and a source of pleasure.

As their relationships progress, Virtuosos’ partners tend to find that intimacy is about the closest they get to open emotional expression. It’s not that Virtuosos don’t have feelings – they actually run quite deep and strong – just that they conceal and protect them because they are unsure how to deal with them and express them. Virtuosos have no trouble leaving something they think is mutually understood unsaid.

This applies in a broader sense in Virtuosos’ relationships as well. Any attempts to push understood arrangements, even the relationships themselves, into open discussion in order to secure commitment, especially early on, are often met by Virtuosos with something close to panic. Nothing is so acutely terrifying to Virtuosos as knowing that there’s no way out. Every day is a new day, and Virtuosos review their obligations from moment to moment.

None of this should be taken too personally by Virtuosos’ partners – it’s just how their minds work. People with this personality type live in the present, in a world of physical activities that engage the senses, and they just need to know that they have the freedom to be passionate about something one day and indifferent the next, without being grilled on when they’re going to finish something, or why they’ve “suddenly changed their minds”.

At the same time, being a little more expressive and a little more comfortable with the idea of consistency and follow-through can go a long way in rounding out the Virtuoso personality type. The best partners usually share Virtuosos’ Observant (S) trait, that interest in what the world is here and now, with one or two opposing traits to help them to explore a world that also involves other people and others’ expectations.

FRIENDSHIPS:

When it comes to friendships, Virtuosos seem made for Bushnell’s Law of game design: Easy to learn, difficult to master. With their well-rounded and interesting array of hobbies, people with the Virtuoso personality type have no trouble at all making acquaintances to share their activities with. It’s getting beneath the surface to become Virtuosos’ true friends that is the real challenge, leaving them with a lot of good will and friendly faces to call on, but only a few people who they feel truly understand them.

A lot of this comes down to Virtuosos simply not wanting to be bound to any particular person or activity. Virtuoso personalities live in the present, enjoying whatever life brings, and feel no real obligation to shift course on account of others’ plans. If friends don’t want to do what Virtuosos are doing, then they are free to go do their own thing, and they’ll hang out some other time. Sometimes their shifts in attitude can catch their friends flat-footed, but Virtuosos’ motto remains “everything can be changed”. Forcing them to constantly commit to scheduled activities is probably the quickest way to end these friendships.

As long as everyone keeps things relaxed and flexible though, Virtuosos’ friendships can be rich and rewarding. People with this personality type are talented when it comes to using their senses, and usually enjoy a little competition. This makes Virtuosos’ hobbies, especially the more physical activities like fishing and crafts, especially enjoyable with a little company, and they are usually the basis for their friendships. Virtuosos’ interests are pretty diverse, so they should have no trouble coming up with exciting things to do.

Virtuoso personalities are also thoughtful, rational people. Being fairly creative individuals themselves, they often enjoy discussing new ideas – but in the end, the point of sharing those ideas needs to be to take action. Dreaming is well and good, but talk is cheap, and discussions on abstract or distant subjects like Eurasian politics can only hold Virtuosos’ attention for so long before they decide to shift their focus to something they can do.

This makes friendships with Intuitive (N) types, who have a much less physical approach to life, challenging for Virtuosos to maintain. With their enjoyment of firsthand experience, these personalities just feel more comfortable alongside other personality types with the Observant (S) trait. So long as they share a hobby, philosophical differences and contrasting world views really don’t matter too much – it’s what people do that matters to Virtuosos.

Virtuosos are unusually popular, almost in spite of themselves. Their open-mindedness, interesting hobbies and relaxed attitude are attractive to a remarkably broad range of personality types. With so many acquaintances, Virtuosos are sure to strike up deeper friendships with at least a few.

REVIEW

Few personality types are as bold and practical as Virtuosos. Known for their technical mastery and willingness to improvise, Virtuosos are good at finding unique solutions to seemingly impossible challenges. Virtuosos’ desire to explore and learn new things is invaluable in many areas, including their own personal growth.

Yet Virtuosos can be easily tripped up in areas where their focus on practical matters is more of a liability than an asset. Whether it is finding (or keeping) a partner, reaching dazzling heights on the career ladder, or learning to plan ahead, Virtuosos need to put in a conscious effort to develop their weaker traits and additional skills.

What you have read so far is just an introduction into the complex concept that is the Virtuoso personality type. You may have muttered to yourself, “wow, this is so accurate it’s a little creepy” or “finally, someone understands me!” You may have even asked “how do they know more about me than the people I’m closest to?”

This is not a trick. You felt understood because you were. We’ve studied how Virtuosos think and what they need to reach their full potential. And no, we did not spy on you – many of the challenges you’ve faced and will face in the future have been overcome by other Virtuosos. You simply need to learn how they succeeded.

[schwarzwaelder-kirschtorte]

The Shopping Complex

Word count: 4958 (👀)

Characters: Reader, Gadreel, OMC, OFC

Rating: G (Some swearing)

Summary:  The Reader has to buy new clothes for an undercover case, and she brings Gadreel along for company.

A/N: I was feeling a little down, so I wrote a self-insert Gadreel fic. So sue me. And the title is kind of a...play on words.

“If you dislike purchasing things so much,” Gadreel brought up as I cursed under my breath for the fourth time that afternoon, “why are we here?”

“I am here because we have a new case, and I’m better at undercover work. And I am here,” I said tightly, gesturing harshly at the line of boutiques on either side of the mall’s indoor promenade, dreading the possibility of having to go into even one of the stores to find what I needed, let alone all of them, “because my G-gal duds just won’t cut it this time. And you’re here because I wanted company and you looked like you were coming down with cabin fever.”

And because I would take any chance I could get to be around the guy, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. No siree, Bob.

“I’m not susceptible to human immunological ailments,” he reminded me blankly.

“It’s a…figure of speech,” I sighed, slinking through a doorway and into a store whose walls were just way too pink. After years of internalized misogyny, I had learned to like pink again, even love it sometimes, but not like this. This looked like the insides of a Pepto-Bismol bottle.

I stopped in my tracks, and Gadreel, eyes on the garish color scheme as well, collided with me in the entranceway, and I went sprawling. He grabbed my hand to keep me from falling and pulled me back. Already off-kilter, I lost my balance the other way around and crashed into his hard chest. Mortified beyond my wildest dreams, I savored the contact anyway. I would probably never get another chance to have my hands all over the angel.

I always wanted what I couldn’t have. In high school, it had been the captain of the football and basketball team. In college, it had been my resident adviser Isabelle. And out hunting mythological creatures with my found siblings the Winchesters, I had met and fallen for a divine being who wouldn’t love me back if I were the last person on earth.

Gosh, I really knew how to pick them.

“Are you okay?” he asked, staring down at me with his dark eyes.

“Um…”

“May I help you find something?” a young saleswoman asked the two weirdos at the front of the store.

“Definitely not,” I said, pushing Gadreel back the way we came and following him out. I hoped to Chuck we never ended up in this city—no, this county—again, or I could very well spontaneously combust from the humiliation.

Leading Gadreel to another boutique some ways away from the pink nightmare, I noticed that our hands were still bound between us. The natural light fell through the high glass ceiling, sprinkled here and there with colored panes, and brightened the main concourse like something out of a fairytale. The line of fountains and large ferns certainly didn’t help. We could have been on a date.

I jerked my hand away and marched through the nearest doorway.

“I’m sorry,” he said when he found me browsing pin-striped blazers along a wall. “Was I squeezing too tightly? Sometimes I forget my own strength.”

“No, it’s just…” I pushed the hangers aside one by one as I tried to find my size. My broad shoulders were good for breaking through doors and knocking down the human subcategory of monsters, but they were awful for trying to fit into the average shirt or jacket. Technically, I was average, but try telling the Western fashion industry that. “It’s just that holding hands is kinda for…special friends.”

“Aren’t we special friends?” he asked, confused.

“Oh, you are definitely special, and we are friends, but it’s not the same thing.”

“I don’t understand.”

And I didn’t have the emotional energy to explain levels of intimacy and displays of affection to the angel I had been crushing on harder and harder ever since he came back into our lives.

“Ask Sam when we get back to the motel,” I dismissed, grabbing a blazer I thought might fit and stepping back to scan the store for trousers. As much as I had learned to like pink again, I would never feel comfortable in skirts or dresses. Even if my thighs didn’t chafe. Even if my hips and stomach didn’t bubble. I just couldn’t relax in them.

“If you tell me what you’re looking for, maybe I can help,” Gadreel mentioned.

“Anything that doesn’t make me look like a blimp,” I muttered, wrinkling my nose at the wide-legged pants. Those made me look awful.

“Technically, if you’re going to compare yourself to any dirigible,” he said, steering me toward a nearby rack, “you’d be rigid, like the Hindenburg.” At my blank stare, he folded one of his arms and flapped it like a chicken wing. “Because of your bone structure.”

I coughed out a laugh. I had asked him to come along in the first place because I liked spending time with him, and I was being a jerk with all this feeling sorry for myself. And he just wanted to be useful.

“Not that you need any validation from me, or anybody,” he said, picking through a bunch of pin-striped trousers that would go pretty well with my blazer, “but your line is very aesthetically pleasing. But you’re so much more than that too. You’re one of the best and bravest Hunters I’ve ever heard of. Your loyalty to your found family is enviable, and I don’t even know what envy feels like. And your taste in movies is so much more agreeable than Sam or Dean’s.”

I laughed again, feeling my cheeks warm in the air-conditioned shop.

“That reminds me. Your sense of humor is unlike anything I’ve ever encountered as well,” he continued, pulling a garment from the rack and slinging it over his shoulder. “Dean says you’re a terrible influence on me.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, unsure how to take a compliment, especially from him.

“Did you only need the one outfit?” he asked.

“No, I need something…” I clenched the blazer, feeling the fabric strain in my hands. “I need something pretty. A bunch of suits will do for the office job, but there’s the party in a couple weeks that we’re pretty sure is a cover for the summoning, and I need to dress up for that.”

“Okay.” He went through the store, along the walls and around the racks, picking up and setting down blouses, jackets, and trousers.

I followed him without choosing anything else myself. Honestly, I could use all the help I could get, even though I would have thought that Gadreel was as clueless about fashion as I was. He hadn’t been entirely correct earlier. It wasn’t that I didn’t like purchasing things—I did. I liked buying movies, music, alcohol. I could spend hours in a bookstore. I even enjoyed grocery shopping for the bunker.

I just hated buying clothes. I hated that things didn’t fit, and when they did, bits and bobs bulged. I hated that it cost way more to buy something in my size than was necessary, extra fabric costs be damned. I hated that boutiques that catered to plus-size—average—people were few and far between. And worst of all, I hated that I cared.

“Would you like to try these on?” he wondered, holding out the clump of hangers.

I gaped at the number of things in his hands. “I can only bring seven items into the fitting room.”

“Take your time,” he said easily.

“Oh. Okay.” I grabbed as many garments from him as I could, and it was his turn to follow me as I made my way to the fitting rooms, dragging my feet all the way.

The store was busy on that Saturday afternoon, but Gadreel managed to find a seat among the spouses of the three other women trying on outfits.

The block of fitting rooms had its privacy, but sound carried. When another woman showed off something to someone I assumed was her husband, all he made was a noncommittal grunting noise, and from where I was looking at myself in a tri-panel mirror before going out to show Gadreel, I watched her slink back to the dressing rooms and latch herself in a stall.

I came out slowly, timid. What if Gadreel just grunted? What if he made a face? I knew he didn’t feel about me the way I felt about him, but such obvious judgment and rejection would destroy me.

His eyes grew wide as he looked me and down, and my breath caught in my chest at his honest smile.

“You look very nice,” he said as I approached, getting out of his chair to take me in from all sides. “Very professional. How do you feel in it?”

“I feel like I’m in a straitjacket,” I grumbled. I liked the trousers—he had chosen a bunch of slim-leg styles that gathered in at the ankles, which made me look less like a house and more like a rhombus. I liked rhombuses. The blouse was okay—the neckline was actually kind of flattering. But the jacket. “The jacket’s too stiff. It’s not worn in like my others. And I have to start at the office on Monday. I’ll never break them all in by then.”

“Hmm. A stiff jacket isn’t safe in your line of work,” he understood. “You can’t run. You can’t fight. You probably couldn’t even aim your gun.”

The spouses pretended not to be eavesdropping. I tried to hide my smirk.

“How do you feel about cardigans?” Gadreel wondered. “Or is that too casual?”

“I love cardigans,” I said. “And if it’s too casual, they can shove it up their asses.”

“That doesn’t sound pleasant at all,” he mentioned, but I could see the hint of a smile on his lips, and it lit up my insides that he was beginning to understand figures of speech…with my help.

I giggled before I could stop myself, and his grin seemed to bloom now that I seemed to be enjoying myself.

“I’ll go find you some sweaters,” he volunteered. “You go try on the rest of the blouses and trousers.”

“I’m going to need new shoes too,” I grimaced, looking down at my scuffed ankle boots.

One of the men scoffed, and I could practically feel the other two rolling their eyes, no matter how unenthusiastic I sounded. I almost said something, but then they would have said something back, and I was just in the mood to really mess them up if it came down to it, and I didn’t need to cover up a black eye or split lip on my first day at the office. Gadreel would also feel compelled to step in, and he could really hurt them.

“Let’s go somewhere else for those,” Gadreel said without argument.

“Agreed.”

I turned back to the fitting rooms and heard one of the men make a sound like a whip cracking. The meaning was not lost on me, but I let it go.

“Gesundheit,” I heard Gadreel say cluelessly, thank Chuck, and I snickered into my hand.

I picked out a week’s worth of blouses and a few pairs of trousers that I could mix and match until the party.

Oh, shit, the party. The party where everyone was going to dress to impress, because one did not wear jeans to a demon summoning.

I was going to have to wear a skirt.

I slunk out to Gadreel, who already had a stack of comfortable-looking oversize cardigans.

“You can just try these on out here,” he said first. Then he noticed my face. “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

“I have to wear a dress to the party,” I told him, trying not to throw up.

“Why do you have such an aversion to dresses?” he wondered, setting the sweaters on his chair.

“I don’t know. I don’t look good in them. They bulge everywhere. I’m always afraid my underwear is showing, no matter how long it is.” I heard one of the men snigger and then try to hide it in a cough, and I came the closest I ever did to punching him before stopping myself. “I just feel so…vulnerable in them.”

“Would a jumpsuit be fancy enough to blend in?” he inquired.

“Maybe,” I shrugged. “I’ve never worn one before.”

“If I may…” He held up a finger. “You stay here and try on the sweaters. I’ll be right back.”

He left me there and wandered to the front of the store.

“Think she’d rent him out to my wife next weekend?” one of the spouses asked another. “I’ve got season tickets to State, and they’re 4-0.”

They laughed to themselves, and I just felt sorry for them. I felt worse for their girlfriends or wives.

I had brought out the blouses and trousers I would buy by the time Gadreel came back. My heart dropped when he held out a black jersey dress. The scoop neckline and form-fitting elbow-length sleeves were nice. And the high-low skirt was interesting, but it ended above my knee. And I just knew my stomach and hips were going to be all over the place in this thing.

“Gadreel…”

“Here, try these with it.” He held up a pair of floral leggings with solid black along the sides. “They have something called a…control top. That’s supposed to help with the bulging.”

The guys behind me were acting like children again, and it was hard to keep ignoring them. I was so angry, I could have cried.

“And…” He turned the leggings around to show me the hanger behind it, and seeing the black jumper made me feel a little better. “In case you’re still uncomfortable in dresses.”

His consideration for my feelings but also trying to get me out of my comfort zone made my eyes well up.

“Th…thanks, Gadreel,” I said slowly, taking a black cardigan with me into the fitting rooms as well, in case I thought layers or covering up would improve things.

I tried the jumpsuit first. As self-conscious as I was, I had to admit that I looked pretty good. It had a sweetheart neckline with a patchwork lace grid for the neck and arms. And the legs tapered in at the ankles again. Gadreel seemed to know me better than I knew myself. I didn’t even try the sweater with it.

I was undressing to give the dress a chance when one of the men—that same instigator—opened his mouth again.

“If I wanted to watch women dress up, I’d watch the Vicky’s Secret Fashion Show,” he said loudly. “It’s on YouTube, you know.”

If his wife couldn’t hear him before, she could now. And if I weren’t in my underwear, I would have gone out there and kicked him in the head. Or lower.

“My girlfriend is picking out a dress for a baby shower,” another one chimed in. “I’m not even gonna see her in it. So, what the hell am I doing here?”

“Mine’s buying something for her cousin’s engagement party,” the third man shared. “But I’ve got paintball with the guys, so I’m gonna have to go into the office, if you know what I mean.”

As they guffawed from the next room, I wondered if they would be so candid, if they knew their insignificant others could hear every hurtful word.

“Don’t you like your spouses?” Gadreel asked them, and I cursed under my breath and started to pull on the dress and leggings to get out there and diffuse whatever was going to happen.

I really didn’t need to get arrested today. Arraignment court didn’t even open until Monday. I couldn’t be in jail when I was supposed to start a new undercover job with white-collar demonic cultists.

“Hey, I love my wife, asshole,” the most outspoken of them said defensively.

“Then why don’t you like spending time with her?”

“I spend time with her. I take her out to dinner. And to movies. We watch the game together, and she rubs my feet.”

“Isn’t taking an interest in each other’s interests part of a meaningful relationship?”

“Hey, I don’t need to take an interest in everything,” Baby Shower said. “I babysit the kids while she goes grocery shopping. And when she goes to her book club.”

I opened my mouth to shout out at him, but Gadreel took the words right out my mouth.

“It’s not babysitting when they’re your children,” he said slowly, and I heard something dark in his voice that made me wish I could get dressed faster than the klutz that I was.

“Listen, buddy,” Engagement Party said, “don’t lecture us on relationships just ‘cause you’re so pussy-whipped, you can’t see what a cow you’re dating.”

My hands froze where they were pulling the control top over my belly, and I sank to the bench in the stall with a choked sigh. The fucking jerk had brought my body into it.

“I don’t romantically fraternize with livestock,” Gadreel said. “Bestiality is against my Father’s command, and I happen to agree with Him on that point.”

Somehow, I managed to smile through my tears.

“And if you’re referring to the young woman I’m with,” he said, eerily calm, “as some sort of low-class insult, I think you ought to be ashamed of yourselves.”

I got to my feet, smoothed the dress without looking at myself in the mirror, and unlatched the door. The other women were standing around the corner from the men, in clothes with the tags hanging off of them, listening in without giving away that they were listening in. They turned to me as I approached the doorway.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, taking responsibility for Gadreel’s confrontation.

“No, we are,” one of them said as quietly, taking my arm gently to stop me from going out there just yet.

“I think you ought to be ashamed of how you treat women in general,” Gadreel was saying, “and especially how you treat the women in your lives.”

“Hey, asshole—”

“No, you’re the asshole,” Gadreel cut off the first guy. “Sit down.”

He must have listened, because I didn’t hear any scuffling.

“If you don’t cherish your spouse and every moment you have together in your short human lives, why did you get married? And why did you have kids with her? And why are you even with her at all?”

The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stood up, and I realized that he was using his Grace on them. Which was stupid, because he was still replenishing from when he had lost it.

I looked to the other women and saw that they had their heads down and eyes closed. Gadreel’s Grace was reaching them too.

“The average life expectancy for the White American male is 78 years 9 months. You are all White American males. You are all average.”

One of the men harrumphed in protest, but that was all the fight he had left in him.

“You’re going to go home with your women and think about how you have behaved toward them and all the others,” Gadreel instructed clearly. “And you are either going to change your ways, or you are going to lose the only ones who can tolerate you. Look upon yourselves and see the error of your ways, or you doom yourselves as well as you doom humankind.”

I stepped around the corner before he went too far, and his eyes swept over me, his expression instantly changing from one of somber lecture to pleasant wonder. “Oh, Y/N, you look like a goddess.” To the others, he told, “Get out.”

The men raised their heads as if waking from a trance—I had never had Grace used on me before, so I didn’t know how it felt—and the women stepped out from the fitting rooms.

“That looks good on you, hon,” the first guy said to his wife. “We’ll get it if you want it, but we should really be heading home now.”

“You look real pretty,” Engagement Party told his girlfriend. “Are any of my shirts good enough to match, or should we stop somewhere else on the way home and get me something? I want to look nice for your family.”

“You look smoking in that dress,” Baby Shower said to his girlfriend. “Shame I’m not going to see it on you. We should go out to dinner tomorrow night. That restaurant you really like.”

Without saying anything, the women went back to change into their own clothes, and the men stood around in a daze, ignoring me and Gadreel.

“When is that going to wear off?” I questioned.

“When they’ve done as I’ve instructed and thought about what they’ve done,” he replied simply. “Whether it becomes a blessing or a curse is up to them.”

I rolled my eyes. “You can’t turn every asshole into a decent human being.”

“I wouldn’t want to. The onus lies on them. That’s what being human is all about.” He shook his head. “But I noticed how they’ve been acting toward you and their partners ever since we got here, even if you liked to pretend I hadn’t, and the shitheads needed to be taught a lesson.”

“Okay, who taught you that word?” I demanded.

“I heard Dean say it last night at the bar,” he said. “Based on similar context, I assumed I was using it correctly.”

“Oh, they’re definitely shitheads,” I agreed. “You’re just so…” What, innocent? Yeah, right. Naïve? As if. Chaste? Oh, Chuck only knew. “You’re so not Dean.”

“No, of course I’m not.” He stepped back to look me over again. “But all you need is a bow and quiver, and you would be Artemis incarnate.”

Never one to be able to take a compliment, I blushed and looked at the floor. But from this angle, it was hard for me to find a bulge that shouldn’t have been there.

Anyway, I had to stop using my looks as a way to measure up as a person. I was a badass Hunter who could kick some serious butt—even in this dress—and that’s what really counted, right?

“Are you still uncomfortable in skirts?” Gadreel asked as we watched each of the couples check out and leave the store. “Have you tried on the jumpsuit?”

“I did. I liked it. But…I kinda like this better,” I admitted.

“Really?” he wondered. If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn that he was almost proud of my personal growth that afternoon.

“Don’t think I’m going to start wearing them every day,” I warned, and he held up his hands. “But thinking about wearing one doesn’t make me want to throw up and die anymore, so that’s something.”

“Yes, it is.”

“The leggings really do help,” I said, spinning on my toes so my skirt flared out. “No chafing. No flashing.”

“You should wear it to the shoe store,” he grinned. “It would help picking out shoes.”

“You know, you’re right.”

Shoe shopping was a piece of cake compared to choosing office-wear and the party dress. A newer, cleaner rehash of my ankle boots worked well with both the trousers and the leggings, and we were out of there in ten minutes.

On our way through the mall and back to the car, I couldn’t help noticing the stares from the other shoppers. If being as observant as I was weren’t necessary to staying alive as a Hunter, I would have thought it an unfortunate skill—under the circumstances, I considered it unfortunate anyway.

I wouldn’t have cared if they were only looking at me—I was used to it. But they were looking at Gadreel, with his tall, trim stature and Roman good looks, compared to me and my stout frame, and were no doubt wondering what the hell we were doing together. Even if we weren’t together-together—that was unthinkable. No, that someone like him would even spend time with me platonically must have been as confusing as a Rubik’s cube or President Cheeto’s unwavering base popularity.

If I hadn’t changed back into my street clothes in the restroom, if I had still been wearing the dress, I would have torn it off my body and stomped on it with my dirty shoes for even thinking it made a difference. And I couldn’t yank it out of the bag and throw it to the ground, because that was the bag Gadreel was carrying.

As if sensing what I wanted to do the damn dress, he changed his grip from the inside hand to the outside, out of my reach.

“Would you like to find a shooting range now, instead of going straight back to the motel?” he asked as we stepped outside.

“Actually, that would improve today by, like, a million,” I admitted. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I know you don’t like guns.”

“Thank you for thinking of me,” he smiled. “I don’t like using them myself, but I like how happy you are during target practice.”

“That’s sweet, Gadreel,” I said point-blank.

When he kept staring down at me with his small grin, I made myself turn away and look around for the car.

“I think I know what special friends are,” he brought up.

“Oh, yeah?” I said, only half-listening while I tried to remember where I parked.

“Yeah, I don’t need to ask Sam,” he said. When I didn’t press him on it, he continued, “I think they’re what those couples were pretending to be. But they got lost somewhere along the way.”

“That’s an interesting way of putting it,” I remarked. “You’re not wrong, I guess.”

“I think we could be special friends,” he said, and I froze in the crosswalk like a deer in headlights.

Gadreel stopped beside me, with the same small smile on his face, and I couldn’t move or say anything until an SUV pulled up and honked at us.

“We’re not those couples,” I told him, walking fast, walking anywhere, even though I was lost in the Chuck-forsaken parking lot.

“No, of course we aren’t,” he agreed, grabbing my arm and stopping me on a patch of grass with a recently transplanted sapling, where we weren’t likely to be interrupted by a rushed soccer mom. “But what they aspire to… Don’t you think that’s already us?”

What did he mean by that?

“What do you mean by that?”

Smooth, Y/N.

“Forgive me for being so forthright,” he soothed, “but after speaking with those men, I can’t hold my feelings in any longer.” He released a deep breath. “I like you. I really like you.”

“Eep,” I said oh, so suavely. Suddenly, the bag of shoes was just too heavy in my hand, and it dropped with a soft thud to the ground.

“My favorite part of the day is when I can spend it with you. Even when we’re just running to the store for beer and pie,” he went on, and I laughed quietly with him. “I know today was rough on you. But thank you for bringing me.”

“You’re welcome,” my Midwestern manners made me whisper automatically.

“I don’t know what love feels like, but the affinity I feel for you is stronger than what I feel for any other person, or even my siblings. I had no idea I was even capable of feeling this way. Then I found the Winchesters again…and there you were. Such an amazing human being. How could I not?”

I opened my mouth to give him a hundred reasons, but he set his shopping bag on the grass and framed my face with his slender fingers, gently smoothing his thumbs over my cheekbones, and the tenderness in the gesture shut me right up.

“Even if you couldn’t ever reciprocate what I feel for you,” he said, “I’ve cherished every moment we’ve ever had together.”

Say something, stupid!

“I infinity you too,” I said breathlessly.

“There’s that sense of humor,” he chuckled patiently.

“I think I’ve infinity’d you since the day we met,” I told him. I had to break up our confessions with levity, or my heart would implode.

Gadreel used his conveniently placed hands to tilt my head so that he could step forward and press his lips to mine. I clenched my fingers in the front of his unzipped hoodie and held him to me until we both had to catch our breath a heated moment later.

“I take it we don’t have to go to the gun range anymore?” he assumed, wrapping his arms around my shoulders.

“Oh, we definitely still have to go,” I argued, hugging his around his waist.

“Oh? Why?”

“Because I have all this blood, adrenaline, and relief pumping through my veins now,” I shared. “I’m a bundle of nerves and unexpended energy. And the thin motels walls are a disgrace to the construction trade, so we won’t be able to explore this infinity for each other to the…” I swallowed a lump in my throat, “fullest extent until we get back to the bunker. In two weeks.”

“Oh,” he realized. “Well…can we at least hold hands while we look for the car you’ve apparently lost?”

I grumbled and tried to push away from him, but he kissed my hair and held me fast, and I had to forgive him for his teasing. I was really rubbing off on him. And standing in his arms on that warm and sunny afternoon, I tried not to think about how long we had to wait until we were alone and could, you know, rub off on each other.