#no offense to the professionals (lie) but i know more than they do

[fatal-blow]

every time i talk about this stuff I'm reeling with the sheer amount of knowledge and how to convey it to the average layperson

but really if i could sum up everything I've learned about muscles, myofascial pain, and hypermobile, it's this:

start practicing how to do things with the least amount of muscles as possible.

[traumatizeddfox]

Idk where I stand on the term narc abuse but 2 things to bring up.

First, the jury is out on if abuse via narcissistic tendencies (not related to npd inherently) via specifically the term "narc abuse" is real or not. Theres both official and unofficial sources, charities, University/medical journals, etc that acknowledge it as different from more common forms of abuse/how the abuse is brought on and why (someone being physically abused due to their abuser being on drugs and over-reacting to a small trigger vs someone getting physically abused due to percieved sin/religious undertones will have varying experiences, ones that reasonably involve different labels) this warrants a different label and plenty that do not and criticize it. I won't judge a terminology when even medical professionals can't seem to decide yay or nay. I just figured I'd mention it because the only way people know this term usually is TikTok but it's actually older than TikTok, they just picked it up. There is a difference between someone with npd and someone whose a narcissist in a non-medical/mood/personality disorder way and I do think the people trying to use the term should differentiate the two but to be fair, most people don't even know about npd and therefore would only be talking about egotistical people, not nessesarily pwnpd. I also think it's nessesary to bring up that Tumblr has obscure and hyper niche veiws on topics with zero room for conversation and just as plenty of pwnpd on Tumblr are adverse to the term, there also plenty of pwnpd on Tumblr and other platforms who acknowled/support it as a term, do not take offense and/or understand its usage and what it means without direct correlation to the disorder but more as a grouping of actions/beliefs with the label outside of medical contexts. The term narcissist and the actions associated have existed as a stand alone personality type (like sloth doesn't automatically mean someone with Chronic fatigue syndrome or Thief doesn't mean kleptomaniac) long before the disorder got its name and associations, plenty of people call egoists narcissists and it's not offensive suddenly. Understanding words have multiple meanings and contexts is important here, Rape dosent even automatically mean sexual assualt, sometimes it just means steal or kidnapping. All this to say it's budding mental health related language, it will take what already exists and expand upon it. Same as when the words triggers and gaslighting got popular then promptly died. Your free to take your stance, I'm not invalidating it, I'm just sharing some facts cause as a long time user of Tumblr, it seriously screwed my views of the world and narrowed them to a pin prick about what's acceptable and agreed upon and what isn't and should be shunned. Only after stepping outside the site did I learn just how little 90% of discourse here actually matters and affects the world at large. Consider this whole part devil's advocate but presenting only the people who side with you as evidence when this isn't a "is climate change real?" Sort of stance where 98% of the field agrees is disingenuous. The field is split here and very few people are actually considering this label to specifically mean pwnpd and more mean specific forms of mental and emotional abuse and neglect that usually comes from a place where the abuser sees themselves as better than others, see the victims as threats to their high standing and see others as means to their ends. Again, Idk if I support the term or not, I'm just relaying information.

Lastly, #2, trying to say that anyone who feels they are a victim of specifically "narc abuse" is just trying to "feel special" is fucking horrific and invalidating regardless of your feelings on the term. Regardless of the words they use to describe the abuse they experienced, they still experienced abuse and trying to imply they are lieing or attention-seeking is fundamentally abuse-apologist shit. The same shit gets said to every other victim of abuse and just because you don't like the label dose not mean they think they are special or different and what they describe is suddenly not fucking abuse. They are still actively victims even if they arnt perfect ones. I'm disabled, I'm fully aware if the term "disabled abuse" came out cause a few people got beat with grandma's cane or their disabled abuser used their mobility aid to hurt them I'd be fighting it cause that's not fair and disabled only means one thing, however, I would never EVER invalidate their trauma from that physical abuse. I would never say they never experienced any wrongs or they think they are special cause it was abuse from a disabled person. No matter where you stand, that was a fucking terrible thing to say and imply. You can shit on a label without invalidating real victims of real abuse. No one in this debate was questioning the victims until you just did, they only criticized the label they were using. You can get that victim-blaming perfect-victim shit and shove it up your ass. And no, I'm not a victim of that form of abuse, if it even exists, but I can see shit when I hear it and that was shit. Shame on you for that.

Okay first thing I want to say first is this. i am sorry if u read my post and misread it or misinterpreted what i was saying. i was not victim blaming anyone lmfao. I was NOT invalidating anyone when I said those who have been abused by narcissists think theyre special. what I was trying to say is that the language around narc abuse is that victims seem to talk about it like its a worse type of abuse. i see people say "if you have been abused by a narcissist its because they saw how special u are!!" and i think thats not ok to tell victims bc victims will romantizie why they were abused!! i remember believing my abuser (who does have npd btw) only abused me bc i was so special and he hated that!! but in reality, he abused me because he's an abuser. an abuser might be triggered by someone, they might hate someone and thats why they abuse. an abuser might have a disorder that can make them react abusively, but its because theyre an abuser. there are plenty of ppl without disorders who abuse, and there are those with npd who dont also abuse. its not a hive mind.

i do not understand why u think i was telling someone that they werent abused. if u spend more than 2 seconds on my blog u will know i validate everyone who has ever been a victim, and those who will become victims.

BUT my point was there are victims out there who seem to treat narc abuse like its a badge. we dont walk around and say ptsd abuse bc ppl would lose their shit if we ever did that. "Narc abuse" is not anything different than any other kind of abuse. can an abuser have npd? yes. can the npd make an abuser respond in a unique or different way? yes same with any pd. but narc abuse is just emotional abuse. ppl will say narc abuse and then go onto explain everything that an abuser does. "Theyre selfish" "They want control" yeah thats an abuser. i think the problem is people now look at symptoms of abuse and say narcissist. i literally see ppl call anyone a narcissist these days.

the issue i have with this as well is that i have seen and heard victims wonder if they are valid because their abuser doesnt have npd bc these victim spaces especially Tiktok have created this belief that abusers are narcissists and ONLY narcissists. can they be? yes. but can an abuser also be a neurotypical? yes.

abusers are just abusers. we dont need to slap some label on there. now is there different levels of abuse? yes ofc. emotional abuse, physical, spiritual, financial, etc are all different kinds of abuse. being abused by ur mother is different than being abused by ur teacher, or partner, etc. but it doesnt mean its worse. ofc there are SITUATIONS that can be considered "worse" in the eyes of the law but at the end of the day. abuse is abuse. a broken ankle is still a broken ankle no matter how it got broken.

victims are all on the same playing field but they try to fight each other and we need to stand together and realize that abusers are the issue!! i dont have any ISSUE or problem with victims who say they were abused by a narcissist but i do have an issue when ppl say narc abuse. and i know a lot of victims who say narc abuse might not even realize what theyre saying. i remember being that person until i started to talk to pwpd, espeically npd, did more research and realized how stigmatizing it is.

the MAIN issue with saying narc abuse is that what ur saying to people with npd that 1) they are not valid if they have been abused. 2) they are abusers. this is dangerous because its generalizing an entire group of those with a disorder that can not change or fix. a lot of victims worry if they have been the abuser bc abusers fuck with ur head thinking ur the bad guy, so if someone with npd sees a post that says all narcissists are abusers they might believe they are one when they arent. im speaking very general. every person with npd is a unique person and i dont SUPPORT every single person with npd bc ofc there are monsters out there who are also abusers , but i do support that people with npd get support and are also included when ppl say mental health matters, or believe all victims.

no one is saying that those with npd cant be abusers, what were trying to change is the language !!! before people believe everyone with schizophrenia was a violent killer until we learned that is not true. we need to do the same with personality disorders.

the history of the word rape does come from the meaning to steal, seize, or carry away but there is PLENTY of words we use in today that are not the same. just look up the history of the word "mother fucker" and you will never want to ever say that ever again. but i dont see what this has to do with ur point in mental health. no one would ever say rape when they mean "steal" we just dont use that word in that way anymore. but to add to this, its a great example as a way to change the meaning of narcissists to be only used for those with the disorder. (yeah ppl can have narcisstic tendencies, we ALL have some level of it, its how we survive but thats different than having a disorder.)

i know tumblr has always had weird takes, and some stuff is strictly an online discourse and doesnt happen irl, but that doesnt mean we cant change the way people view mental health. people have misused gaslighting, triggers, but that doesn't mean we cant stop or change that. most people learn to adapt.

but to finish, i understand where ur coming from and im sorry if u saw my post and were upset but when i see others with npd wishing they could die because they feel like a monster just because they have a diagnosis, it shatters me knowing they feel like there is no support. even therapists are sketchy with pwpd. i just think that we need to change the language around abuse. just say abuse idk why thats so hard!

[discluded]

not gonna lie it always hurts a little when mile & apo go to a promo party and they're wearing amazing fits, just these flattering pieces in colors that suit them so well and they look good enough to eat, but then they score an amazing brand deal with a big company and you're so happy for them only to see the pictures and think to yourself, "HOW?"

I mean like.... how is it that when mile & apo go out and they take pictures of each other, those pics look better than some of the "street art" pics (the apo ones in paris...) that professionals took of them?? Is it the style? Is it on purpose? Is there some trend going on?😭

Anyway, Mile in the red shirt and black slacks at bento has healed something in me that the vogue ski boots broke🙏🥹

hmmmm just gonna add this here cause I like this video and they both look delicious (and also Apo looks soooo prepared to be ravished 😏 but you didn't hear that from me...click for the edit cause I don't upload other people's edits if I can avoid it)

you know the most offensive part about Mile looking this edible today?

It's a freaking $40 Uniqlo shirt (thank you closet wizard!). If you told me this was a $500 silk shirt from idk, Hugo Boss, I'd probably have believed you.

It's not the product that's expensive, it's Mile Phakphum who makes it look expensive... 😭 The models even look like regular people wearing this shirt

As for Dior... as Apo said: what he really wants to do is acting, but the way the acting industry is structured in Thailand, it's way more lucrative to start your own brand/get sponsorships because the acting itself doesn't pay very well. As @blramblingx2 said here: "[...]if you see some actors without acting projects, that's what usually pops up because it's a lucrative way for them to get some income."

So the tl;dr version of it is... pretend to DO NOT SEE IT and just talk about how handsome and amazing and stylish they look in Dior. Do it for MileApo. Do it so we can continue projects where they don't have to compromise the art.

[life-in-the-monster-haus]

Nightmare Nightmore Highlights.

I'm not gonna recap or analyze the episode too much I just wanna share a few of my favorite things! Not really any spoilers, if you've already seen the leaks of Abbey and her mom floating around then you're all caught up.

Draculaura is throwing a party for the holiday of Nightmore, but I couldn't possibly care less. I'm here for Abbey!

Heath has the same reaction to seeing Abbey for the first time as a lot of us did. in Awe of her beauty. same dude, same.

She towers over everyone! even the boys! I am in love!

Draculaura is like a smurf compared to tall powerful Abbey.

Abbey's eyes aren't purple anymore, they are brown! and so pretty! breaks up the abundance of purple in her hair and outfit I am super into it!

Abbey's hair blend is the colors of the Bi flag and I have no choice but to stan.

Mama Bominable threatening to bring forth a cold harsh merciless winter upon Bloodgoods head if she doesn't produce Abbey is such a mood. I love me a good mama bear.

WHERE IS NIGHTMARE!? why is this messenger dragon hanging out in Bloodgood's office but her horse isn't!? The episode even has nightmare in the title but I see no Nightmare the horse. I don't like it. A headless horse person without their horse is just a zombie... why are you booing me? I'm right!

Draculaura already has her license in this gen? I'm here for it! Also Clawd chose to sit next to her. Also Clawd said "nailed it like a coffin" which was only ever said in G1 by Clawdeen and that makes me happy.

This is the second or third episode where Lagoona inexplicably has flat teeth, the music video for her doll did this too. I'm not exactly a professional animator but I've studied it enough to know that rendering characters off model is a fire-able offense. Fix it Nickelodeon.

Heath encouraging Abbey to use her ice powers telling her she is strong, charismatic and beautiful. ahhhh! my heart!... I've mentioned on here I'm not much of a shipper per-se. But that was a lie, Habbey was one of my OG ships and it brings me such joy to see them again! I needed this since the only Heath we got during G2 was this:

*Long suffering G2 sigh*

Yeti's in this universe seem to basically be water benders and I am okay with that! Mama Bominable is fuckin pissed! LOL Bye Bloodgood it's been nice knowing you!

Damn, Abbey's dad didn't contribute any genetics to that her at all. Mama Bominables genes were like "this is MY child!" I do love that she has horns and a more pronounced underbite, perhaps Abbey will get these traits as she grows? Or maybe her buns are hiding her horns? IDK but it's fun to imagine! I wonder where they got the idea to give their yeti Horns... HMMMMMMM

it's a mystery, we'll never know.

This isn't even a highlight I'm just taking pictures of Mama Bominabe at this point, I love a strong woman willing to murder the school principle for her daughters safety.

SHE CALLED ABBEY SNOW ANGEL AHHHHHH- I'm sorry I just had to get that out.

The boy is in love! .... And he actually says something really profound. I'm so impressed G3 is giving Heath some depth and not just making him a one note idiot... Don't get me wrong, I liked one note idiot Heath but there was more to him than that.

Heath trying to kiss Abbey on the first day of meeting her is absolutely a G1 call back.

in her intro episode he kissed her hand and his lips froze off.

I love everything about this episode! I love that Abbey is Nepali! it's way more accurate to her Monster type and before some nerd tries to get in the replies and go "Actually Russia occupied Nepal at one point" that's true, they did BUT! the myth of the Yeti originated in 1937, Russia didn't occupy the Himalayas until the 1960's.

This episode is my new favorite! I heard a rumor that we won't get any new Monster High episodes until after the new year, but if they are anything like this? they will be worth the wait!

[bengiyo]

Step By Step Ep 9 Stray Thoughts

Last week on HR Violations, Pat broke up with Put in a mature-but-devastating scene, and spent the bulk of the episode processing his grief about that. Put immediately went on the offensive against Jeng, and threatened to out Jeng if he pursued pat. Pat went on a not-date with Jeng to check out multiple restaurants before learning that Jeng is gay at a queer speakeasy. Jeng spent the entire episode working himself up to express his feelings to Pat, confessed them to a drunk Pat in an incredibly adorable way, and ran into his ex at the aforementioned speakeasy. Jaab and Jen are a hot mess, and are also at the speakeasy. Chot, amazing as ever, is not at the speakeasy, and this feels like a missed opportunity. Also, Ae went to the doctor with Pat and Beam.

Pat woke up holding a plushy with his handbag and phone nearby on striped sheets. He’s probably okay.

Oh, he’s definitely fine. He’s in his own house and his mom is here.

I like that Pat doesn’t lie to his mom. He just refuses to answer the questions.

Jeng is doing pushups shirtless. 743 dead, 2689 wounded.

Chot said, “My name is Paul and this between y’all.”

It’s just Pat and his instant noodles against the world.

Pat is a gay with a good relationship with his parents. You love to see it.

I love the way Chot checks in with Pat. He shares a little bit of his own queer insecurities to commiserate a bit.

Jeng’s friend is hot.

Who organized this awkward as hell gay movie event? Is this to watch the commercial they made?

Did Pat really pass Jeng’s jacket on to Chot? Oh, Jeng, I’m so sorry for your loss.

I kinda wish Pat was talking to Ae or Chot about what was going on, because I’d like to confirm what the core of his rejection of Jeng is about. Is it about his own self-worth? Is he feeling gun shy coming off of the relationship with Put? Is it about Jeng as a superior at work?

Jeng’s breakdown is honestly so fantastic. Absolutely incredible from Man. Jeng is such a self-controlled character. You can feel how long he’s been desperately trying to hold it together and how aware he is of his own fragile psyche with regard to Pat. We also got to see gay man get consoled by his gay brother.

I feel like a significant amount of time has passed without us realizing it because Ae is so much more pregnant than I remember.

Didn’t Jen leave the company last episode? What’s his status?

I feel like Jen and Pat are being really unfair to Jaab and Jeng.

“What is he doing?” Consoling his heartbroken brother!

Personally, I think it’s responsible of Jeng to leave his position when he knows he cannot maintain a healthy professional distance from a subordinate.

Jeng's cake is cute, but does not look large enough for the office.

Another cake scene immediately??

I'm not sure we got a good read on the crying scene with Pat's parents. When he mentions memories everywhere, is he talking about just Put or Put and Jeng? I'm a bit hazy on Pat this episode.

What's the deal with the parents bringing up their divorce. Is this about Pat being friends with his exes?

Ae is about to deliver this baby. Quick! Cut to Kanoon so we know where he is and can do an Oishii ad spot.

We should dramatically throw keys to Poppy more often.

Since I am a man, I'm going to refrain from commenting on this birth scene. I will leave only this gif as commentary on the writing.

Wait, why the hell is this girl filming this???

Oh good. Pat said something about the cameras.

These people are way too online.

Did Jeng really send Pat a box full of a snack he said he liked once as a birthday gift? My goodness, sir.

I never get tired of watching people type and delete messages on these dramas.

This episode and previews for next week feel like a Brian Jordan Alvarez bit.

I feel like we were over the place this week. This was kinda rough. I don't know that any of the plot threads really worked together this week well. Jen and Pat had a decent conversation, but I don't think I'm with Jen on this one.

[twentydaysofdrabbles]

The Concierge’s Private Service (Part 16)

There was a time when you would never spend more than an hour asleep at any one time. Too much to do, too little time to do it in. Not enough safety. Needing to move and hunt and...

Suffice it to say you no longer have the youthful stamina you once did. A full day at work, then the excitement in the night, the long hours of waiting past midnight, then the exertion at dawn, and then now as you make your way into your second day without sleep...well, you’re tired. 

The hour of shut eye that you caught in your room just has to do. It will. 

For a mercy, no one comments on your state. Good, you made sure that you had not a single hair out of place, your clothes impeccably clean and neat, your complexion is as it always was, and your dead, dead eyes have no more of a spark of life than they ever did. With your polite, professional smile on your face, it is as if nothing had ever happened.

But it did, and it can be seen in the way that young-but-old Frisk approaches you at your counter. 

I see what you mean when you said ‘not quite like me’.

They stayed at the side of the counter so that you can see them without leaning over the tall edge. Their expression is amused and knowing all at once, their dark eyes twinkling slightly. 

You incline your head. "Admittedly, there are very few that are like you, Mx Frisk.” There were stories that came up with the monsters, of children who had fallen before Frisk. And only one of whom was quite like the child-but-not.

Frisk is the only one now, as far as you know.

The monster ambassador smiles and hides a laugh behind their hand. I don’t think there are many like you either. Their hands slow as they look at you, dark brows falling and then furrowing. 

A part of you, the same part that had relished in the warm splatter over your face, suddenly tenses. The child-but-not is looking at something. Looking at you. And you don’t know what it is they are seeing. 

All you can see is their expression. Going from curious, to concerned, to a frown. The air around you thickens slightly, as if a spell of a sort had been cast. It’s not the heavy taste of offensive magic and so you let it lie, but it’s not something you will tolerate, not even from the mysterious Mx Frisk.

“Mx Frisk, may I offer some wisdom?” you initiate the conversation politely.

Startled out of their thoughts, they look up at you with wide eyes. 

Suddenly, they just...look like a child. You’re suddenly reminded of what you see in them - not quite like you, not quite a child, not quite an adult. Then...in-between? Too old to be the ten year old child they appear to be, too young to be an adult they try to project themselves as. Trapped. As new to this Surface world as the rest of the monsters.

And that thought stills the harsh warning from spilling from your lips. No, instead to temper yourself. Let the tired ache in your head stay there, your instinct curbing the worst of your words. “I suggest taking greater care with your Vision,” you wave to your eyes to explain. “It is quite a...heavy...stare.”

Frisk gapes at you for a brief moment. You...can feel it?

Rather than answer verbally, you merely nod. 

To which Frisk scratches the back of their neck sheepishly. Sorry. No one usually notices. I’ll stop. But though they stop signing, they continue to stand at the corner of the counter.

Blinking slowly, you fold your hands before your belly, asking, “Is there something else I can help you with, Mx Frisk?” After all, very few people linger around your counter.

The child-but-not shuffles in place, briefly toeing the ground before they seem to force themselves to stop. Bringing their hands together, they speak. I know what happened last night and this morning.

Oh? You suppose Sans would hardly leave his Family out of the loop. But you did not expect them to be aware of what occurred in the early hours of the morning. “I apologise for the disruption, Mx Frisk. The indoor pools should be ready by tomorrow afternoon, should you wish to use them.” Best not to go further into what happened, not out in the open.

That’s okay. What about this morning?

“There was a performance at the Coliseum. The Manager did not want us to miss it.” You wouldn’t be surprised if someone was watching, if it were not Frisk themselves.

I was wondering why it was so crowded. Their eyes gleam and they smile. I saw that you had a leading part.

So they did watch. You only nod for a lack of anything else to say. They saw what they saw. 

I thought the Continental was neutral? When Frisk only looks at you, as if expecting an explanation for the ‘performance’, you blink back down at them. 

Hmm, the Manager didn’t fully apprise them of all that they should expect - it was hardly in her nature to be forthcoming anyway - but you would have thought they learned by now. 

“The Hotel has one rule and when that rule is broken, punishment must be meted out,” you respond. 

The attack on Sans. Their eyes turn dark, the flame within them familiar to you. As if they had wanted to get their hands on whoever was at fault and rip them to shreds.

You nod. “And on another. We enforce our own rule. Judiciously so.” That message was sent, and you hope it was received. It had better be.

Frisk smiles darkly, but signs no more. Ah, you must have answered their questions. So you tilt your head as Frisk remains standing there, their gaze to the floor as if considering something. “What else can I assist you with, Mx Frisk?”

Frisk hesitates for a moment more before their shoulders straighten and they shove their hand in their pocket. Coins jingle and jangle, and then they take several out to offer to you.

Taken completely by surprise, you just stare at the coin. “Mx Frisk?”

The child-but-not puts the coins on the desk space between you to free up their hands. Can you help me look for someone?

Ah. You shake your head, “I don’t offer private services any longer, Mx Frisk. But the Continental has many services--”

No! Their gesture is insistent. I saw you this morning. You still do some work, otherwise you wouldn’t have killed that man. Please, it’s...it’s my mum. I can’t find her.

Their mother. The former queen? That is interesting indeed, you weren’t aware that she was missing.

Your fingers press together briefly where they are folded up against your belly. “Mx Frisk, I serve the Continental and by extension the Manager,” you explain as politely as you can. What’s a professional way of declining the ambassador? “I unfortunately do not offer any personal, private services to guests.”

Frisk grabs the coins and holds the pile up to you in a pleading gesture, signing as best they can with one hand. Can’t trust. Asgore. Sans hurt. Papyrus obvious. Please.

You don’t want to admit that there is a tug in your chest at the way they beg you with hands and eyes and expression. It is genuine, the way that they are asking you. This isn’t a ploy, or a manipulation, as far as you can see. And you like to think you have become rather good at it. 

Still. You shake your head. “My sincere apologies, Mx Frisk, I--”

Then can you set up a meeting? They sign with the coin in their hand.

Uh. 

Polite confusion twists your expression the slightest bit. How did that change the request? Frisk seemed to be rewording their bargain to make it more palatable to your ear. 

Then, before you can respond to that amended question, the phone rings. “One moment, Mx Frisk,” you say apologetically. Picking up the phone, you recognise the caller to be the Manager herself. Speak of the devil. 

“My Heart. I know it has been a long morning, but there is something I would like you to do...”

“Of course, ma’am.” You can deny the Manager nothing. “How can I assist?”

“I’ve heard that a certain someone has come to request your assistance. It just so happens to align with what I need. Two birds with one stone, yes? I’d appreciate it if I had an ear to the ground, as it were.”

You close your eyes. Of course. The woman has eyes and ears everywhere. As do you.

“Certainly, ma’am.”

Upon hanging up, you turn to Frisk who has crept closer while you were on the phone. Close enough that they could hear the soft murmur of the Manager’s voice over the speaker. And yet, they still look up at you innocently with the widest of eyes, a small pile of coins cupped in their hands, raised in offer to you. 

Looking around warily to check if anyone is watching, you kneel down and reach out to take one coin out of the pile. “Miss Toriel was last seen in the south of the city yesterday morning,” you murmur, pocketing the coin and pushing Frisk’s hands closed over the remainder. 

They frown and look at you, dumping the coins in their pocket to sign at you. Wait, but the Manager said-- Their expression is a mix of confusion and frustration all in one. 

“Patience, Mx Frisk,” you say evenly as you stand. “I’ve been advised by the kitchen that they are making pastries this afternoon. If you like, I can arrange to have some sent to your room.”

The child-but-not looks every bit of their physical age as they frown at you. You can only hope they catch your meaning. 

After a few heartbeats, they bite their lip and nod. Chocolate chip cookies? Sans likes them too.

You can’t stop yourself from blinking, but you reflexively respond in the affirmative, “Of course, Mx Frisk.” Well, far be it for you to wonder why Frisk wants to involve Sans but not the others.

A smile blooms on the child-but-not’s face and they nod with a bounce. Okay! See you around! They wave and give your leg a brief hug. It only lasts a heartbeat, but to your frozen form, it feels like a heartbeat too long. 

Your skin prickles uncomfortably where Frisk had hugged you. Looking down at them, you don’t move to reciprocate or push them away, only peering down at them curiously. Warily. “Have a good day, Mx Frisk.” That’s all you can think of to say.

Frisk seems to hold back a giggle as they sign thanks. They can clearly tell how uncomfortable you are despite the polite way you hold yourself, mercifully deciding to make themselves scarce.

As they go, you exhale through your nose slowly. What a strange child. 

[chbobserver]

welcome to the first edition of the CHB OBSERVER!

within the following post, you will find drama, intrigue, betrayal, hookups, unrequited love, well-seasoned hate--anything you could want to know about your fellow campers. this newsletter marks the first batch of asks sent since the blog was opened, and will be published on a regular basis. however, from this point on, asks may be published in-between newsletters, at the asker's request, or if the gossip is particularly piping. this publication is the result of countless hours of investigation, footage capture and review, interviewing, and of course, the contributions of readers like YOU! i really couldn't have done any of this without you, remember that!

-xoxo GhostPheme

so many missions back to back with so many new players on the board, and people were bound to be paying close attention to their neighbors antics!! let's get into the first drop:

"a little birdie tells me that the son of aphrodite can spark a little love triangle, xoxo"

and i wonder which son of aphrodite they mean, first of all. morgan, perhaps? we did hear corban express interest in wanting to chat him up..but if so, who's the third? everyone keep an eye on this, let us know if we can narrow it down.

“i was told era’s body count is currently 56. not sure if he can count that high, but my professionally estimated guess is around 87.”

oh wow, i'm not even sure which part is more offensive, but i bet erasmo will clear that up for us.

"i heard that holli has a wonky boob."

there's certainly several people that could confirm or deny this one. any takers?

"i heard charlie would rather sleep his way to the top than work for it. fucking mythological creatures in the name of science."

omg the centaurs! i heard centaurs--you think he's really doing it like that? if so, i know it's not for science.

"after whatever calliope did to nico, some might think that he's been corrupted by the other side."

oh fuck, can she do this? is this a thing that can happen? someone better check, and quick, before he can sabotage anything! or anything else...

"avi doesn't seem like he has that much trust in himself. i've heard that he's not the same since he came back from the dead. my guess is that magnolia or hart took over his body."

you're saying we have TWO interlopers? right under our noses, jfc!

"is it just me or does andreas and nico seem to have a thing for each other?"

oh i've been thinking this! they definitely have a special connection. andreas should keep an eye out for selenur for us! that's the best persona for the job, keep close to nico, and they'll probably do it for free!

"i heard a satyr say that greyson fucks ghosts"

and it would be so easy and no one would know! he literally lives with them!

"i heard kitty making horse noises to herself, is she delusional?"

i don't have the dsm5 open in front of me, so i'm not entirely sure, but i wouldn't put it past her. kitty's just a little cuckoo; she's the horse girl your cool friends warned you about.

"avi smells like rotted day old pizza. he reeks!"

is it that bad? he's probably scared to wash between his cheeks, poor thing; a really terminal case of incel. actually...since he's constantly rejecting holli, does that make him volcel? brb going to get him kicked off his fav quarantined reddit subs.

"nico is always walking around like a stick in the mud. lighten up dude!!!!"

lighten up! you're not even that old! you don't have to lie to kick it, nico, you're just as messy and nasty as everyone else.

"biggest floozy?? bet it's our favorite nature-loving bark boy."

now we're getting somewhere! i bet there's some people out there with some real good stories and i want to hear them! i know kit isn't all doe eyed wonder and nature's harmony...or maybe his last shock wasn't a fluke and he just does whatever anyone asks all the time...

"why does greyson smell like hot topic? yiiiikes"

audience, i'll take the leap for all of us, and assume this contributor means he tries too hard to be edgy. you're welcome. if the earlier greyson entry was true, this one definitely isn't.

"is it just me or does ganymede look like a yassified version of andreas?"

i don't want this to come off like complaining, but you're not wrong. maybe they're related--pretty sure i've heard someone else say this too. couldn't hurt to assume.

"i bet if corban cut his hair he'd be a solid 9..."

corban, you got a date lined up if you want it! get a stylist and come getcha man!

"holli is short for hollandaise."

like real name? like her mom calls her that? no wonder she's fucked up.

and that's all folks! hope you enjoyed! i always want to hear feedback, and if you weren't mentioned but want to be: be less boring, do more crime, and a healthy dose of scandal.

[yhwhrulz]

Morning and Evening with A.W. Tozer Devotional for June 14

Tozer in the Morning In Word, Or In Power

Excerpted from The Divine Conqest

For our gospel did not come to you in word only, but also in power, and in the Holy Spirit and with deep conviction, as you know what kind of men we were among you for your sake. (1Ths. 1:5)

If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. (2 Corinthians 5:17)

You have a reputation of being alive, but you are dead. (Revelation 3:1)

To one who is a student merely, these verses might be interesting, but to a serious man intent upon gaining eternal life they might well prove more than a little disturbing. For they evidently teach that the message of the gospel may be received in either of two ways: in word only, without power, or in word with power. Yet it is the same message whether it comes in word or in power. And these verses teach also that when the message is received in power it effects a change so radical as to be called a new creation. But the message may be received without power, and apparently some have so received it, for they have a name to live, and are dead. All this is present in these texts.

By observing the ways of men at play I have been able to understand better the ways of men at prayer. Most men, indeed, play at religion as they play at games, religion itself being of all games the one most universally played. The various sports have their rules and their balls and their players; the game excites interest, gives pleasure, and consumes time, and when it is over, the competing teams laugh and leave the field. It is common to see a player leave one team and join another and a few days later play against his old mates with as great zest as he formerly displayed when playing for them. The whole thing is arbitrary. It consists in solving artificial problems and attacking difficulties that have been deliberately created for the sake of the game. It has no moral roots and is not supposed to have. No one is the better for his self- imposed toil. It is all but a pleasant activity that changes nothing and settles nothing at last.

If the conditions we describe were confined to the ballpark, we might pass it over without further thought, but what are we to say when this same spirit enters the sanctuary and decides the attitude of men toward God and religion? For the Church has also its fields and its rules and its equipment for playing the game of pious words. It has its devotees, both laymen and professionals, who support the game with their money and encourage it with their presence, but who are no different in life or character from many who take in religion no interest at all.

As an athlete uses a ball, so do many of us use words: words spoken and words sung, words written and words uttered in prayer. We throw them swiftly across the field; we learn to handle them with dexterity and grace; we build reputations upon our word skill and gain as our reward the applause of those who have enjoyed the game. But the emptiness of it is apparent from the fact that after the pleasant religious game no one is basically any different from what he had been before. The basis of life remains unchanged; the same old principles govern, the same old Adam rules.

I have not said that religion without power makes no changes in a man's life, only that it makes no fundamental difference. Water may change from liquid to vapor, from vapor to snow, and back to liquid again, and still be fundamentally the same. So powerless religion may put a man through many surface changes and leave him exactly what he was before. Right there is where the snare lies. The changes are in form only; they are not in kind. Behind the activities of the nonreligious man and the man who has received the gospel without power lie the very same motives. An unblessed ego lies at the bottom of both lives, the difference being that the religious man has learned better to disguise his vice. His sins are refined and less offensive than before he took up religion, but the man himself is not a better man in the sight of God. He may indeed be a worse one, for always God hates artificiality and pretense. Selfishness still throbs like an engine at the center of the man's l ife. True he may learn to "redirect" his selfish impulses, but his woe is that self still lives unrebuked and even unsuspected deep within his heart. He is a victim of religion without power.

The man who has received the Word without power has trimmed his hedge, but it is a thorn hedge still and can never bring forth the fruits of the new life. Men do not gather grapes from thorns nor figs from thistles. Yet such a man may be a leader in the church, and his influence and his vote may go far to determine what religion shall be in his generation.

The truth received in power shifts the basis of life from Adam to Christ, and a new set of motives goes to work within the soul. A new and different Spirit enters the personality and makes the believing man new in every department of his being. His interests shift from things external to things internal, from things on earth to things in heaven. He loses faith in the soundness of external values, he sees clearly the deceptiveness of outward appearances, and his love for and confidence in the unseen and eternal world become stronger as his experience widens.

With the ideas here expressed most Christians will agree, but the gulf between theory and practice is so great as to be terrifying. For the gospel is too often preached and accepted without power, and the radical shift that the truth demands is never made. There may be, it is true, a change of some kind; an intellectual and emotional bargain may be struck with the truth, but whatever happens is not enough, not deep enough, not radical enough. The "creature" is changed, but he is not "new." And right there is the tragedy of it. The gospel is concerned with a new life, with a birth upward onto a new level of being, and until it has effected such a rebirth it has not done a saving work within the soul.

Wherever the Word comes without power its essential content is missed. For there is in divine truth an imperious note; there is about the gospel an urgency, a finality that will not be heard or felt except by the enabling of the Spirit. We must constantly keep in mind that the gospel is not good news only, but a judgment as well upon everyone that hears it. The message of the Cross is good news indeed for the penitent, but to those who "obey not the gospel" it carries an overtone of warning. The Spirit's ministry to the impenitent world is to tell of sin and righteousness and judgment. For sinners who want to cease being willful sinners and become obedient children of God, the gospel message is one of unqualified peace, but it is by its very nature also an arbiter of the future destinies of men.

This secondary aspect is almost wholly overlooked in our day. The gift element in the gospel is held to be its exclusive content, and the shift element is accordingly ignored. Theological assent is all that is required to make Christians. This assent is called faith and is thought to be the only difference between the saved and the lost. Faith is thus conceived as a kind of religious magic, bringing to the Lord great delight and possessing mysterious power to open the Kingdom of heaven.

I want to be fair to everyone and to find all the good I can in every man's religious beliefs, but the harmful effects of this faith-as-magic creed are greater than could be imagined by anyone who has not come face-to-face with them. Large assemblies today are being told fervently that the one essential qualification for heaven is to be an evil man, and the one sure bar to God's favor is to be a good one. The very word righteousness is spoken only in cold scorn, and the moral man is looked upon with pity. "A Christian," say these teachers, "is not morally better than a sinner; the only difference is that he has taken Jesus, and so he has a Savior." I trust it may not sound flippant to inquire, "A savior from what?" If not from sin and evil conduct and the old fallen life, then from what? And if the answer is, "From the consequences of past sins and from judgment to come," still we are not satisfied. Is justification from past offens es all that distinguishes a Christian from a sinner? Can a man become a believer in Christ and be no better than he was before? Does the gospel offer no more than a skillful Advocate to get guilty sinners off free at the Day of Judgment?

I think the truth of the matter is not too deep nor too difficult to discover. Self-righteousness is an effective bar to God's favor because it throws the sinner back upon his own merits and shuts him out from the imputed righteousness of Christ. And to be a sinner confessed and consciously lost is necessary to the act of receiving salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ. This we joyously admit and constantly assert, but here is the truth that has been overlooked in our day: A sinner cannot enter the Kingdom of God. The Bible passages that declare this are too many and too familiar to need repeating here, but the skeptical might look at Galatians 5:19-21 and Revelation 21:8. How then can any man be saved? The penitent sinner me ets Christ, and after that saving encounter he is a sinner no more. The power of the gospel changes him, shifts the basis of his life from self to Christ, faces him about in a new direction, and makes him a new creation. The moral state of the penitent when he comes to Christ does not affect the result, for the work of Christ sweeps away both his good and his evil, and turns him into another man. The returning sinner is not saved by some judicial transaction apart from a corresponding moral change. Salvation must include a judicial change of status, but what is overlooked by most teachers is that it also includes an actual change in the life of the individual. And by this we mean more than a surface change; we mean a transformation as deep as the roots of his human life. If it does not go that deep, it does not go deep enough.

If we had not first suffered a serious decline in our expectations, we should not have accepted this tame technical view of faith. The churches (even the gospel churches) are worldly in spirit, morally anemic, on the defensive, imitating instead of initiating, and in a wretched state generally because for two full generations they have been told that justification is no more than a not guilty verdict pronounced by the heavenly Father upon a sinner who can present the magic in faith with the wondrous "open sesame" engraved upon it. If it is not stated as bluntly as that, at least the message is so presented as to create such an impression. The whole business is the result of hearing the Word preached without power and receiving it in the same way.

Now faith is indeed the open sesame to eternal blessedness. Without faith it is impossible to please God; neither can any man be saved apart from faith in the risen Savior. But the true quality of faith is almost universally missed, namely, its moral quality. It is more than mere confidence in the veracity of a statement made in Holy Writ. It is a highly moral thing and of a spiritual essence. It invariably effects radical transformation in the life of the one who exercises it. It shifts the inward gaze from self to God. It introduces its possessor into the life of heaven upon earth.

It is not my desire to minimize the justifying effect of faith. No man who knows the depths of his own wickedness would dare to appear before the ineffable Presence with nothing to recommend him but his own character, nor would any Christian, wise after the discipline of failures and imperfections, want his acceptance with God to depend upon any degree of holiness to which he might have attained through the operations of inward grace. All who know their own hearts and the provisions of the gospel will join in the prayer of the man of God:

When He shall come with trumpet sound,

O may I then in Him be found;

Dressed in His righteousness alone,

Faultless to stand before the throne.

It is a distressing thing that a truth so beautiful should have been so perverted. But perversion is the price we pay for failure to emphasize the moral content of truth; it is the curse that follows rational orthodoxy when it has quenched or rejected the Spirit of Truth.

In asserting that faith in the gospel effects a change of life motive from self to God, I am but stating the sober facts. Every man with moral intelligence must be aware of the curse that afflicts him inwardly; he must be conscious of the thing we call ego, by the Bible called flesh or self, but by whatever name called, a cruel master and a deadly foe. Pharaoh never ruled Israel as tyrannically as this hidden enemy rules the sons and daughters of men. The words of God to Moses concerning Israel in bondage may well describe us all: "I have indeed seen the misery of My people in Egypt. I have heard them crying out because of their slave drivers, and I am concerned about their suffering." And when, as the Nicene Creed so tenderly states, our Lord Jesus Christ, "for us men, and for our salvation came down from heaven, and was incarnate by the Holy Spirit of the Virgin Mary, and was made man, and was crucified also for us under Pontius Pilate, and suffered and w as buried, and the third day He arose again according to the Scriptures, and ascended into heaven, and sits at the right hand of the Father," what was it all for? That He might pronounce us technically free and leave us in our bondage? Never. Did not God say to Moses, "I have come down to rescue them from the hand of the Egyptians and to bring them up out of that land into a good and spacious land, a land flowing with milk and honey"? For sin's human captives God never intends anything less than full deliverance. The Christian message rightly understood means this: The God, who by the word of the gospel proclaims men free, by the power of the gospel actually makes them free. To accept less than this is to know the gospel in word only, without its power.

They to whom the Word comes in power know this deliverance, this inward migration of the soul from slavery to freedom, this release from moral bondage. They know in experience a radical shift in position, a real crossing over, and they stand consciously on another soil under another sky and breath another air. Their life motives are changed and their inward drives made new.

What are these old drives that once forced obedience at the end of a lash? What but little taskmasters, servants of the great taskmaster Self, who stand before him and do his will? To name them all would require a book in itself, but we would point out one as a type of sample of the rest. It is the desire for social approval. This is not bad in itself and might be perfectly innocent if we were living in a sinless world, but since the race of men has fallen off from God and joined itself to His foes, to be a friend of the world is to be a collaborator with evil and an enemy of God. Still the desire to please men is back of all social acts from the highest civilizations to the lowest levels upon which human life is found. No one can escape it. The outlaw who flouts the rules of society and the philosopher who rises in thought above its common ways may seem to have escaped from the snare, but they have in reality merely narrowed the circle of those they desire to please. The outlaw has his pals before whom he seeks to shine; the philosopher his little coterie of superior thinkers whose approval is necessary to his happiness. For both, the motive root remains uncut. Each draws his peace from the thought that he enjoys the esteem of his fellows, though each will interpret the whole business in his own way.

Every man looks to his fellowmen because he has no one else to whom he can look. David could say, "Whom have I in heaven but You? And earth has nothing I desire besides You," but the sons of this world have not God; they have only each other, and they walk holding to each other and looking to one another for assurance like frightened children. But their hope will fail them, for they are like a group of men, none of whom has learned to fly a plane, who suddenly find themselves aloft without a pilot, each looking to the other to bring them safely down. Their desperate but mistaken trust cannot save them from the crash which must certainly follow.

With this desire to please men so deeply implanted within us, how can we uproot it and shift our life drive from pleasing men to pleasing God? Well, no one can do it alone; nor can he do it with the help of others, nor by education, nor by training, nor by any other method known under the sun. What is required is a reversal of nature (that it is a fallen nature does not make it any the less powerful), and this reversal must be a supernatural act. That act the Spirit performs through the power of the gospel when it is received in living faith. Then He displaces the old with the new. Then He invades the life as sunlight invades a landscape and drives out the old motives as light drives away darkness from the sky.

The way it works in experience is something like this: The believing man is overwhelmed suddenly by a powerful feeling that only God matters; soon this works itself out into his mental life and conditions all his judgments and all his values. Now he finds himself free from slavery to man's opinions. A mighty desire to please only God lays hold of him. Soon he learns to love above all else the assurance that he is well pleasing to the Father in heaven.

It is this complete switch in their pleasure source that has made believing men invincible. So could saints and martyrs stand alone, deserted by every earthly friend, and die for Christ under the universal displeasure of mankind. When, to intimidate him, Athanasius' judges warned him that the whole world was against him, he dared to reply, "Then is Athanasius against the world!" That cry has come down the years and today may remind us that the gospel has power to deliver men from the tyranny of social approval and make them free to do the will of God.

I have singled out this one enemy for consideration, but it is only one, and there are many others. They seem to stand by themselves and have existence apart from each other, but it is only seeming. Actually they are but branches of the same poison vine, growing from the same evil root, and they die together when the root dies. That root is self, and the Cross is its only effective destroyer.

The message of the gospel, then, is the message of a new creation in the midst of an old, the message of the invasion of our human nature by the eternal life of God and the displacing of the old by the new. The new life seizes upon the believing man's nature and sets about its benign conquest, a conquest that is not complete until the invading life has taken full possession and a new creation has emerged. And this is an act of God without human aid, for it is a moral miracle and a spiritual resurrection.

Tozer in the Evening Those Museum Pieces

Now I do not think that Satan much cares to destroy us Christians physically. The soldier dead in battle who died performing some deed of heroism is not a great loss to the army but may rather be an object of pride to his country. On the other hand the soldier who cannot or will not fight but runs away at the sound of the first enemy gun is a shame to his family and a disgrace to his nation. So a Christian who dies in the faith represents no irreparable loss to the forces of righteousness on earth and certainly no victory for the devil. But when whole regiments of professed believers are too timid to fight and too smug to be ashamed, surely it must bring an astringent smile to the face of the enemy; and it should bring a blush to the cheeks of the whole Church of Christ. The devil's master strategy for us Christians then is not to kill us physically (though there may be some special situations where physical death fits into his plan better), but to destroy our power to w age spiritual warfare. And how well he has succeeded. The average Christian these days is a harmless enough thing. God knows. He is a child wearing with considerable self-consciousness the harness of the warrior; he is a sick eaglet that can never mount up with wings; he is a spent pilgrim who has given up the journey and sits with a waxy smile trying to get what pleasure he can from sniffing the wilted flowers he has plucked by the way. Such as these have been reached. Satan has gotten to them early. By means of false teaching or inadequate teaching, or the huge discouragement that comes from the example of a decadent church, he has succeeded in weakening their resolution, neutralizing their convictions and taming their original urge to do exploits; now they are little more than statistics that contribute financially to the upkeep of the religious institution. And how many a pastor is content to act as a patient, smiling curator of a church full (or a quarter full) of such b lessed spiritual museum pieces.

Copyright Statement This material is considered in the public domain.

[anthonybialy]

Buffalo Bills Out of Overtime

Sean McDermott probably doesn’t hate you.  But he’d coach no differently if he did.  The most Buffalo Bills result ever couldn’t have been engineered more deliberately to crush its supporters.  This franchise should be taken to The Hague and tried for torture.  Awful mistakes paired with maddening decisions are the legacy they can’t escape.

What was the most frustrating part?  I’ll submit it’s that we’ll ever get to stop asking.  The broader view brings understanding along with woe.  

Removing Stefon Diggs in key situations is an experiment to measure your tolerance for aggravation.  It’s paired by waiting almost a full quarter before targeting him.  Haven’t the Bills seen the campaign lawn signs?  Allen/Diggs campaign materials are this decade’s “Baby on board” accessory for Western New York households.

The Bills screwed that up so badly that they distracted from criminal officiating.  The touchdown near half’s end showed Diggs is capable of righting a wrong.  A horse collar is a penalty.  On the collared player.  Disregarding victimhood distracts from the atrocious intentional grounding in what we hope was unintentional incompetence by officials who act too ridiculously for professional wrestling.  We saw “Ball don’t lie” in action as karma caused Philadelphia to fumble.  The closest thing to justice in a rotten world is the afflicted party fixing it themselves.

Mistakes are bound to happen even in victories.  For this cluv, that’s presently theoretical.  The Eagles game evolved to where they’d overcome shortcomings or lose because of them.  This is the Bills, so you already know it was the latter even if you just woke up from a Thanksgiving nap.

James Cook proves chaos theory.  A butterfly flapping its wings leading to buffalos not stampeding.  His drop on a seemingly sure score early on led to magnified aggravation that continued through the other team’s final score.  Dalton Kincaid similarly knew he was going to get hit, so he may as well catch it.

Josh Allen’s determination went to waste this week just like it has for his sixth season.  Ken Dorsey screamed at the Applebee’s TV that you can’t let him run like that.  Maybe he knew the Bills would screw up anyway, so there’s no reason to expose the dear quarterback to hazard.

Nothing will teach ambivalence like sports.  The interception was the absolute worst time for hasty Josh to arrive.  I would rather deal with Date Mike than Allen thinking he’s too cool to check coverages.  His costly turnover is near the bottom of the list of reasons why they lost, although he could make his own case easier.

Stopping the Eagles was often a lethargic process.  It looked like Dorsey taught tackling.  The Bills always have one good aspect and one lousy aspect. Special teams would like to point out that they’re not the dog despite two monumental missed field goals that might have changed the course of everything.

Sunday served as Jordan Poyer’s unofficial retirement.  Keep him in if you’d like more plays from someone only technically playing.  His clear unwillingness to have anything to do with stopping Hurts on the game-winning score was the cherry on top.  By contrast, I hope hitting the Eagle who scored on his watch made him feel better.  At least his partner is as unhelpful, as seen when Poyer combined with Micah Hyde to simultaneously whiff on the next touchdown.  They’re presently at the same points in their respective careers.  Unfortunately, that means they’re equally washed.

Younger players flaunted shortcomings, as well.  Gabe Davis spaced out at the most inopportune time.  The offense will struggle for as long as its second receiver is starring in a Cheech and Chong reboot.

Going in the wrong direction is not just figurative.  We’ve seen Von Miller head toward the quarterback before.  It was mostly with other teams.  Now, he’s overshooting or turning inward.  None of his moves are bringing him anywhere near sacks, which might be why they’re so easy to execute.

Monty Python fans know the legend of Brave Sean McDermott who bravely kneeled away. The capitulation to end regulation was the McDermottest play ever.  Buffalo may not have even gotten to overtime if he had the ability to weigh benefits versus risks and believe he leads enough talent to overcome the latter.  Those spreading the narrative of Josh going 0-6 in overtime should shift focus upward.  His coach has this particular quarterback at his disposal yet still can’t prevail in ties.

Philadelphia is already a tough team to tackle or stop in any other regard.  The Bills can’t blame a foreboding schedule for their failure to live up to the challenge.  The better team displayed resolve.  As a hint, it’s not the one McDermott coaches.  His timidness haunts Buffalo.  

What does not seizing opportunities look like?  Oh.  Many promising moments got squandered if you don’t feel infuriated enough.  We’re finally seeing players in motion, which can be very confusing.  But don’t fret, as that’s the point.  Philadelphia’s defense was thankfully as perplexed.  Accepting underneath options is also a sign of offensive maturity.  It took going to Philadelphia and firing Dorsey to holster the shotgun on fourth and short.

But meekness prevailed, which means the Bills didn’t.  This week would’ve been a good time to make the sort of bold move McDermott never does, namely by firing someone who’s overseeing declining.  Instead, ownership is as soft as his late-game zone.

McDermott’s real NFL home awaits him moving back.  Sadly, he’ll stay right where he is.  With the Carolina job open again as per annual tradition, he could stop kidnapping their players and simply keep them there.  He’d be better off leading the Panthers out of woe than causing more for the Bills.  The task most suited to McDermott’s abilities is naturally the opposite of the one he’ll retain.  A coach who’s skilled at rebuilding is tearing down his previous work.

A bye means time to brood if you’re a fan of this particular team this season.  We suffer through an extra agonizing week with nothing but memories while bracing for a game we rightfully fear will be just as brutal.  It feels like we’re doomed.  But there’s no blaming fate when the same workers are allowed to keep making regrettable decisions.

[theerurishipper]

Yes, exactly! I don't think people understand why it's so important that Zuko is "better" than Azula at the end. It's not just for cool action, or to watch him defeat her. It's a thematic element that emphasizes their character journeys. To say things like "Azula wouldn't have lost if she had the opportunity to meet the dragons" or that Zuko had an advantage because of this is missing the point.

Why did Zuko have that advantage? Because he went out of his way to find them and learn. It's like saying the reason a casual player of a sport is at an unfair disadvantage against a professional because "the professional practiced for years." Yes, but would that be the professional's fault? The professional worked hard for their skills and if the casual player feels cheated, would it be the fault of the professional? We would say no, right? Because the professional player worked hard to develop those skills and devoted time and effort to them. The casual player may have a variety of reasons for their inability to learn, but it would not be the fault of the professional that they didn't learn, in the end.

In the same vein, Azula simply would not think to learn from the dragons, because she considers herself superior. Of course that is what she has been taught and it is not her fault for being indoctrinated, but Zuko made a humongous effort to break free from his indoctrination and showed true humility and a willingness to learn. It's not his fault that Azula would not care to learn what he has. The fact that Zuko does everything he can to learn more and improve is precisely what makes him better than Azula. Throughout the series, Zuko is learning and constantly improving himself. Not just him, the whole Gaang is learning and growing. Even Toph, a prodigy amongst prodigies who starts the series as a master earthbender, is learning. But aside from one scene in the beginning where she is practicing something she already knows, we never see Azula learn anything! This tells us about her belief in her superiority, that she believes that she has achieved perfection and doesn't need to improve. She's already better than that weakling Zuzu, her father loves her and her strength, so why would she improve?

Another thing I've seen people say is that Azula too incorporates other styles of bending into her firebending, and it's just... come on. That's just not true. She wholeheartedly believes that fire is the superior element. Her keeping non-benders around isn't proof that she has great respect for other forms of bending. We know she believes she is better than Mai and Ty Lee as well. She may value her intellect as well, but to say that she isn't under the impression that firebending is the best form of bending is a lie. Her self-worth comes from being better than Zuko in every way, but one important aspect is that she finds self-worth from being a better bender than Zuko. Azula is heavily indoctrinated into her beliefs of superiority and her/the Fire Nation's divine rights to rule. She was born with that right, as she was born a firebender, the daughter of the Firelord. You can't say that she appreciates and learns from others unlike Ozai (which is apparently why she's better than him) and in the same breath say that Ozai indoctrinated her and that's why she wishes to do things like burn the Earth Kingdom down because she doesn't know any better. Either she is indoctrinated or she is not. You can't have it both ways, but these are takes I've seen. Everything suggests to her wholeheartedly believing in her inherent superiority over others.

Zuko's firebending is better because he understands the true essence of the element. Unlike Ozai and Azula who use firebending purely as weapon or a means to an end, Zuko knows the true meaning of fire, which is energy and life. We see him switch from an aggressive offense to a controlled defensive style. He actually incorporates other forms of bending into his own. Azula doesn't.

It's also really interesting how the Fire Nation discourages dancing, and yet one of the oldest firebending forms of firebending is a dance. And it's also interesting how we see Zuko do this breakdancing-esque move way before he meets the dragons. Did he understand the true meaning of firebending then? Definitely not. But it does show us that he isn't like his father or sister even though he tries. He punches and kicks but he also dances, just like when he yells and postures he also cares. When pushed to a tight spot he cares (like when he decided to get his ship and crew to safety despite his talk about not caring for anyone's safety), and when pushed into a corner he dances (like in the Agni Kai with Zhao), which shows that it's always been in him. He's always had an affinity for empathy and compassion, and he's always had an affinity for his fire. He just needed to grow and overcome his inner turmoil to really understand it and himself and let it show. And in the end, after everything, he finds himself and accepts his qualities of empathy and compassion, and he accepts his element, and his breakdancing move is the one that knocks Azula down.

Seeing, "Zuko is canonically bad at firebending," takes on my dash, so...

Zuko is canonically not bad at firebending. He may not be the natural prodigy that Azula or Iroh are, but skills don't work on a basis of either "extreme prodigy" or "not good at all."

Zuko works hard throughout the series to grow and improve in his firebending, and he does.

He defeats Zhao, an adult firebending master, in an Agni Kai when he's 16 and ostensibly still stuck on the basics, because mastering the fundamentals is a huge part of getting "good" at any skill.

He learns lightning redirection in about a day and later successfully uses it against Ozai, who is meant to be an extremely powerful firebender.

He learns to understand and appreciate his fire on a fundamental level from the dragons, who were the original firebenders, and in so doing he becomes a firebending master just as much as Katara (who had a few days/weeks at most of formal training) or Toph (who declared herself an earthbending master after learning from badgermoles) are masters of their elements.

And then he took everything he had learned about fire and put it together to help Aang master firebending over the course of a few weeks.

None of that says, "canonically bad firebender." It says that Zuko didn't start out as a major natural prodigy like his sister, but he worked hard, never stopped learning and growing, and developed into a very strong and capable firebending master in his own right by the end of the show.

[addictedtostorytelling]

when the latter is uttered as a question, “do you want to sleep with me?” and “you want to sleep with me?” are semantically identical sentences. however, within the context of grissom and sara’s relationship dynamic, there is a keen distinction. to grissom’s ears, from sara’s lips, “you want to sleep with me?” isn’t just a question but an assertion, one that comes across almost as an accusation, as her calling him out on something she empirically knows about him. she isn’t asking for him to supply an unknown variable in their equation but rather challenging him to deny a known one if he can; if he will; if he dares to—and, of course, she realizes that he can’t; that he won’t; that he couldn’t bring himself to, because to do so would be a lie. their sums wouldn’t add up, if he did. that’s part of what makes what she says so affronting: not just the fact that she has broached the topic of sex, which would be a taboo between any boss and his subordinate in any workplace setting, but that she has broached the topic of sex between them specifically and in so doing laid bare the truth of his desire, which usually neither one of them is bold enough to acknowledge head-on. throughout this episode runs a thread of tension between grissom’s powerful but ultimately ineffable wanting for sara and his sense of professional decorum; between the real reason why he is so compelled to solve the case and the reasons he is allowed to give to explain away why he is so. nowhere is that tension made more explicit than with this line of dialogue. sara knows exactly what she is doing here—that in omitting that one single verb, she will force grissom, if only for a split second, to confront the certitude of his attraction to her. in her vulnerability, she wants him to feel just as vulnerable as she does, and she succeeds. she has taken the dark thing and dragged it out, momentarily, into the light, impelling him to face it. yes, he does want to sleep with her. he always has. he still does, even now. she has stood before the man who fears nothing more than to be known and proved to him she knows his deepest secret, wielding it as a weapon to preempt him from digging any deeper into her behavior in this instance; to keep him from learning her own deepest secret, which this case has brought him dangerously close to unearthing. offense as defense. and, of course, ultimately, her maneuver works: grissom can’t muster a denial. all he can do is fumble, then voice his incredulity that she would dare to name the unnamable; that she would break their unwritten rules of engagement by speaking the truth that until now has remained decidedly, perpetually, achingly unspoken between them: “i know you want me. i know because i pay attention to you. because i want you, too.”

[contemplativepancakes]

Geralt is possibly the least interesting vampire in the world. Jaskier is strangely okay with that. 4k, G. read on AO3 here!

for @theamazingbard (:

Geralt holds up two ties in front of the mirror, comparing the fabrics against his suit. By now, he’s used to the headless suit that reflects back at him in the mirror. Geralt’s never been one to overly question things, so he couldn’t tell you why vampires don’t show up in mirrors, but really, that’s fine. A relief, even.

He’s not sure he wants to know what he looks like. He knew once, before he was turned. He wasn’t exactly a looker then, and he highly doubts he is now.

Geralt chooses the black tie with the tiny dots instead of the black tie with the stripes, and clips it on to his suit. What? He can’t be expected to tie a tie every single day. He smooths it down over his chest. Satisfied, he sits down on the bed to tie his dress shoes. Reliable double knots.

He walks down the hall to crouch in front of the refrigerator, pulling out one of the bags of blood he keeps there. He pauses to look at the label. It’s his favorite, AB. He tucks it into his lunchbox, then pauses to rip one open and dump it into his travel mug. He pours some protein powder in it to make the blood coagulate. He can definitely see the appeal of this boba tea the humans have been drinking recently.

As he heads out the door, he darkens a little as he looks at his neighbors’ decorations. He hates Halloween. A time for people to get everything wrong about monsters. They live with them, the least they could do is be a little considerate and do their research.

No, they can’t repel Geralt with garlic. He scowls at the thought.

Geralt’s distracted from his thoughts as a young man runs by him out of seemingly nowhere and falls on the sidewalk just in front of him, his knee splitting open.

Geralt rubs a hand on his neck as the man looks up at him beseechingly.

“Uh. Do you need any help?”

“My, you’re ever so kind,” the man says, extending a hand that Geralt uses to pull him to his feet.

“Probably want to get that cleaned off,” Geralt says. “Make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

“Oh, dear! You’re right. Would it be possible for me to use your sink?” he asks, batting his eyelashes.

Geralt squints. “I...guess?”

“Oh, thank you!”

Geralt unlocks his door and leads the man into his bathroom, graciously pretending not to notice the man looking around the apartment in wide eyed fascination. He must not know that Geralt is a vampire, then, or he wouldn’t be so quick to ask Geralt for help. People around here avoid Geralt for the most part.

“I’m Jaskier,” the man says, as he bends his leg so his knee is right under the faucet. Geralt politely looks away when he notices how the motion makes the material of his pants stretch right across the seat of his ass.

“Geralt,” he replies, watching Jaskier closely for a reaction.

There’s none, so Geralt kneels down and looks under the sink for his hydrogen peroxide. When he finds it, he hands it to Jaskier wordlessly.

Jaskier flashes him a winning smile. “I guess it was my lucky day to run into you, hmm?”

Geralt doesn’t think anyone has ever said that about him before. “Anyone would do what they could to help you avoid infection,” he says dutifully.

Jaskier deflates a bit. “Well, there must be some way I can repay you. How about coffee?”

“Oh. I don’t really...drink coffee.” Geralt waits for Jaskier to get it. It’s not like monsters like him are uncommon, per se.

“How about dinner, then? A steakhouse.”

“Sure,” Geralt says, surprising himself. He blinks. His brothers are always telling him he needs to make more friends. And a steak does sound particularly good. He rarely lets himself indulge in things like that.

Jaskier brightens. “Hey, would you mind putting a band aid on this for me? I can never get it to stay.”

“I’m not sure that applying band aids is exactly rocket science,” Geralt says, but he does it anyway, his nose twitching at the scent of the fresh blood.

Geralt is centuries old, though, so it’s not like a little blood is the end of the world. Maybe when he was a fledgling, but those days are long past him.

He gives Jaskier’s knee a tiny pat. “Looks like those pants are done in for,” he says inanely.

Jaskier shrugs. “A worthy sacrifice.”

Geralt doesn’t respond to that, and Jaskier lets the silence linger. Geralt clears his throat. “I’m going to be late for work.”

Before he leaves, Jaskier insists Geralt give him his number so that he can arrange their dinner. “I’m very much looking forward to it,” Jaskier says with a grin.

Geralt gives him a hesitant smile, looking at the clock. He really does need to get a move on.

Jaskier seems to get the hint and lets Geralt usher him out the door.

In the end, Geralt’s not late, but he is grumpy that he only arrived five minutes early instead of his customary fifteen. It throws his entire day off, and the numbers seem to swim before him on his computer screen like never before.

Geralt scowls. He should have picked the tie with the stripes.

-

Jaskier contains his pout as he walks along the sidewalk, away from Geralt’s house. He practically offered himself up on a platter to be ravished, and Geralt was completely unaffected. There was blood right in front of his nose!

Jaskier doubts his information for a second, but Priscilla was the one who told him in hushed whispers that the word was that Geralt was a vampire. If Valdo had been the one to tell him, then he would have had a few more qualms, but Priscilla wouldn’t lie to him like that.

She knows how the idea of being partners with a monster makes him feel hot under the collar.

Jaskier resolves to be better. If a cut knee wasn’t enough, he’ll just have to step up his game for this dinner. And surely, if Geralt didn’t want to be seduced, he would have sent Jaskier on his merry way after bandaging his knee instead of bandaging it for him, for gods’ sake.

Maybe Geralt wants to be the one being chased after for once. Well, Jaskier is happy to oblige.

-

When Geralt gets home from work, there’s a text waiting for him. How about Friday night for our little get together?

It’s not like Geralt ever has any plans that might get in the way besides his weekly meeting, so it’s not like he has to check his calendar before he replies. Sure.

Great! I’ll pick you up at 8! :D

Geralt frowns. This doesn’t seem right. He hasn’t made a new friend in possibly fifty years, and now one literally falls into his path?

He hums to himself as he does his nightly routine, pushing on the gum above each fang to make it pop out so he can properly brush it. Cleanliness is next to godliness, and all that. Actual dentists that weren’t just going to try to pull out his teeth have only been around for less than the majority of his life, so it’s habit to take good care of them.

Geralt strips off his clothes until he’s left in just his t-shirt and boxers and climbs into bed. No, he doesn’t have a coffin or hang upside down like some sort of bat. Geralt’s not sure where all that nonsense got its roots in the first place.

There’s so many things that humans seem to have no qualms believing about monsters, though, and Geralt frowns as he punches his pillow into a better shape. He’s almost 250. His lumbar health is no joke.

-

His anxiety bleeds into his work, making Excel blink more error messages back at him than he’s ever seen before. Geralt’s boss pulls him aside to ask if he’s okay. Geralt sulks.

He is the consummate professional, and he’s not going to let this dinner get the better of him. Geralt contends anyone would be nervous if they hadn’t made a new friend in decades, too.

Now, he stands in front of his closet. He’s certainly not going to wear a suit, but he rarely wears anything else. It’s not like he goes much of any place besides work and his weekly meetings. Geralt sighs as he pulls a pair of jeans out of his wardrobe.

They’re a lot tighter than he remembers, but this is all he has, so it’ll have to do. He finds a long sleeved shirt that is luckily on the baggier side. He hopes that will make up for his too-close fitting jeans.

Geralt brushes his hair, but he can’t see it in the mirror, so there’s no point in doing anything else with it. He’s more likely to make himself look ridiculous than presentable with whatever he might attempt.

Geralt plants himself on the couch, reaching for his book to read until the clock rolls around to the time Jaskier promised to pick him up. His fingers play with the corners of the pages, bending them in a way that he’s sure would make a librarian displeased.

Geralt huffs when he realizes he’s not going to get any reading done and sets the book down on his side table. He takes a deep breath through his nose. He is ancient; he shouldn’t be getting social anxiety right now.

His phone pings with a text. Outside!

Geralt looks out the window, and indeed, there’s a car there. It’s a lime green slug bug, with rust eating its way up from the undercarriage. Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose. That looks like Jaskier’s car, all right.

-

Jaskier tries not to drool as Geralt walks down his steps. He’s wearing pants that are skin tight, which should frankly be illegal, and his shirt hangs off of him so that it shows his collar bones. Jaskier thought that vampires should be the ones who wanted to bite, but he would really love to get his mouth on one of those.

Geralt gets into the passenger seat with a half smile playing around his lips. “Like my ride?” Jaskier asks.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Jaskier claps his hand to his heart in mock offense. “I’m wounded.”

Geralt hums, shifting in his seat as he fastens his seatbelt. Jaskier drums his fingers on the steering wheel, flexing his right arm to draw attention to the bandage he has there. He went and donated blood this afternoon, and if Geralt doesn’t get his hint this time, he is going to pound his head against the nearest wall.

-

Geralt shifts his head to look out the window as Jaskier keeps his arms on shameless display. He knows times have changed, but it’s also always a little dizzying to see so much of everyone’s skin on display all the time, their pulse thrumming invitingly underneath it.

Geralt shakes his head to clear it of its reverie as Jaskier pulls his car into drive. It gives a concerning lurch. Before Geralt can open his mouth to comment, Jaskier is holding up a hand. “I can assure you, we are perfectly safe.”

“Hmm.”

“Hey!” Jaskier protests. “It is. I take care of it.”

“All I said was hmm,” Geralt says with a tiny grin. “That’s why it has so much rust, right?”

Jaskier sighs. “I was going to get around to repaint it, and then I just...other things came up.”

Geralt makes a face at him, laughing at Jaskier’s increased defenses. Some of his anxiety fades away as he realizes this isn’t so bad, after all. Maybe Jaskier needs a new friend just as badly as him.

When they arrive at the restaurant, Jaskier pulls Geralt’s chair out for him. Geralt gives him a polite nod. He can’t say he has a firm grasp on all the recent customs. Lambert’s always telling him he’s stuck in the past.

Geralt crosses his fingers and rests his chin on his hands as he watches Jaskier eat his salad, taking endearingly large bites. Jaskier hasn’t even mentioned anything about vampires yet. Geralt is starting to feel a tiny bit guilty. Would he still want to spend all this time with him if he knew Geralt wasn’t human?

As he’s thinking that, Jaskier takes a big gulp of his water and starts to sputter. Geralt’s across the table in an instant, his hand around Jaskier’s bicep and another hand on his back. “Are you okay?” Geralt murmurs, tense and ready to help if the need arises.

Jaskier coughs and waves him off. “Just went down the wrong pipe.”

Geralt relaxes a bit, but as his hand lingers on Jaskier’s arm, he can’t help but feel how warm it is, such a contrast to his own constantly cool skin. When Jaskier turns his face to look up at him, Geralt quickly drops his arm and beats a hasty retreat back to his seat.

He could swear Jaskier looks disappointed. He must be delusional.

When the main course comes, Geralt cuts neatly into his pink steak, mouth watering as the juices come leaking out of it. He sucks the tip of his finger into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut at the salty taste of it.

He makes himself cut the steak into tiny pieces. He’ll have to tell Jaskier he’s a vampire eventually; he might as well make sure he doesn’t think he’s a barbaric onel. Geralt tries his best to keep his eyes on Jaskier’s face instead of his arms. He can’t help but notice that he has some very nice veins. They’re a striking blue, and a perfect compliment to his eyes.

Geralt bites his lip, flinching when one of his fangs pops out on its own, pressing into his lip.

“One of my uncles is a werewolf,” Jaskier says, apropos of nothing, looking at Geralt meaningfully.

A trickle of sweat runs down Geralt’s back. Does Jaskier think he’s a werewolf? Werewolves are generally regarded better than vampires; at least they’re only monsters one night a month.

“Hmm,” Geralt says, not hearing the rest of Jaskier’s sentence.

Jaskier laughs at his own joke, and Geralt blinks rapidly until he can focus again on what Jaskier’s saying.

When the waiter comes with the check, Jaskier insists on paying for it. Is this what friendship has evolved to since Geralt last had one? He doesn’t know enough about it to argue with Jaskier, so he lets him do what he wants.

-

Outside of Geralt’s house, Jaskier puts a hand on the console between them, making eye contact with Geralt before dropping his gaze down to his lips. Geralt gives him a gentle smile, his eyes crinkling. His white hair looks ethereal in the moonlight, and Jaskier is only a little infatuated.

Geralt’s exterior is stony, but he also had no problems giving Jaskier all sorts of secret smiles throughout the night. Jaskier’s not sure he’s met a better listener than Geralt, and he tends to drone on and on, so that’s somewhat important to him.

Jaskier closes his eyes and starts to lean in when Geralt opens the car door. Jaskier opens his eyes.

“I had a great time, thank you,” Geralt says, one hand on the top of the car.

Jaskier bites his lip, stopping himself from saying what he wants. “Me, too. Let’s do it again some time?”

Geralt nods eagerly, and Jaskier watches him walk away, his gaze fixed on Geralt’s devastating pants and not at all on the way his ass looks in them.

Jaskier rests his head on the steering wheel in despair. He doesn’t know how to be any more heavy handed than this. He went and donated blood! And Geralt let him pay for their meal! He’s not sure how he can get across the point any better that he’s a talking blood bag, and he’s open for business.

Jaskier heaves a gigantic sigh and resolves to go home and plot his next move.

Maybe Geralt’s just shy.

Well. Jaskier can work with that

-

Geralt’s weekend passes in its normal fashion. He goes for a run, drinks some blood out of his supply in the fridge, then crashes on the couch for a whole day while he thinks of anything other than work. Sometimes Eskel lets himself in using his key, but he doesn’t that weekend, and Geralt crosses his arms over his chest as he tortures himself thinking of what Eskel might be doing.

Eskel’s never had problems making friends, unlike Geralt, so he’s sure he’s out having a good time with them.

Geralt used to be good at making friends, gods damn it, before all of them died of old age and he just didn’t see the point anymore. He’s come to suppose that there’s not all that much of a point in immortality if all he does is work, though.

The weekend’s over just as quickly as it began, and on Monday night, he can’t help the smile that creeps across his face when Jaskier texts him about some inane thing he noticed. Was he thinking of Geralt? That’s...nice.

Cautiously, Geralt lets himself hope that something is going to come out of this.

But first, he needs to tell Jaskier he’s a vampire. He wouldn’t be the first person to run away screaming, even though they are much more accepted now than they used to be.

Geralt shudders as he thinks of the industrial revolution. No regard for any monsters then. Humans invent light bulbs, and all of a sudden they think they’re too good for a healthy dash of respect.

Geralt looks back down at his phone, at a music video Jaskier sent him of someone playing a singing saw.

He lets himself focus on that a while.

-

Wednesday creeps around, and with it, Geralt’s weekly meeting.

He takes his spot in his customary chair, and looks around for Lambert, ignoring the look Eskel is trying to burn through the side of his face with.

“Why do I have to be here, again?” Geralt asks, when he gives up on Lambert to come save him.

Eskel rolls his eyes. It’s an argument they’ve had more than once. “If you won’t become a sponsor, you have to at least show them that things get better.”

Geralt huffs a breath out through his nose as he watches the regulars file in. There’s one new person, and Geralt eyes her curiously. She looks a little terrified, and Geralt softens in sympathy.

The meeting starts, and they go around in the circle, the seat beside Geralt still empty in Lambert’s tardiness.

“Hi, I’m Geralt, and I’m a blood addict,” he drones when it’s his turn.

When they’ve moved on to their personal struggles for the week, Lambert finally appears, dropping into his chair.

He elbows Geralt, seemingly unaware of everyone staring at them.

“Hey, what’s got you in such a good mood?”

Geralt firmly fixes a scowl in place and ignores him. He’s not sure why he even wanted Lambert to show up in the first place.

Geralt leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he listens to everyone else, Eskel being disgustingly reassuring to them all, as per usual. Geralt stamps the jealousy down. It’s not Eskel’s fault he’s so good with people.

The meeting drags by, and when it’s finally over, Lambert doesn’t let Geralt just sneak away. He digs his elbow into his side again, holding Geralt by the shoulder. “You didn’t answer me earlier. What’s got you in such a good mood?”

“I’m not,” Geralt says.

Lambert hums. “You don’t have your usual storm cloud above your head, so I’m going to count it.”

Geralt scowls at him and looks at Eskel for back up, but Eskel just raises his eyebrows at him.

“I hate you both,” Geralt grumbles.

“You love us,” Lambert says.

“Fine. I made a new friend,” he grates out.

Lambert and Eskel exchange an insufferable look.

“What?” Geralt demands.

“You, make a friend? Well, we’re just going to have to hear all about this to believe it.”

Geralt huffs, but he tells them about Jaskier.

“He took you to dinner? And paid? And you think he wants to be just friends?” Lambert asks.

Geralt flaps his hands around and hisses, “Look, I’ve barely been anywhere that isn’t here or work in the last three decades, how am I supposed to keep up with all this human nonsense? And besides, I haven’t even told him I’m a vampire yet. I’ll be lucky if he even wants to be my friend after that.”

Eskel bites his lip. “You know that’s a turn on for some humans, right?”

“What?”

“And you said he scraped his knee the first time he saw you? Geralt, I think he already knows, and he’s just trying to get in your pants.”

Geralt deflates. That makes a twisted sort of sense. “Oh.”

Lambert punches him in the arm. “Hey, lighten up. If anyone can charm him with their stunning personality, it’s you.”

“Fuck off.”

-

It’s difficult to fall asleep that night.

-

A week goes by without him answering any of Jaskier’s texts. He still painstakingly reads and savors each one, but he can’t bring himself to reply. If he was looking for some sort of...fling, he would have gone on one of those apps Eskel keeps telling him about.

As pathetic as it sounds, he could really use a friend. And if sex came later, well, Geralt wouldn’t complain, but he just desperately needs someone who’s going to stick around. He needs someone just for himself, someone outside of Lambert and Eskel who isn’t going to tease him about every little thing.

Geralt sighs. This was at least good practice. Maybe he can try again with someone else.

His heart sinks at the thought. He doesn’t really want someone else. Jaskier wormed his way into his chest in just a week, and Geralt knows he could yank him out with only a little pain if he tried, he doesn’t want to.

Geralt wants to have something nice, for once.

-

Jaskier bites his lip as he peers out the car window at Geralt’s house. He’s half scared there’s not going to be an answer when he knocks, and he doesn’t know what he’ll do then. He thought their date went swimmingly, so he’s not sure why Geralt suddenly stopped answering him unless something happened.

Jaskier has a vision of getting into the house only to find Geralt on the floor, the only way to revive him being letting Geralt drink straight from his neck, obviously leading to Geralt ravishing him against the nearest wall.

Jaskier shakes himself like a dog. Geralt’s given him no interest in anything like that at all. Maybe he needs to lower his expectations. The dude seems lonely, anyway, so maybe he just wants someone to talk to that’s not one of his coworkers.

Geralt told him he’s an actuary, and from the questions he asked of Geralt and Geralt didn’t answer, he’s not convinced that Geralt talks to his coworkers at all.

Jaskier blows out a puff of breath as he unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the door. He’s not sure what he hopes is going to happen when he opens the door.

He walks up the door and knocks.

He waits an agonizing moment before the door swings open, revealing Geralt. He looks even paler than Jaskier remembered him, wearing a pair of sweatpants with a hole in the crotch that he can see Geralt’s plaid boxers through and a t-shirt with a collar that’s outrageously stretched. Jaskier swallows hard.

“Have you considered not oiling the hinges? I think it would do you a world of good to develop a creaky door aesthetic.”

Geralt’s forehead wrinkles adorably. “What?”

“Just, you know. Being a vampire and all.”

Geralt slumps against the door frame. “How long have you known?”

Now it’s Jaskier’s turn to be confused. “Known what?”

“That I’m a vampire!”

“Oh.” Jaskier pauses. “I didn’t think it was a secret.”

Geralt’s hand pauses in its path of trailing the wood grain of the door. “Do you have a...kink?” he spits.

Jaskier raises his hands. “Well, I wouldn’t say that.”

Geralt fixes him with an unconvinced look.

“Look, that might have been part of the initial intrigue, but—”

Geralt raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“But, you’re really fucking hot and also possibly the most boring person I know, but...I’m into it. You know all these weird facts and—gods know I could use a little stability in my life.”

Geralt gives him a bashful smile, and Jaskier wonders if anyone has said anything nice to him at some point this century. “Yeah?”

Jaskier leans across the threshold and cups Geralt’s face with his hands, their mouths a breath apart. “Yeah.”

[maximoffcarter]

The world against us.

Pairings: Peggy Carter x reader

TW: homophobia, offensive words.

Summary: Peggy Carter x fem!reader. Maybe some angst about the time typical homophobia and having to hide being a couple?

A/n: I enjoy writing Peggy even if sometimes I think I don't quiet write her in the best way. But I hope you all like this! If you have more requests, you can send them! There are more coming! Also, it was hard to write the homophobia and did not like it but I tried my best.

Year: 1951. The life after war seemed to go as normal as it was before it, but not for everyone. For Peggy a lot had changed, not just the way she saw life now, but her job, the way they treated her, with the years things seemed to get better. Mr. Jarvis teased her about working too hard and forgetting about her love life, after all, some sparks had appeared between her and Sousa, but nothing more than just a simple dating thing happened and she felt bad about it, but she couldn’t force something that just wasn’t there. She knew there was no rush, after her failed engagement, she really thought she wouldn’t find a lover, she’d only spend her living years in missions.

But that entirely changed when she met a certain someone; unexpected perfect someone, as she described it. She literally had no one to talk about it, she could only think about it and keep it to herself, something that bothered her because her other option had been to push it away, vanish it from her mind, but it was impossible. She was good at hiding this sort of thing, so how could she not get over this teenage feeling? It was absurd. It was silly. It wasn’t her. She also recognized the year she lived in; people were barely being respectful to women, and it was still hard, so having feelings for…no. Not time to think about it. She couldn’t-

“Agent Carter?”

Peggy snapped from her thoughts as she looked up to find that someone she was just thinking about. “Y-Yes?”

“I was just going to say that Mr. Jarvis called and asked if you were going to join them for dinner?”

“Oh. Yes. I will call him, go back to your work. Do not worry.” Peggy offered a shy smile.

“Great then.” They offered a smile and left the office.

Peggy groaned as she saw her leaving. Y/n Y/l/n. How was it possible? A woman. She was feeling…weirdly good for a woman. How? Why? When did this happen? She had been a little annoyed at first hearing how everyone talked about her, not because she was not okay with another woman working with them, but more like…they were talking about her beauty and made disgusting comments about her. But they were right about her beauty, she was beautiful, and she was so nice to everyone. Maybe she had fallen under the spell too, and now she was having such a hard time getting over it. It was stupid.

____________________

What started like something innocent, it turned into something dangerous. Peggy was always one to let out simple and teasing comments, to everyone, but she saved specific teasing comments for a certain someone. No one noticed, no one said a thing, but she knew y/n started knowing the meaning when she had come backs. She started off easy, one work replies, sometimes two words, a smile, a stare, something simple. Then the confidence appeared, and Peggy knew there was no going back. She’d lie if she said she didn’t enjoy them, it was a little game they had, until that made them become closer to each other.

It started off as simple compliments, then it went on with small and sweet touches, nothing that people could notice or talk about, they were careful with their words and anything they did together. Even in missions they were professional enough to know their place and when to act the way they normally did. But then late nights started happening, and even if some were accompanied with Howard, they still didn’t stop, not like Howard could know or would notice; too oblivious.

“And he said that?” Y/n laughed as she walked with Peggy.

“Exactly that. I don’t know what in heavens I was expecting, it was obvious he’d react that way.” Peggy looked back at y/n as they both laughed. She then noticed they were already in front of y/n’s house, making her sigh. “Here we are.”

Y/n looked at Peggy with some sort of doubt in her eyes, she didn’t know if it was right to talk or just leave. “It’s only 9:40, maybe…maybe you would like to have a cup of tea?”

Peggy smiled as she nodded. “Wouldn’t be bad.”

Both women entered the house, y/n closing the door behind her, looking back at Peggy the moment she locked it. They both stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, not sure what they were supposed to say or do. The atmosphere was suddenly tense but with a small hint of safety, no one would see them here, it was only the two of them, nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Y/n opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by Peggy. “I really do not fancy some tea right now.”

Y/n stopped for a moment before she grinned. “Neither do I.”

Peggy smiled as she walked to y/n, placing both her hands on y/n cheeks. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop.”

Y/n placed her hands on Peggy’s side carefully as she smiled. “I’d be a fool if I said I didn’t want this.”

Peggy then smiled as she closed the gap between them, both women wrapped in a sweet and tender kiss, one that they had never felt before, one that they always wanted to feel. Y/n pulled Peggy impossibly closer to her body, running her hands up her back just as Peggy tangled her fingers in y/n’s hair.

“Why if it’s wrong it feels so right?” Y/n whispered against Peggy’s lips as they pulled away for air.

Peggy shook her head. “I have no idea.” She then looked into y/n’s eyes. “It shouldn’t be wrong.”

“No it shouldn’t.” Y/n sighed. “I’ve never done this, or felt like this before.”

“There’s always a first time for everything.” Peggy grinned as she pulled y/n for another kiss.

Y/n smiled against her lips as she kissed her back, turning them so she could push Peggy against the door. Peggy was right, there’s always a first time for everything…

____________________

It had happened 4 weeks ago. Not that y/n had been counting the days. She had just been…she didn’t know what to say honestly; yes, she had counted the days because since then, they had been busy and they hadn’t seen each other as much as they used to. Yes, they did have their sudden encounters but only that.

“Agent y/l/n, would you be so kind and follow me to my office?” Peggy asked as she raised her brow.

Y/n looked up and nodded as she stood up, noticing that no one had really put attention to them. “Sure.”

They both walked into the office and as soon as Peggy closed the door, she pulled y/n to her and kissed her lips softly. Y/n smiled against her lips and wrapped her arms around her neck, pulling her impossibly closer.

“Missed me?” Y/n asked against her lips.

“Every second.” Peggy smiled as she kissed her forehead. “You have been busy, darling.”

“I know.” Y/n bit her lip. “But…maybe you could come to my house tonight? I can make us dinner.” She offered a sweet smile.

Peggy smiled. “I’d like that.”

Y/n smiled and pulled Peggy back for another kiss, but just as it started to get heated, there was a sudden knock on the door and as soon as they pulled away, Mr. Jarvis walked into the office.

“Ms. Carter- oh, hello, agent y/l/n. I didn’t know you were here.” He smiled.

“Yes. Work.” Y/n chuckled as she tried to cover the redness of her face.

“I think you applied your lipstick wrong, ma’am. You have a little bit on the corner of your lips.”

Y/n’s heart stopped for a moment as she cleaned it. “Yes, I-I just ate. Maybe it was that.” She chuckled nervously. “I’ll go. I’ll bring the reports later, agent. Excuse me.” She said rapidly as she left the office.

“Huh…I may be intruding, but I’ve never seen agent y/l/n wearing such a bright color.” Jarvis closed the door behind him.

“Are you here to comment about everyone’s appearance or you came to tell me something important?” Peggy raised her brow.

“Fair enough.”

Peggy sat down just like Jarvis and listened to him talk, though part of her was relieved that they had pulled away before he could see them. That was a close call that she hoped they never went through it again.

____________________

She had noticed Peggy staring at her every now and then, just like y/n had been doing. It was impossible not to do it, it was painful to be away from her when she had already tasted the waters. She couldn’t imagine herself without Peggy, as wrong as it was. And she also noticed one of the agents trying to get Peggy’s attention, which pissed her off so much because he didn’t have a little of decency, knowing perfectly that Peggy was their boss.

She had tried to stay as calm as possible, not wanting to make a scene. She went back to work as soon as she felt Peggy turning to look at her, feeling bad for staring too much.

“Did you hear what happened on Tuesday?” One of the agents whispered.

Y/n wasn’t too far away from them, so she could definitely hear everything. “Something always happens, I don’t even read the newspaper anymore.”

“They caught two women in a room, together.” The agent chuckled. “Poor husbands, I guess they weren’t enough for them or the two women were complete sluts.”

“Well, don’t we all want to see that?” The agent laughed. “Either way, it’s disgusting to know your girl is with someone else, more if it’s with another woman.”

“That’s what I’m saying. They gonna start now like those f*ggots out there. They should definitely have a punishment. I heard something about conversion therapy, they should all go through that.”

Y/n felt her heart beating faster than ever as she heard the conversation, suddenly standing up from her desk. “Don’t you guys have work to do instead of gossip?”

One of the agents turned to look at her. “That’s why you’re here, aren’t you?” He smirked as he sat back in his desk.

Y/n breathed heavily as she left her desk and went straight to the bathroom. She felt tears in her eyes as she looked around, making sure no one was around. As soon as she stopped looking, she fell to the floor and hugged her legs as she cried. How could it be so wrong? Why having feelings for another girl was so wrong? Why was it so important? She didn’t understand really, she didn’t get it. Why couldn’t it be a normal thing just like dating a guy? They could screw every woman they wanted, and people would put them in a pedestal. But if it was a woman, they’d call her more names than they could every imagine.

So why dating someone from your same sex was so wrong? Did it affect them? We’re they causing them pain or something? It was none of their business. She only wanted to live in a world where she wouldn’t have to hide. She heard the bathroom door opening and her heart stopped for a moment, looking up and finding Peggy staring st her with a concern look.

“Darling? What happened?” Peggy locked the door and knelt down in front of her.

Y/n sobbed as she shook her head. “Why is it wrong, Pegs? Why can’t I tell the world that I like someone?”

“What do you mean?”

“The guys…they…they talked about two women who were found together. And they were talking badly about them, they said such horrible words, I couldn’t…” y/n ran her hands through her hair as she shook her head. “I can’t believe this.”

Peggy placed both hands in y/n’s cheeks to make her look up. “My love…you have to stop thinking about this. It was just-“

“It can happen to anyone, Peggy.” She snapped suddenly as she swallowed. “It can happen to us.”

Peggy stopped for a moment as she stared down at her. “Are you saying that-“

“Peg, I don’t want to…I just…” y/n sniffed as she looked back down. “What if they find out? What if…what if they start talking? We have become closer and they could notice.”

“But they don’t. They won’t. Darling, we have been perfectly careful. No one but us knows.”

“I’m scared, Peggy.”

Peggy felt tears in her eyes as she let her hands fall to her lap. “Do you want us to…” she sniffed. “You want us to go back as before?”

Y/n looked up and saw the pain in Peggy’s eyes, something she never wanted to see. Her heart ached at the thought of ending whatever was happening with Peggy, it hadn’t even been long since they had started, and she was about to end it. Not because she wanted to, but they had to.

“Do you?” Y/n whispered.

Peggy offered a small smile. “I want you to be comfortable.”

Y/n nodded as she looked back down, not even being able to look at her anymore. “I think we should.”

Peggy nodded softly as she stood up. “I perfectly understand.”

Y/n stood up and grabbed Peggy’s hands. “Peggy…it’s not that I don’t want this. I’ve never wanted anything else more than I want this.” She licked her lips. “But it’s too dangerous. You’re the director here, I don’t want them talking badly about you.”

“I know.” Peggy nodded.

Y/n’s lips trembled as she felt more tears in her eyes. She placed one of her hands on Peggy’s cheek and leaned in for a kiss. “I’m so sorry.” She whispered against her lips.

“I’m sorry too.” Peggy sighed as she kissed her lips again. Closing her eyes as y/n pulled away from her and walked out of the bathroom.

Peggy looked at herself in the mirror and sobbed slightly. She was never one to cry, she never let herself cry like his, but she couldn’t help it, this is the last thing she wanted to happen.

____________________

3 months. 3 months since y/n had decided to take a mission in New York City. 3 months of being away from Peggy. Yes, they sometimes had to talk because of the mission, but mostly to inform and that was it. 1 or 2 minutes call, nothing more. They were both hurt by what had happened, even in the newspaper you could see how they talked about people like that, it was painful, and Peggy understood why y/n had taken that decision.

And then one day, Stark called Peggy. It had been weird at first, knowing how he normally joked about everything, but he sounded so serious; something about y/n getting hurt, something about HYDRA finding their locations and hurting y/n, they didn’t know much about it, and that didn’t help Peggy at all.

It was probably 1 am, Peggy hadn’t really checked the time in a while, not since she gotten home. She normally didn’t drink at this hour, she didn’t normally drink at all, or not as much as she wanted to, but this was a bad occasion, so she needed this.

She felt herself dizzy as she sat down on the couch, the whole house was dark, she didn’t need any light for her head to hurt even more. She had been crying for hours, she probably fell asleep for 15 min and then woke up because of a nightmare. She left her glass on the small table in front of her and laid back on the couch. As she was about to close her eyes, she heard a knock on the door.

Peggy furrowed her brows and stood up, trying her best not to fall. As soon as she opened the door, her heart stopped for a slight moment, her eyes widening. This was a joke, now her mind was playing tricks with her and it was not fair at all, it was so unfair, why was this happening.

“I’m losing my mind now.” Peggy touched her head.

“Maybe so. Or you’re just…drunk, maybe?” She chuckled.

Peggy looked back up at her and her face softened. “Is it really you?”

“I hope I am. Broken rib, broken wrist, almost broken ankle, bruises…but other than that, I guess I am me.” Y/n chuckled softly as she looked back at Peggy. “I’m here.”

“It really is you.” Peggy smiled as she wrapped her arms around y/n carefully, burying her face on the crock of her neck. “You are here.”

“I am, Pegs. I’m back.” Y/n didn’t care about the pain, she had missed her british girl.

“Come on in.” Peggy stepped aside for her to walk into the house, closing the door afterwards. “I was worried. W-We, we were worried.” She chuckled.

“Yeah. Stark said something about it.” Y/n chuckled as she put her things down. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

“You are here. Nothing else matters."

Y/n nodded. She looked at Peggy and smiled. “I missed you.”

“Likewise.” Peggy grinned.

Y/n smiled. “I’m sorry. About everything. I should’ve never done that.”

“You had your reasons. And they were fair. I couldn’t force you into anything.”

“But you weren’t, Peg.” Y/n walked closer to Peggy. “I wanted this. I wanted you and me. More than anything in the world. I was a coward.”

“I saw why you were so afraid, I couldn’t blame you. Secretly, I was too. It’s terrifying what they do to those people, and how much they suffer. I would never let that happen to you.”

“I know. And I wouldn’t either. I wouldn’t stand it.” Y/n then grinned. “Though, I know you wouldn’t let anyone even touch you.”

“You know me so well.” Peggy laughed as she looked at her. “We can make it work.”

Y/n smiled. “I know we can.” She took Peggy’s hands and brought them to her lips. “I don’t care if we have to hide it. All I want is to be with you.”

“I’d love that, my love.” Peggy placed her hands on y/n’s cheeks and pulled her closer to kiss her, feeling some tears in her eyes as y/n pulled her even closer.

[yesimwriting]

Searing Starlight (chapter one)

SERIES SUMMARY: the most powerful inferni alive, raised to see herself as a god-in-the-making, the bastard of the barrel and his team, and a shadow summoner with a common goal. What could go wrong? The giant mass of darkness known as the shadow fold and y/n’s sense of humor. 

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Y/n is sent to hustle the Crow Club. Technically it’s not cheating, but Kaz Brekker isn’t the type to let people off on technicalities alone. Especially when the one that committed the offense could help him earn 1 million kruge. 

a/n just a little something based on the show bc IM OBSESSED :)) --I’m planning on making this a series so if you want to be tagged let me know :)

The candles flicker as Kenya's palm makes contact with my face. I used to cry after he hit me; I used to run to Anya’s room for comfort and my energy would became so irritated I snuffed out all the candles in the church. Now, I just stand there. You get punished worse for showing fear. Gods fear nothing, and that’s what he wants from us--to turn into Gods so that the heavens will owe him. 

“You risk us again and again!” 

The yelling is worse than the stinging of the slap. I make a point of keeping my palms flat; the candles of the room flicker as if feeling my restraint. “Watch yourself or the tidemaker you’re so fond of will feel my wrath instead of you. At least when I bruise his face it doesn’t cost me a night of revenue.” 

I want to point out that the men I trick in the pleasure district don’t care about bruises, but the reminder of Jace has me frozen in place. Jace is good. He doesn’t deserve this treatment. “It won’t happen again, Father Kenya.” 

He nods once, unsatisfied but growing bored. “Disappear from my sight before my flesh wins and I forget to show you mercy.” Kenya turns sharply, watching Anya’s stoic expression. “Anya--we’re in need of funding, take these coins and triple it by morning.” 

Anya’s lips part; I shake my head once, a subtle plea for her silence. “Father Kenya, y/n’s the most talented card player we have--if she comes with us we can bring five times what you’re going to give us.” 

The promise Anya makes is that of a fool, but I know I’m capable of it. People are easy to read when they’re drunk, they’re easy to trick and lie to. And drunk people exude the clearest energy, something about their bluffing is as tangible as fog to me. 

Kenya squeezes the drawstring bag between his violent fingers. He loathes me more than the others. He expects more from me. He’d lock me in the cellar if he could afford to. But he can’t--he knows what I’m capable of. 

“Go somewhere in the Barrel--somewhere that doesn’t ask questions if the money is good.” Kenya looks at me, the bruises on my arms and cheeks. “Clean yourself up beforehand.” 

I nod once, stomach rolling at the thought of going out and knotting at the thought of staying here. I keep my steps even as I approach Anya, grateful for the excuse to disappear behind the chapel’s doors. 

----

This club is louder than most, boisterous men drinking constantly, slurring their words and leaning over bars. I only smile when someone’s looking, tugging on the dress Anya picked for me subconsciously. 

“Relax, y/n,” Anya hums, “Men don’t understand they’re being hustled when someone pretty is the one swindling them, and you look hot.” 

A particularly drunk man walks by slowly, eyes reflecting no shame as he blatantly rakes his gaze down my form. I shift uneasily. “That might be the problem.” 

She tilts her head back, gaze focusing on the crow marking etched into the back wall of the club. A very strange and consistent crow theme in here. “Maybe you should keep the dress on until you run into Jace.” 

The mention of Jace in that context leaves my face warm. “Wha--what?” Great. I’m sputtering. “Shut up!” 

She laughs easily, “I’m only teasing--he’d probably ta--” 

“Anya!” 

Again, her laugh is loud and bright. “Kidding!” Before I can scorch her, she nods her head towards a gambling table. “An open seat--go, you know Kenya’ll have our heads if we don’t multiply this,” she tosses me the drawstring bag, I catch it awkwardly, “By five.” 

There are a lot of things I’ve ruined--but I never mess up when it comes to gambling. We’re all entitled to our talents and mine are destruction and trickery. “I’ll have six times this amount before midnight.” 

A little cocky, but it’s well deserved. I stroll up to the table easily, comforted by the fact that Anya’s only a few feet away. 

“You’re playing this round?” 

I smile politely, used to this kind of hesitance. “I think I’d like to try it.” The mock-hesitance in my voice burns coming up, but the dumber I seem the faster I make up my money. The rest of the participants snicker. Expected. I’m going to enjoy taking their money. “I can pay if that’s the issue.”

The sound of me fishing through the small bag of golden coins silences the men at a table. The man closest to me, the one with smooth brown skin and a smile I imagine has convinced many people to play into sins for him, leans forward slightly. I let him peek at the coins, the more they want my money the more they’ll believe my lies. 

“How much to enter?” 

A tall man snorts. I fight back the urge to glare. 

“Three of those coins should do.” The boy next to me is decent enough to answer. I’ll steal from him least. “I’m Jesper.” 

I’ve been to enough clubs to know when a man is attempting to find company for the night. I hope the playful niceness I see in him is real. “Kamil.” My sister’s name is salt water on my tongue. 

The first game is easy enough to throw. The second, I have to work at a little more--their smugness is killing me. I pretend to be ready to step away from the table.

“Where are you going?” 

I shrug at the stranger. “I shouldn’t lose any more money, my father won’t be happy with me as it is.” 

The stranger leans forward, glancing at his chips. “We don’t want a girl like you in trouble at home--why don’t we up the stakes? You win this next hand, and you’ll win double what I did.” He pauses, eyeing my drawstring bag, “Of course--you’ll have to be willing to risk a matching sum.” 

Awful odds. “Deep odds,” Jesper mumbles, “Consider cutting your losses.”

Jesper is a better person than the other men here. I almost feel bad he’s going to be losing any money. “One more game won’t kill me,” I smile as politely as I can manage, “Besides--my luck could be about to change and I’d never know.” 

I hand the coins over to the dealer. I watch as the money is shuffled onto the center of the table, suppressing the grin of someone about to release her killshot. Ten minutes later, I’ve doubled what I’ve lost. The man who upped the bet is gaping, Jesper’s expression has shifted entirely, and everyone’s staring at me like I’ve shifted into another person entirely. 

“Wow--luck really does change quickly here.” I’ve hooked them. They’ll want to play again, to prove that my victory was a fluke. “Do you guys want to play again? It only seems fair I give you a chance to win back everything you just lost since you did the same for me.” 

Everyone’s quick to agree, but I’m quicker to win the second round. Some men look murderous, some look ready to play again, their egos incapable of handling defeat at my hands. 

“You came in with a surprising amount of coins,” Jesper muses, reaching over to pick up a piece of gold that rolled towards him, “I hate to accuse you of counterfeiting, but one has to wonder.” 

Typical. “I swear my money’s real.” 

“Real money can take a bullet…” Is he going to shoot it...in doors? Jesper tosses the coin easily, letting it flip in the air before taking out a pistol and shooting it dead center in a movement so casually fluid and deadly I’m taken back. 

The coin clatters onto the table, the bullet embedded into the precious metal. I eye it cautiously, beyond relieved that Kenya at least doesn’t lie. “T-told you.” 

His eyebrows narrow as he reholsters his pistol. “About that, I guess you did.” 

Jesper’s skepticism is a red flag. I need to get out of here before my winnings are taken from me and Kenya kills me or Jace for my failure. “I didn’t take you for such a sore loser.” 

Before Jesper can respond, something black raps against the table once. “What did I tell you about loud noises at the table?” 

Jesper’s gaze leaves mine immediately. “Sorry boss, just checking a swindler.” 

He--he knows. I blink twice, forcing surprise to color my features. “Swindler?” I look between him and the man he called his boss. “N--no, it was just--luck. I played a hand, I lost some money, I played again and I won some money. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?” 

“You only started winning after the stakes were raised--I’ve seen that tactic before and it’s not appreciated here.” 

I swallow once, a pinch of dread making its way through my stomach. He had shot that coin with no hesitation--I didn’t even see him click off the safety. How dangerous is the man at my table? How dangerous is his boss? Everyone seemed to straighten at the sight of the stranger with the cane. 

“There was no tactic--it was a game.” 

The man I don’t know tears his gaze away from Jesper. “Someone like you shouldn’t even be here.” 

He has a point--my demeanor doesn’t exactly scream someone who frequents establishments at the Barrel during the night. “I’m only here to keep my friend out of trouble.” A fair enough response. “And I played a game and someone can’t handle a loss.”

“You should have seen her bluff, I’ve met professional thieves that lie less fluently than her.” 

At Jesper’s words, the stranger’s grip around his cane tightens. I imagine that beneath his gloves, the color of marred souls, his knuckles are white. “Who do you work for? Who sent a girl to invade my business?” 

Who do I work for? No one that has any business with him. “What?” How self absorbed can one man be? 

“If playing the fool didn’t get you through a card game--don’t think it will get you through this.” 

What? Before I can question him, Anya grabs my shoulder, pulling me so that there’s a safer distance between me and the man. 

“You’re an idiot,” her whisper is pointed, directed solely at me. “Of course you’d find trouble with Dirtyhands.” Did I hear that correctly? Dirtyhands--as in the Dirtyhands? I stare at her, eyes wide. How had I been so stupid? I should have recognized him from his gloves alone. Anya turns her head towards them. “We don’t want any trouble--forgive my friend, she’s not a spy she’s just an oblivious idiot.” 

“Rude.” 

She throws me a glare. “But she did win.” The money isn’t worth the trouble we’ll find trying to keep it but Kenya’s words follow us wherever we go. “We’ll take what we earned and never come back.” 

“I don’t concede often.” 

I reach for Anya’s arm, brushing her forearm in hopes of telling her things will be okay. Kaz Brekker may be feared, but we’re gods in the making. “Neither do we.”

He seems to want to play at an odd, power-filled standstill, but Anya and I are more desperate than him. Anya leans forward, ready to take the money from the table, but the unidentified man who upped the stakes earlier is quick to grab her forearm. 

“I don’t take losses, little girl.”

Anya. I can only imagine the horror she feels when a strange man touches her. Screw precaution. “Is that money worth burning for?” 

“Y/n.” Anya’s warning comes out low; Jesper raises an eyebrow. I guess being Kamil was short lived. 

“Excuse me?” 

The man will not intimidate me. Fear is a crutch men use to keep women in check. “You heard my question.” I hold up my hand, releasing enough energy to develop a flame in my palm. “And if your answer is ‘no’, I suggest you release my friend before your body is nothing more than a pile of ash your own mother wouldn’t even be able to identify.” 

The stranger blinks, touches the gun on his hip, and then releases Anya’s arm. 

“You can’t come into my club, hustle money away from my men, and walk away unscathed because you’re a grisha.” 

Words cannot express how badly I do not want to speak to Kaz Brekker at any point in my life. His grip on his cane is a silent warning--a threat. But what is a man’s threat to a girl that’s meant to be a god? “You can kill me but I’ll use my dying breath to burn this entire building.” I’ve publicly backed him into a corner--I’m insane. 

Dirtyhands opens his mouth to reply, anyone within earshot holding on for his next words. Anya yanks me back as the sound of something explosive interrupts the room. A bullet flies past directly where I was standing and strikes the wall behind me. Anya just saved my life. Someone just shot at me. 

“Y/n, do you think it’s--” 

“No.” It can’t be. There’s no way a soldier found me again. “It can’t be--we were--we’ve been careful--and Kenya said they wouldn’t look for me--that he purchased me fully.” 

A man is moving through the crowd. A blue kefta. No. No. 

Not here. Not now.

And why are they shooting at me? “Anya,” I breathe out as cautiously as possible, “Run and no matter what don’t turn around.” 

“I’m not leaving you.” 

Anya. Always the older sister. “They don’t want you--they want me.” 

“You’re not a real Sun Summoner--it’s suicide for you.” 

I don’t have the heart to tell Anya I don’t particularly care about my life. It’s never truly been mine anyway. “I’ll make it out.” 

“You’re an inferni, not a miracle worker.” 

My lips pull into an odd sort of grimace. The gentle kind one hopes is mistaken for a smile. “I thought we were meant to be gods.” 

“A god can’t do what they want from you.” She mumbles. “So you’re capable of producing more fire than most--it’s not the same as creating light. It doesn’t matter how many drugs they pump into you it’s--” 

I shake my head once, “Anya--go.” 

“They want you to play Sun Summoner.” Dirtyhand’s tone is too smooth to trust. I know when someone’s trying to sell dreams that don’t exist. “The way they’ll have you do it will cost you, but the way I’ll have you do it will be practically painless.”

Is he always this confusing? “What?” 

The question is an irritation, that’s apparent in the cold tint that takes over his practically blank expression. “I need a Sun Summoner for a business deal--and lucky for you I’m out of time.” 

“You don’t want to work with me.” 

“No,” his voice is dismissive, he didn’t understand I meant that as a warning, “But I need to have some form of mass light before sunrise.” 

“The man I’m indentured to will never go for it.” Proposing such an idea would leave me with a broken rib again. 

Dirtyhands nods once, a vague acknowledgement. “That’s not your problem.” I keep my jaw set, scanning at the crowd for a flash of that blue kefta. “After all, it wasn’t his problem when he hurt you.” 

I had been careful to hide the bruises. The reminders of my humanity. My weaknesses, my failures, written onto my skin in purple and blue ink. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I didn’t until I got that reaction.” I’ve never so quickly felt the need to loathe someone. “It was easy enough to assume--young girl, desperate for money, a grisha powerful enough to be hunted down.” 

Is that supposed to be some sort of consolation? “My freedom would never come so easily.” 

“It wouldn’t be freedom--you’d owe me more than you already do for the kruge scam.” 

I swallow before I can make the mistake of telling him I’d consider any escape from Kenya freedom. “Close enough.” 

The grisha’s closer now, the light blue kefta so easy to spot amongst a sea of darkness. “You’re running out of time.” 

“Can you get my friend out?” 

“Y/n.” She can be mad for the rest of her life if she wants. 

He nods his head once. “She’ll be out the back before anyone knows she was even here.” 

“And she can take the money I won.” Maybe the income will be enough to spare her from Kenya’s wrath. “That’s a dealbreaker.” 

Kaz Brekker hesitates. It’s such a normal pause I almost think it’s a trap. “If she takes it there will be no way out for you--you will do what I ask even if it endangers your life.” 

“Y/n, it’s not worth it.” 

I don’t look at Anya. “You have my word.” 

“Y/n, I’m not taking anything and I’m not leaving you.” 

I finally turn. “Don’t be a self-sacrificing idiot--it’s not in your nature and frankly it doesn’t suit you.” Acts of goodness towards me have always left me feeling raw. Too raw. Like I’m bleeding out. “Sorry, I just…” Anya’s eyes are soft. She knows. She always knows. “I’ll get through whatever it is he’s planning and I’ll come back.” I swallow once, nerve draining from my body slowly. “Take the money--Kenya will be angry enough as is.” 

Anya drops her gaze as she collects from the table. It takes me a moment longer than it should to recognize this is shameful for her. I consider telling her that she’s doing the right thing, but that would burn her heart more. 

“You’re my sister,” Anya’s voice is lower than it’s ever been, “I should have stopped him.” 

Her guilt hurts more than the bruises. “You were as hurt as me--you have nothing to feel guilty about.” 

This is already more emotion than we’re used to expressing when alone let alone around others. Anya stretches out an arm, squeezes my shoulder once, and then takes a step back. “I’ll see you again.” 

“Yes,” I nod once.

“Jesper, take the girl out the back.” Turning forward blankly, Kaz begins to speak to me, “Hide behind the bar--my wraith will find you and take you somewhere else.” 

“Y--you have a wraith?” And I thought Kenya was weird. He lets out a sigh. “Sorry. Not the time.” 

“Desperation leads to bad decisions.” 

Dramatic. “I agree.” 

His gaze falls on me, taking in my narrow-eyed glare. There’s a moment in which I think the left corner of his mouth twitches upwards, but then he turns his head again. A trick of the light. “Go before you’re found and I’m out the money I let your friend take.” 

Yes. I’m not exactly safe right now, but Kaz Brekker needs me for something. That means I will not be leaving this building. By force or willingly. 

Silently, I turn, melting into those in the crowd that are either oblivious or don’t care enough to react to the cat and mouse game I’m currently in. When I reach the bar, I’m quick to duck behind it, pressing my back against shelves of alcohol. 

[juniorgman187]

Be Forever Young (Reid Fluff Fic)

Summary: After Penelope’s resignation from the BAU, she attempts to set up her tech protégé, Reader, with Reader’s intellectual match yet much older counterpart - Dr. Spencer Reid. 

A/N: The POV switches between Reader and Spencer, just use context clues to detect who the narrator is.  Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: 21 year age gap, headcannon proposal Playlist: Cloud 9 by Beach Bunny Word Count: 6.1k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

Prologue

Events like these weren’t exceedingly rare. They weren’t anything like Halley’s Comet, by any means, where it only happens once in your lifetime - if you’re lucky. But they weren’t exactly sunrises - something that you can count on occurring every day without fail. 

The best celestial phenomenon I could compare it to are blue moons. Rare enough to still have an element of surprise when they came, but not so rare that I should never expect them. 

These ‘blue moons’ are actually the events in which I meet an intellectual match. 

It’s not too often that I find a mind quite like mine, so you’ll forgive me for the reaction it elicits to watch them transcend the physical level and connect with me on the psychological one. There’s only been a handful of people who’ve ever had the exact standard of aptitude to be permissible into this metaphysical world with me, but now - there’s a handful and one. 

The newest addition to the list is her. 

_ _ _

Getting a word in edgewise when it comes to a conversation with Penelope Garcia is nearly impossible. Getting a word in edgewise when it comes to a conversation with Penelope Garcia about Dr. Spencer Reid is impossible. 

I couldn’t tell you when the first time she brought him up was, but I could probably tell you just how many times since then she’s mentioned him. 

A trillion. At least. 

For months on end, he was the only thing she would talk to me about. Morning, noon, and night. Every single day she’d gush about him with the same unrelenting zeal as she had the day before and the day before that. It was both scary and impressive how she never seemed to run out of good things to say about him. 

“You would just die for his apartment. It’s got this super chic dark academia thingy going on. You’d be really into that,” she would say. Or something to that effect. I was never really listening. 

Not that I wasn’t interested in learning about Dr. Reid - I was very interested in him.

As a superior. 

I first learned of him when he taught my Psych 101 class. Freshman year me was simply enthralled with him as a speaker, probably due to the charm of his awkward humor. I found it eerily relatable and touching, in a way. That was probably my favorite class, minus the assholes who made it less than enjoyable at times. (That’s a story for later).

The next interaction I had with him happened not even a year later when he came back after temporarily teaching to sit in on a philosophy class. Even though he was only auditing the lecture, whereas I was enrolled in the course, he ended up sitting in the seat right beside me. Had he not been gifted with an eidetic memory - a fact I found out during one of my obsessive research sessions - I doubt he would’ve even remembered sitting next to me.

Our shared field of work helped to bring us back together repeatedly throughout college. I would run into him at seminars, workshops, once even at a library where we were both looking for the same book. 

But for the most part, our relationship was parasocial. It largely consisted of me learning from him at a distance. I would use his brilliant research to support my own assignments, read the books he recommended, audit the classes he would teach. 

Rather than accurately interpreting my very limited, very professional connection to Dr. Reid, Penelope was deliberately using it as ammunition for her arsenal of reasons why I should consider dating him. 

“You guys are basically already friends, and nothing is cuter than the friends-to-lovers trope!” Now that she actually did say, and the only reason I remember it verbatim was it was so outrageous I couldn’t not remember it. 

And probably because she just said it to me right now. 

“We’re not friends! We’re ... acquaintances. Colleagues, if you will.” My attempts to gain distance from Penelope and this topic of conversation were crashing and burning. The more I tried to walk away from her, the faster she would chase me. It was inconceivable how she managed to do that and continue to pelt me with her perky persistence. 

“Even better! You know I’m no stranger to workplace romances.”

That I did. One Derek Morgan or one Luke Alvez ring a bell?

“Dr. Reid and I don’t work together,” I reminded her, if only to burst her bubble of insanity. 

“Exactly my point! If you two don’t work together, then there’s nothing keeping you apart.” 

I was stopped dead in my tracks, almost causing Penelope to trip since she was right on my heels. 

“Nothing? Really? Try 21 years.” 

That surely kept us apart. 

Our age gap was one of those glaring disparities Penelope couldn’t wave away with her magic wand. Frankly, it wasn’t an age gap so much as it was an age Grand Canyon. He was a whole person of legal drinking age older than me!

Hell - our age gap itself was older than me!

Maybe there weren’t any contracts or agreements or supervisors to keep us apart, but there was still one significant thing doing that. 

Time. Arguably the most important thing you needed to get right for a relationship to work. 

If there were any chance that he and I were good together, that was squandered by our divergence in age. 

Right person, wrong time ... but wrong time by more than two decades.

I could see the smallest fragment of hope wither away in Garcia’s eyes, and it actually hurt to have known that I caused that. Her voice was more solemn when she said, “You don’t have to date him, I just want you to go on a date. Get to know each other better. Who knows? You might finally graduate from colleagues to BFF’s.” 

Not that I was seriously considering the possibility of growing closer to Dr. Reid, but there was one question lingering in my mind.

“Does he even want to go on this date? Have you asked him how he feels about it?” 

Part of why I was wondering was on the off chance that she’d tell me he had the same objections towards this that I did, which would be good news for me since it would mark my reluctance as a sound judgment. If there was anyone whose opinion was worth something, it was his, right? After all, he was the provable genius in the same compromising position as me. 

“Trust me, he’s been dying to do this.” In spite of her preface to trust her, I didn’t. I couldn’t be sure if she was suggesting that he’d been dying to go on a date with me or if he’d been dying to go on a date in general.

No offense to him, but I guessed it was the latter, and if that was the case, he was only being a team player because she hadn’t told him it was me she was setting him up with. Already suspecting that I’d probe further to navigate through her vagueness, she cut in with one last Hail Mary. “One date! That’s all!”

Whether you believe me or not, 100% the only reason why I said what I said next was to put an end to this madness. “Fine. I’ll go.”

Maybe 99.99%.

_ _ _

I never knew how I could lose so much time. Sure, if anyone asked, I could probably account for everything I’d done in my day, second by second. But still, there was this cloudiness, a fog, inhabiting my brain, casting this haze on whatever else dwelled in my mind, too. 

I couldn’t focus on anything for more than 4 seconds at a time, and while that wasn’t incredibly concerning for the average human, it was disconcerting for me. 

What was going on? 

What is going on?

“What’s going on?” 

Suddenly, a hand began to wave in front of my face. “Yoo-hoo? Anybody in there?” JJ wondered aloud, causing me to realize it was her voice that asked the question from before. 

“Yeah, sorry,” I shook my head to regain some clarity, but that did me no good. My foggy brain still remained. It goes without saying my words were worth nothing as well. JJ saw right through me in a way that never failed to scare me shitless. I could never conjure up a lie good enough to follow that look she’d give me. So I settled for the truth. The question that cast the haziness in my brain to begin with. 

“What do you think about me dating again?” 

If I thought that first look was bad, then the one she was giving me now was something of a nightmare. At least with the first, I knew what she was thinking. With this one, I hadn’t a clue. 

To relieve us from some of the insufferable silence, I found myself speaking again in my defense. “Garcia mentioned something earlier about setting me up with someone and it got me thinking.”

Thinking about Max that is. 

Being my most recent girlfriend, it made sense why she was freshest in my mind. That being said, we’ve been broken up for 14 months, which in any other context would seem like more than enough time to start dating again, but therein lies the catch. 

We didn’t just break up. She said “no” when I asked her to marry me, which, if you ask me, is one hell of a way to break up.

So from that perspective, it obviously begs the question: is 14 months too fast to move on from something like that? 

JJ sharply inhaled. “Well, are you ready to start dating again?”

I still didn’t have an answer for that myself. “I don’t know. There isn’t exactly a rulebook on how long you have to wait until it’s socially acceptable-”

“Lemme stop you right there, Spence,” She placed her hand on top of mine. “You can’t just do whatever statistics or studies or science say is right all the time. You not only need to be more in tune with your own needs but accepting of them, too. Screw what anyone else has to say about you dating again - including Socrates, including Einstein, including Aristotle ... including me. Do whatever you think is acceptable by your standards - not society’s. Do what you wanna do and I’ll support that.”

There was something special about having JJ’s approval. It was like getting permission to be excited, something I didn’t know I needed or wanted. 

“I’m ready.”

Born ready, as Penelope herself would say.

_ _ _

I was starting to get suspicious that maybe I had an invisible string attached to me and on the other end of that string was Penelope. It was the only explanation as to how she managed to trail behind me at an isochronal pace. Perfectly equidistant, perfectly equal intervals of time. Must’ve been some form of magic that she was able to synchronize that connection for as long as she did as we pranced around the office, basically chasing me.

“Okay, I know the date isn’t until Saturday, but I really think we need to amp up your wardrobe choices ... like stat.”

Hearing that I was seeing my superior still didn’t settle well with me. I don’t think I could ever get used to the thought. 

I should’ve been offended at her suggestion to change my clothing taste as it implied my stylistic choices weren’t up to par, but a part of me, a very small part of me, knew she was right. And just because I wasn’t keen on the idea of going on a date with Spencer didn’t mean I didn’t want to look nice for him for it.

“I’m assuming you’ve got some ideas in mind,” I said in a teasing voice, knowing that’s precisely why she brought it up.

“See! You are a genius! Exactly why you and Spencer are meant to be together!” Her exclamation was just as loud as it was outlandish. 

“Alright, calm down sparky,” I shot a warning look. “It’s just one date - we’re not soulmates.” 

Then, talking in the quietest voice I didn’t think Penelope was capable of speaking with, she said, “Not yet.” 

I knew the minute I showed even the littlest bit of interest in Penelope’s fashion guidance, I’d end up draped in ruffles, sequins, glitter, tulle, rhinestones, or all of the above. Nothing again Penelope’s personal style - it’s just not mine. 

I was scared to ask, but I had to know. “So what were you thinking?” 

Before my very eyes, Penelope’s constantly-there smile transformed, something akin to the mischievous grin of the Cheshire Cat. “I was thinking …” 

In a Mary Poppins-esque fashion, Penelope produced a dress that in no feasible reality should have been able to fit within that little Hello Kitty side bag. 

I suppose it must’ve been absolutely backbreaking for Penelope to refrain from choosing a multicolor or at least pattern-riddled dress, so as compensation for the fact that it was only one singular color throughout, it had to be a bold one. 

Red. 

“Not too shabby, right?” Her eyebrows jumped on her forehead, knowing she’d made a good choice. 

And a part of me actually died saying this, but it was pretty perfect. 

_ _ _ 

My life didn’t flash before my eyes, per se, the moment I finally arrived at the delicatessen. It was more like a very specific, singular memory had flashed before my eyes. 

That story for later? This is the one. 

Psych 101 was my best class in Freshman year ... by a long shot. Come rain, wind, or snow, I was always excited to go. It was a standout course on its own, but not because it was terribly spectacular or the most fascinating subject in the world, but more so because of how it changed my own person. It challenged me, like all worthwhile things do. 

There were more judgmental meatheads - boys, if you will - than not, who would jump down my throat for being a smart ass or a teacher’s pet if I so much as answered one of Dr. Reid’s questions. Par for the course, really. 

As a result, I had a proclivity to avoid raising my hand. It wasn’t that I was hyper-fixated on managing my reputation, just that participating wasn’t worth the eventual harassment from my dimwitted classmates. 

Nonetheless, one day, I felt compelled to answer Dr. Reid when he asked what our thoughts were about the sampled, pretense manifesto.

No one else was jumping at the chance to speak, perhaps they were just as cowardly as I was, and it was clear that he was going to stand there waiting until someone finally would. The silence was painfully awkward for everyone and so I felt obligated, as a student who was actually enrolled in the class for credit and not just to audit like 90% of the other girls here, to break it.

Slowly, ever so slowly, my hand hesitantly inched up into the air until it floated just high enough above the student in front of me’s head. As soon as I knew he saw it, I let it plunge straight back down. 

“Yes, Ms. (y/l/n)?”

I could already feel the dirty looks and snide comments coming before I even said a word. 

“I know we’re all collectively referring to this unsub as a man, and while that might just be a general assumption or Freudian slip perhaps ... I think the language is steeped in betrayal and contempt. And it would be ignorant not to notice how it reads more like the wrath of a woman scorned than your typical jilted male lover.” 

“Lover?” Someone two rows back snickered quietly, clearly to mock my choice of words. I didn’t even have to look to know it was Brad who had said that. Nevertheless, Dr. Reid was impressed with my answer. His lips curved into the faintest smile as he nodded his head. If he had heard the commentary of one Brad Sterling, he made no visceral reaction to it.

With an extended hand, palm facing up, he gestured for me to, “Please. Stand up.”

I fumbled my way up and out of my seat to possibly delay the shit I’d get for this mere action.

“That, ladies and gentleman, is what it looks like to have courage,” He underlined his words with a grand flourish of his hand in my direction. “Putting yourself on the line even in the event you’ll be mocked and ridiculed or deemed wrong. That’s something you’ll need if you are seriously considering being part of the BAU, or the FBI at any capacity.”

My face was flushed from the acclaim he was showering me with. Suddenly, I was glad I volunteered. 

Taking me completely by surprise, Dr. Reid wasn’t done yet.

“So, Mr. Sterling,” He began, directly calling out the boy in the back who without a doubt made the remark. I wouldn’t have had any reason to believe he heard it since his attention never diverted away from me long enough to catch the comment, much less the culprit. I wonder if he’d heard all the times Brad made jokes at my expense. Was he finally at his wits end with the sarcasm? “Make fun all you want, but might I suggest that if you like a girl, you do the opposite of that.” 

His sickly sweet drawl was followed by a short wink at me as if to say ‘I have your back’, and I was lucky to have already been in the process of sitting back down because my knees would’ve given out underneath me from the sheer exhilaration of his praise. 

The thought never once crossed my mind that Brad was so fixated on me because he had a crush, but it all made sense once it did. And if I didn’t know any better, Dr. Reid only humiliated him and brought it up because the realization dawned on him, too.

Was it possible that Dr. Reid was ... jealous?

In the spirit of complete transparency, that suspicion may have lit the tiniest wildfire imaginable in my chest. A wildfire that, even now, has yet to extinguish. Perhaps that little flame is the 0.01% of the reason I said yes. I could only imagine what kind of omnipotence it would soon gain if this date went well. 

If he could light such an enduring kindle with simple praise, think about what would happen if he smiled at me. If he laughed at my jokes. If he held my hand. 

If he kissed me.  

Dr. Reid’s validation would be something I actively sought from all walks of life, I knew that much. What I didn’t know was how far that desire would take me.

I would have never guessed it would lead me here. 

Standing in front of a fancy restaurant in a pretty red dress with the tenuous hope that the professor inside might just like it so much that he’ll end up liking the girl wearing it, too.

_ _ _ 

No matter how many times I adjusted the bouquet of poppies, they sat perpetually crooked on the table. Much like the dark gray tie around my neck that tightened around my throat with every passing second. I had to keep messing with it to loosen the noose-like grip it had on me. Who knew if it actually was becoming more restricting or it was the flourishing bundle of nerves in my stomach that made it harder to breathe. 

I was never very good at lying in wait patiently. Especially if I was expecting something. Now that I was expecting someone? I could say with perfect clarity - I was not good at waiting. 

I don’t wanna seem the way I do 

Every time the door opened, my eyes flashed to it instantaneously. And every time it wasn’t her, a little part of me was disappointed. It was still too early to say for certain that she was standing me up, but my mind was doing what it did best. It wandered. There was nothing else to do after all. 

Except maybe adjust those blood orange poppies one more time.

I’d picked them out specifically because Penelope slipped in a not-so-subtle comment about her dress being “a perfect match to the color of papaverales” - her words exactly. I thought if she went through that much trouble to find a color coordinated plant and say the scientific name for me to decode, it was worth picking up a bouquet of them on the way. 

It was only the most ironic occurrence in the world that when I went to rearrange them one last time, I devoted my full attention to the action, missing the very moment I was on the lookout for the past hour and a half. 

I didn’t even see her until the red poppies camouflaged into the identically colored setting of her dress. 

Then there she was.

All the disappointment in the world was worth that first time I saw her with fresh eyes. 

I was dumbstruck for a moment, long enough that it warranted an apology for not standing up sooner. 

“(Y/n)! Hi!” I accidentally squealed. I couldn’t control myself, let alone control the pitch of my voice apparently. 

I could see, in her, youthful naivete where, in others, I saw their age. She paradoxically had not aged a minute, and yet a new womanhood was piercing through her ultimately adolescent appearance. 

“Hi, Dr. Reid,” She said through a laugh and a smile, shaking my hand politely and professionally. She was greeting me like I was still her professor and she’d just happen to run into me on an errand. Next, she’d be attempting small-talk for as long as it took for me to let her go. 

Unfortunately for her, I had no plans for that. 

But I’m confident when I’m with you 

“Please, it’s just Spencer,” I reminded her, hoping to break down that governing image of me she surely maintained. 

“Spencer,” She tried again; doing it more to be obedient to my instruction than to satisfy her own desire. It sounded so unnatural to her, just as it did to me. I found it adorable, actually. It seemed like she was breaking this unspoken, and very much illusionary rule to say my first name. “It’s nice to see you again,” She added after I pulled out her chair for her.

“Is it?” I asked when I rounded the table to get to my seat. “I get the feeling you’re a little disappointed.” The only reason I pointed it out was that it was true, not just that I’d observed the notion grow more poignant in her face for the past minute.

“Not at all,” She shook her head, which luckily for me, drew a line of congruence between her body language and verbal language. At least, she was being truthful. “It’s just that I’m sort of embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” I repeated in astonishment, unable to cultivate a list of reasons that would justify her feeling that way. I couldn’t think of a single thing I’d done to provoke that emotion, and it nearly broke me to consider her internal being substantiating it. 

“Embarrassed isn’t the right word, but I can’t find a more accurate one for what I’m feeling,” She shied away from my eyes when she lowered her head as she spoke. 

“You could try to explain it to me?” I offered gently. It took an overwhelming amount of self-restraint to not offer my hand with it. It would’ve been so easy to slide my hand across the threshold to enter her territory of the table, but who knows if doing so would just make her that much more uncomfortable. 

“Well for one thing, I don't really go on dates,” From this alone, I could already relate to her enough to laugh at the fact. “Don’t laugh at me! You know how dangerous first dates can be,” She swatted her hand in my direction to chastise me. 

“I do! I do! I think it’s really good that you’re protecting yourself to the point of avoiding dates,” I was teasing the implication that she wasn’t asked to go on very many, which was thankfully delivered well enough to make her laugh again. 

“Hey! Many people have wanted to go on dates with me, thank you very much. You included.” 

“Me included.” I nodded in approval. We sat in a short period of silence while we exchanged one soulful glance, borne from the insinuation of what I just said. 

“And for another ... I respect you too much as a figure of authority to see you in that way.” 

_ _ _ 

“In what way?” 

Rather than tossing me a lifeline, he was feeding me to the sharks. Forcing me to dive into the deep end. He wanted to see me struggle to stay afloat in the sea of his sticky toffee eyes. He knew I'd get suspended in them when he gave me that look. How much I’d be willing to get lost in them just so I could wander in the depths of his honeyed orbs for a little bit longer. 

That look ...

“You don’t find it weird?” This was the most honesty I could’ve demonstrated. 

“Find what weird?” For someone with such a high IQ, you’d think he’d be quicker on his feet. 

“This! You - me. On a date!” I gestured to the space between us. “You’re ... well frankly, Spencer, you’re old enough to be my father.” 

“Does that make you uncomfortable?” He genuinely cared about the answer.

“Only in theory. Not in actual life,” was the most precise response I could give.

“So what is making you uncomfortable?” Again, I could tell my answer mattered to him. 

“You were my professor once, and now I’m just supposed to go on a date with you and see you as my equal when I’ve spent the entire time I’ve known you, putting you on a pedestal? Do you know how much pressure that puts on me? To be perfect?”

“Who says you have to be perfect? Who says you’re aren’t already?” 

That one caught me off guard. I had to gulp down the lump of shock. 

“You think I’m perfect?” 

“That, or you’re pretty close to it.” 

Lately all I feel is bad and bruised

I could’ve smiled, I could’ve thanked him, I could’ve fallen at his feet and thrown my dignity down there along with it, but I just laughed. I laughed. 

“That’s ridiculous! You barely know me.” 

“You’re wrong,” He simply replied with a firm shake of his head and a cavalier sip at his drink. It showed just how confident he was in his answer. How cocky he was. 

“How am I wrong?” 

He cleared his throat as though he were preparing to deliver the world’s greatest speech. Then, he leaned forward, motioning with his fingers for me to do the same. 

“If I’m remembering correctly, which you know I am, you were the student who had the gall to raise your hand and correct me on my gender identification of the unsub, right?” 

The second the sentimental thought, ‘aww he remembered’, came into my head, it was soon followed by, of course, he did, idiot. Eidetic memory, remember?

Tired of tripping on my shoes

“What does that have to do with me being perfect? Or so you claim?”

He was piercing deep into my eyes now, his gaze overwhelming my senses and sending shockwaves akin to the feeling of butterflies everywhere … and I mean everywhere.

“Bravery is the audacity to be unhindered by failures, and to walk with freedom, strength, and hope, in the face of things unknown.” 

I recognized the quote as one of Morgan Harper Nichols, but the words went right to my chest like they were his own. 

That damn wildfire just got a whole lot bigger. 

“I’ve always thought about how if I could be unfazed by failure or even just the prospect of it, if I could just be strong enough or have enough hope to face what I couldn’t predict, I’d be set. I’d be golden,” He paused. “I’d be perfect ... but you? You, little one, have already got that figured out. So whether that means you’re perfect on your own because of your bravery or you're a perfect match for someone fainthearted like me, is up for you to decide. Whichever interpretation of being perfect you choose would be correct, but you should know - I meant both either way.”

But when he loves me I feel like I’m floating

When he calls me pretty, I feel like somebody

Even when we fade eventually to nothing

You will always be my favorite form of loving

“Do you want to get out of here?” He asked when he finally refound his voice. 

“Since the minute I walked in.” I replied after refinding mine. 

_ _ _ 

“You always take girls to your apartment on the first date, Doctor?” Asking this in the name of taking a jab at him was the most clever way I could think to conceal my underlying motive of trying to gauge how giddy I could let myself feel about the fact that he’d taken me to his ‘super chic dark academia’ themed residence - Penelope’s words, remember?

“Well, in my abundant dating history,” He sarcastically began, “I can’t say I ever have, no. You’d be the first.”

That shot another quick bolt of lightning to the wildfire in my heart that I’m ashamed to admit made the heat reinvigorate. The flame must’ve been too much for my chest to contain so it had to relocate to my face, where my cheeks were left to burn under his gaze and thanks to his admission. 

I was the first. 

He must’ve seen the glint localizing on my countenance and decided to speak on it. “Why does that amuse you?”

“I don’t know,” I dumbly but truthfully replied. He didn’t need any more information to get his answer, though. Because even if I didn’t know what amused me about being his first, I never denied that it did, and that was more than enough confirmation for him. 

“You promise to be here when I come back?” He wagged a cautionary finger at me like it might persuade me to stay and hold me accountable if I didn’t. 

Spencer needed to go into his room to collect an item that ‘shall not be named’ but was apparently essential for our super secret plans tonight (secret to even me) and he was leaving me in the living room while he did so. I guess being the initial girl he took home on a first date was okay, but being the initial girl he took into his bedroom on a first date was crossing a line. 

That was alright with me, though. I was in this for the long haul.

“I promise I pose no flight risk, Your Honor,” I taunted with a coy tone. “But I can’t promise I won’t snoop around some.” Hey, at least I was telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. 

“Snoop around all you want,” He laughed ruefully, demonstrating an openness I quite envied and admired. “You’ll probably learn a lot about me that way. And you won’t even have to talk to me to do that!” I knew he was only saying that out of self-deprecating tendencies he harbored, but I couldn’t help feeling that a small part of him actually believed that I wasn’t interested in talking to him.

“Spencer, you know I do like talking to you right?” I caught him just before he ran into his room. Already halfway in the door, I could still catch the megawatt smile on his face. 

“So stay then,” His smile grew impossibly bigger. “We can talk all you want when I get back.” 

The door closed, and then suddenly reopened to let just his face through, a face that said, ‘Don’t go anywhere.’

After a few minutes of loudly sorting through his room, I heard the sanctimonious cry of victory. “Found it!” 

I could hear the little pad of his feet and he happily trotted out of the room. “Ta-da! My stargazing kit.” He said it as though he were introducing the basket he was holding to me, and me to it. Like it was a real person he wanted me to know. I almost felt obliged to say, ‘Hi stargazing kit! It’s so nice to meet you. I’m (y/n)!’

“Let’s go,” He smiled, reaching for my hand. 

I unabashedly took it, because although it meant that I was truly leaving his apartment, I had a very strong feeling that I would be back here again one day. 

_ _ _ 

We were lying there on this big quilted comforter that was stashed away in that stargazing kit of his, staring up at the sky, drunk on the sound of our occasional fits of laughter. 

“It’s Earth Day, you know that?” I wondered aloud in a state of complete euphoria.

“I actually did,” He said through a sheepish laugh, almost as if he was admitting the knowledge of it against his own will to protect my fragility. 

From out of nowhere, there was a small tug on the skirt of my dress. I looked down to find Spencer’s hand there, playing with the fabric until it lay perfectly on my leg. 

I coughed to possibly relieve the tension brewing in my loins. “So then you know the Lyrid meteor shower is tonight,” I moved the tiniest bit closer to lean into his touch.

“At exactly 4:33 a.m,” He moved too.

“Is that why you brought me here? To watch the shooting stars? To make a wish?” I thought for a second that I would appear exceedingly childish - more so than I already did being 21 years his junior. But he didn’t judge me at all for the kid-like notion of making a wish on a shooting star or the implication that I still believed in those things. 

In fact, I piqued his curiosity, telling by the way he moved only his head to the side to watch my reaction. “Say I did. What would you wish for?” 

In the throws of dreamy elation, I softly murmured the only honest answer. “To be older. But not the unfulfilling 9 to 5, loveless marriage, ‘I do my taxes for fun’ older. I want to be old in the ways that the stars and the sky are old. I want to be infinite.” 

“...To be infinite.” He whispered my wish back, sounding sort of in awe of me. 

Just then, the overhead horizon grew larger. With no buildings or people to block the view, it was just us, the stars, and the sky. I could actually feel that I was lying on a planet. It was so wide. So infinite. 

“Can I hold your hand?” I asked softly, in a manner so vulnerable it scared me.

Without any words or hesitation, he put my hand in his.

“The universe seems so big right now. I just needed something to hold onto.” I explained quietly, practically with the hopes that he wouldn’t hear me. But he heard.

“I’m here.”

We didn’t know what was ahead of us then. We were just two people, looking up at the sky on a cold February night. We weren’t divided by power, or age, or space. We were ourselves and no one else. 

My eyes fluttered shut again and a smile stretched across my face. “Stargazing was a good idea.”

The world and the sky and the stars and I - we were all infinite. I couldn’t have felt bigger in my own body. In the best way possible, I was taking up so much space. I was occupying the earth. I was made up of matter. I mattered. 

Just as I began to open my eyes, I caught a glimpse of a fading shooting star. Though I had wished to be older, I still felt like a child. Then it hit me. I didn’t feel older because I wasn’t older.

I was infinite. 

Yes, I was a child, but not in the pinch your cheeks, bottles and pacifiers, babyish way. I was a child in the ‘you have a life full of possibilities ahead of you’ way.

You are young. He tells me with his eyes. And that is a good thing. Be forever young. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

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[p---ink]

What’s On Your Mind?

Author’s Note: Hi :) Remember me? I’ve missed you guys, and Tumblr altogether. I felt absolutely guilty about not writing, but the writer’s block was strong on this one guys. And while I’ve had lots of ideas for stories I couldn't quite put them onto paper...or screen. Anyway, wanted to try something new. So this one is about a Thor! I dedicate this one to you @swaggysposts​ since I know you love Chris Hemsworth. Its pretty short, but still, tell me what you think, my love! 

Summary: Avenger reader has a crush on the god of thunder.

Warnings: some lite language and fluff. 

Word Count: 4.7k

Part Two   Part Three

“I’m sorry? Did I hear that right? You said you can what?” Mr. Stark asked, without a doubt forgetting that there were stranger things in the world. 

Clearing my voice, and speaking a bit louder I say, “I can read minds, sir.”

“That’s what I thought you said.” Stark voiced out loud placing a sleek pair of sunglasses on his face. He was still pretty skeptical of my claims, but another part of him was very anxious. Or would the word be embarrassed? Mortified? Yes that was definitely the perfect description.

Whatever the feeling was, I knew the cause was because he knew that if what I was saying was true, he would have to start groveling because of the dirty thoughts that raced through his mind when we first introduced ourselves.  

‘Forgive me for looking Pepper, but this girl has the ass of a professional volleyball player’ was what he thought as he opened the door for me on the way in.

“I can’t hear what you’re thinking though, because It only works through touch.” I lie, as I watch his worry fade away. I needed this job, and I couldn’t be disqualified because of harmless thoughts that we could all be guilty of sometimes. Besides it wasn’t Tony’s fault: these jeans did do wonders for my bottom. 

Something told me though, that if this Pepper weren’t in the picture, he’d have no problem saying what he thought of me out loud. And he was a handsome man, couldn’t be much older than 40, so maybe in another universe I’d consider him. Not this one though. 

“Hey Kid,” Stark started, interrupting my own inappropriate thoughts, “just saying ‘I can read minds’, wont be enough. You’ll have to prove it.”

“Of course! Sorry—” I was cut short by the sound of the thick glass doors of the conference room being slammed against the walls. 

A brown haired boy with deep chestnut eyes, that looked as frantic as the rest of his face, rushed out apology after apology as he took his seat next to the older man. 

Tony, who hadn’t spared the younger boy a glance, said, “Ah, perfect. Tell me what he’s thinking.”

‘Spiderling’ was the name he had assigned him through thought. As I concentrated on his confused features, he looked from me to Stark.

“What who’s thinking? Is Dad—I mean Mr. Stark, referring to me? How could she possibly do that? Oh God, he hasn’t said a word to me since I got here. He must be really upset because I’m late. Geez, I hope he doesn’t take Karen again. I’d rather he kill me.” I repeated, after relaying all of the boy’s thoughts as fast as he could think them. 

“Is she right?” Tony asked the boy. He felt both amazed and amused. Amazed with me, and amused by Spiderling for thinking of him as a dad. He would never let him live that one down. 

After swallowing his astonishment, and turning his attention from me, Spiderling answered “Yes.”

“Good. And at least we both agree on your punishment. I’d rather kill you, too. Saves me less trouble in the future.” Tony stated. He was punishing him because apparently this was the third time he’s been late to the interviews he was supposed to be in charge of. 

Spiderling let alarm overtake his features, but before he could say anything, Tony continued on with more questions. 

“Do you have any other skills, we should know about?”

“Well just a bit of hand to hand combat. But it still needs a lot of work. Other than that no—”

“How did this happen?” Spiderling interrupted, wonder getting the best of him.

“Kid,” Tony starts, but he goes ignored by Spiderling. 

“Were you bitten by some kind of radioactive insect like me? Or are you super smart like Mr. Stark? Or perhaps it was gamma radiation like Dr. Banner! Or maybe a super serum like Mr. Rogers!—”

“Don’t make me remove your batteries, junior!” Tony interrupted, then he looked to me. “I’m sorry. He’ll keep going if you don’t nip it in the bud early.”

But he didn’t have to tell me that. His own mind, like Spiderling’s, was racing a mile a minute. 

“No its fine really. He’s just curious.” I reply with a chuckle. “And to answer your question Spiderling: maybe I was born with it, or maybe its Maybeline.”

I began to grow embarrassed by their silence at my terrible joke, until Spiderling stifled a chuckle. “I get it!” He said between snickers. “Wait why’d you call me Spiderling?” He asked. ‘Is she picking on me?’ He thought. 

Needing to correct his thoughts to clear up any offense I say, “No! I would never pick on you, I just thought that was your name because Mr.—”

“Y/N, was it?” Tony interrupts, yet again. “I think you’d make an excellent addition to our team! When can you start?” 

“Really?” I ask gleaming, ignoring the fact that he wanted me to shut for outing what he really thought of his younger protégé. “I can start right away! Thank you so much for this opportunity!”

“Yeah, don’t mention it.” He hurried. “F.R.I.DAY, will prepare your room, and Peter here will show you around.”

At that Peter hopped to his feet mind racing with thoughts of excitement on the hopes of a future friendship. “Follow me!” He said, grabbing my hand.

“Not so fast, champ. I need to speak with Ms. L/N alone for a moment.” Tony stated, nodding at Peter as he excused himself from the room. 

Tony cleared his throat, and relayed his thoughts, thoughts that were hard to separate from Peter’s louder ones earlier. “So Y/N,” He started towards me, leaning in close as he chose his words carefully. “I couldn’t help but notice, that you didn’t need to touch Parker nor I to read our thoughts. Care to explain?”

Flustered at being caught I stumble across my words as I try to explain, “Ah yes, well its rare, but sometimes I don’t need to touch the person.”

“Mmm.” Tony hummed, not believing a word I said, and I knew then the gig was up.

Cocking my head, and wearing a semi-sympathetic expression I say, “Don’t worry. I don’t even know who Pepper is.” 

And before Stark could protest, I ran to Peter’s side, so we could begin the tour around my new home. 

That was all a little over eight months ago. And so much had changed now. Peter’s hopes became true. We were the best of friends. His boy-like charm never grew old to me, and nor did my gifts to him.

“Cerulean” I’d say, when he’d think things like ‘What’s your favorite color?’. He always thought questions like that as a sort of game. I never got tired of playing along. 

It seemed to never click in his mind though that he could never scare or surprise me when he hid behind corners or couches, because I could hear his thoughts before he got the chance to. 

But besides the little stunts he’d try to pull by hiding his thoughts in order to frighten me, Peter was as transparent as they were. The boy was an open book, and he rarely kept a secret. It made us perfect friends, because he never seemed to get tired of me knowing every single detail about him. 

Though the other avengers treated me like family, Peter seemed to be the only one welcoming of my “gift”. 

If you asked Steve, he’d think something along the lines of “I’m too old for this shit” when I’d answer questions he hadn’t had the chance to ask. Then he’d immediately curse himself, for thinking a swear word when I’d tease him with one of the team’s inside jokes, like “language.”

Bucky tried his hardest to keep his thoughts in a vault, but it never worked. I knew exactly how many dead bodies he had under his belt, and where he kept his hidden stash of plums. 

Natasha, however, never tried to hide her kill count. She always made it a point to up the number by one as a threat to me, every time I accidentally crept inside her head. I always made it a point to keep my distance whenever she was deep in reflection.

Banner was interesting. His mind had two voices of course, and neither one of them gave a shit about whether I heard them or not. There were the deep thoughts that I struggled to understand most of the time, then others were one-word sentences only. They were louder than the rational side of his brain. 

“La, la, la, la, la”, was literally all that Sam would think whenever there was something he wanted to hide. Sometimes he’d do it just to piss me off, because he knew if I said to ‘knock it off’, he could accuse me of evading his thoughts in the first place. 

In truth, I never tried to read what they were thinking. I found the process invasive, and distracting from my own feelings. I worked hard to shut it all out, doing my best to make truth of that lie I told Stark all those months ago. But it was very draining, and took more energy than my body could exert. One person was easy enough to ignore, but more than ten, proved to be a task.

Most of my entire life I spent working in order to shut out all of the world around me. I avoided crowds whenever I could, blasted my music through my headphones whenever I couldn’t, and made sure to drug my body heavily with painkillers and vitamins whenever the last two weren’t options. 

It was so much work just to go out into the world. So much work until I met him. 

The son of Odin was the only person whose thoughts I would pay to hear. Coincidentally, he was also the only person who’s thoughts I couldn’t read. I could never hear him, I would only ever feel him. He radiated a rare intensity I had never felt before. His thoughts, or should I say feelings, even managed to drown out all of those around him. I had no choice but to focus on him whenever he was around. 

When I was with him, he literally clouded my brain. I didn’t have to work to shut him or the others out. He did it for me. 

I usually thought that was refreshing. But in the time I grew to know him, I found it mostly frustrating at times. 

You could say I liked him, but that would be putting it lightly. 

Liking someone for me, was a rare luxury. My crushes were always narrowed down to celebrities, and other people who didn’t know I existed. 

It was a pain to date people whose thoughts about you were always on display.

And if you thought dating was hard as a telepath, try having sex. Imagine being able to hear all of your partner’s most inner thoughts about the faces you make when you cum, or discovering that you have a small birthmark on your ass that you would otherwise know nothing about. 

Yeah, it wasn’t the greatest experience.  

I had never experienced the actual joys of feelings for someone, and wondering if they liked me back. Thor was my first. And chances are, he would never feel the same way. 

He was a literal god, and he lived up to that fact. I was just an average Midgardian, with a silly school-girl crush. It would never happen. 

Silly thing that Fate was. She had to make the only man I found irresistible, unattainable too. What a bitch. 

“Hey. Are you ready?” Natasha asked referring to our daily training. 

“Yes, what’s on the agenda today?” I ask, a bit confused that she isn’t in her workout attire. 

“Well you’ll h–”

“What? Why?” I squeak, before she can finish her thought…well before she can finish her sentence. According to her thoughts, I’d now be training with Odinson.

“I think you’ve graduated from me, kiddo. You can read my thoughts fast enough to predict as well as react to all of my oncoming moves.” Natasha relayed, a hint of sadness detectable through her words. Though she behaved like an older sister to me, she would miss throwing me around on the mat. “We’ll have to see how you do against someone whose actions you can’t predict, just in case that problem comes up out in the field.” She informed me while walking away, before I could confront her. 

“Can’t it be someone else?” I yell to her, but she doesn’t answer. 

“You wound me, Y/N.” That deep familiar voice bellowed from behind me. “And here I thought you enjoyed my company.”

Oh you have no idea, I thought to myself, as I spun on my feet to face him. I craned my neck to peer up at his eyes. One was a pretty hazel, while the other a deep blue. Cerulean. Funny how he’s the reason I’ve grown so fond of the color after all of these months.

“It’s not that I don’t like you. I just don’t think its fair is all. You know? With you being a god.”

“You’re worried you won’t be able to handle me? Do not fret. I wouldn’t dream of giving you more than you could handle.” He said, wiggling his brows suggestively, while flashing a smile. I suppose I failed to mention that he was a massive flirt that could put even Tony Stark to shame. “I promise to take it easy on you.” He furthered, smirking and winking his hazel orb.

“Why do I feel like your idea of taking it easy is vastly different from mine.” I say, trying to settle the butterflies. 

“Whatever you’ve heard about me is nonsense. I’m a merciful master.” He assured.  “We’ll just do some light work today: of course we’ll start with stretching, then 30 laps around the facility to build your stamina, a few hours of work on the machines to build your muscle—because my lady you are a dainty little thing, and then we’ll end the day with an hour or two of sparring.” 

At the sight of my dumbstruck face, Thor says, “I’m sorry that must be too light. How does 50 laps and three hours of sparring, sound?”

“Are you joking?”

“You’re right. I have some matters to attend to on Asgard, but I think we can squeeze in 75 laps, take it or leave it.”

Realizing how deathly serious he was, I quickly say, “I’ll leave it. Let’s get started.”  Deciding to address the subject of excessive training later, I turn to begin my stretches. 

Quiet. As usual. I was alone with my thoughts, which was something that only happened quite literally when I was alone. I couldn’t help but be immensely aware of his presence.

Moments like these i’d die to know what he was thinking. Especially when I could feel his stare. It burned worse than fire on my skin. 

Fire couldn’t compare to his actual touch, however. The same touch I now felt on my upper back.  For a man who weighed over 600 pounds, he was as stealthy as a cat when he wanted to be. His thick fingers against my spine raised goosebumps to my flesh. I would have jumped out of my body if he wasn’t there to keep me grounded. 

“My apologies. It was not my intention to startle you.” He informed, through a deep hearty chuckle. “I just needed to correct your form. Your time on the field will suffer if you continue with your training like this.” 

“Oh.” I replied, tensing a bit as one of his hands traveled around to my stomach and the other pushed against my spine to straighten my posture. My mind was hazy, and if I had even understood the words he spewed a moment ago, that status now changed.

“It all makes me wonder what the Lady Spider has been teaching you.” He continued, as if he didn’t notice the change in my demeanor. “Better.” 

When he stepped away from me, I released a small shaky breath. “What’s on your mind?” He asked. Maybe he did notice the change.

I mentally decided that I would ask him the months-long question I had always wondered about. “What’s on yours.” I state instead of ask, trying to resume my stretches.

“Pardon?” Thor asked. “Do you wonder about what is I ponder? Or is that your answer?

“Both.” I say without hesitation. “Why can’t I read your mind?”

“I’m afraid that’s by design, my lady.”

I stop stretching and turn around to ask, “How?” He had my full attention now. 

Shortly after he corrected my posture, Thor had propped himself up against one of the machines to properly examine my form while I stretched. I tried to ignore how awkward that made me feel. 

“Since an early age I’ve had to learn to guard my thoughts.” He stated. “My brother is the God of Mischief, and Loki often played games of the mind. Mother took notice of how much it was ailing me, and taught me a few useful tricks on how to keep him out. I guess I’ve always practiced them, even in his absence. I don’t know if I even know how to stop it.”

“Oh.” I breathed out. Trying to make sense of his words. 

While I was doing that, he asked,“May I ask why it is you wish to know? I thought you hated your gift.”

“I do. But I guess it still feels odd to not be able to use it on someone. I have no clue what you’re thinking let alone how you feel about me. It unsettles me.” I immediately regretted saying the last part as soon as it was out. 

His reaction did not aid my embarrassment. A thunderous laugh erupted from his throat. It was the kind of laugh that you could feel in your abs, and I knew this because his whole torso shook as it spread through his vocal cords. He was genuinely amused. 

His amusement prompted me to ask, “What’s so funny?”

“How I feel about you.” I think he mutter softly, before following a little louder to himself, “It’s weakened you.” 

“What did you say?” I never had to ask someone to repeat themselves unironically, until I met him. 

“Your ability I mean. It has impaired you.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I think the word is ‘spoiled’. Yes that seems to be the perfect descriptor.” He teased.

His words made me feel small and silly. Almost insignificant. “Excuse me?”

Sensing my irritation, he quickly told me, “I meant no disrespect. Its just most of your kind and some of mine are not awarded the same privileges that you have. We rely on body language and hidden meanings behind words to determine how someone feels. Well with the exception of me of course, because who would not adore me?” He joked. “But that’s beside the point. You have not yet learned how to read between the lines. Which is why I unsettle you.”

“I know how to read body language, I’m not an idiot.” I say a bit more sharply than I intended. My sense of inferiority getting the best of me.

“I’m not implying that you are, just that if it were not for your talent you would know have known what was on my mind ages ago.”

“That makes no sense. If I couldn’t read minds, i’d be in the same place I am now: unable to know what it is you think.”

“My dear, even if you could read my mind it would make no difference, for I’ve already made my feelings towards you painfully clear. One need not the aid of your capabilities.”

“Thor, could you stop the riddles—”

He ignored my pleas and kept going. “But just to be explicitly clear this time, since obviousness is lost on you—” 

“Stop insulting—”

“I shall tell you how I feel about you.” He stepped and leaned in closer, as if what he was about to say was a secret meant for only my ears.  “Listen closely because I will say this but once, so be wary not to misunderstand: I desire you.” He explained, words dripping with the utmost sincerity. 

My brain started racing. And I suddenly realized just how close he was. “You desire me?” I repeated to myself.

“Yes. I desire you.” He stated again, anticipating my uncertainty. 

If my heart wasn’t beating fast before, it surely was now. My poor ribcage wasn’t built for this.

“A-A-as a friend right?” I stutter out. “Because we aren’t, we aren’t close, like the rest of the team? Yes,” I breathe out. “That has to be what you mean.” I say that last part more to myself than to him. Clearly I’ve misunderstood his words, even though he warned me not to.

“While I would value a companionship, I’m afraid that is not all I mean when I say I desire you.”

“Eerr” Words are hard to form all of the sudden. Stammering out sounds is all that I can do. 

The air around us stilled, and it was pregnant with silence. He gave me a moment to think before asking, “Would you like further explanation.”

“Yes please.” I rush out quickly. “I think that will clear things up a bit more.”

“Right it would. Well If you wish to know what’s on my brain when you’re near, I shall tell you.” His words are teasingly slow, and he knows this.

"But I doubt,” He continues, “i’ll be able to properly convey just how bad I long to be in your presence when you are gone. Just how much I battle myself when it comes to finding any excuse to touch you. As you know, I lost one of those battles today. I don’t know if you can handle, just how much I imagine your warm embrace to be. How tender I’ve imagined your lips to feel. I just know them to be softer than rose petals and sweeter than nectar.”

“In fact,” He started. I could almost physically see the lightbulb go off over his head. And then, he began ridding us of the rest of our space, extending his long arm to snake around my waist, and pulling me against his chest at a speed faster than lighting. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to put that theory to test.”

It was like a lucid dream. I was only allowed to watch everything play out before me, without the luxury of making any actions myself. It took great focus on my part to even will my head to move. My nod was so subtle I was unsure if he could even see it. But the God of Thunder had more than enough to go off on.

He joined the hand around my waist with his other, and shortly after I could feel my feet rise from the ground. My hands that were previously glued to his chest, found their place behind his neck to support the rest of my body. His head met me the rest of the way, before he blanketed his lips over mine.  

He released one of the hands around my waist, to bring it up to my face. His fingers, now fastened to my jaw, slightly parted my lips allowing him to further explore my mouth with his. As massaged my tongue with his own, I could feel his eyelashes dance across my cheeks. That’s how close he was.

Most beards are scratchy and rough, but his felt like silk against my skin. His lips were even softer, and were like velvet in comparison. 

I inhaled the scent of rain on freshly cut grass. It reminded me of dewy meadows and Irish springs. His touch was firm, but he managed to hold me with care, like a bull who had trained for years with the sole purpose of entering a china shop. 

He tasted like what summer felt like, if you could make sense of it. The kiss had the same intensity behind severe thunderstorms. Beautiful but deadly. I found myself teetering on the edge of a cliff: desperate to chase this thrill, but also wary of whether or not it was worth dying for. 

I mentally decided that I could expire in his arms, and be perfectly content with that decision.

I got more into it. I thought that if this was a dream I’d take full advantage of it. Surely dream Thor would be fine with me taking over the kiss. It felt only natural. 

I decided it was time for my tongue to do the exploring. My lips needed to memorize the feel of his. My hands wanted to study every strand of hair that lived on the nape of his neck. That was only fair right?

I was enjoying his embrace so much, that I mistook the spinning in my head for shock from kissing a god, instead of the telltale signs of an impending headache. The lack of air in my lungs was because he took my breath away in a figurative sense, instead of the literal physical sense it actually was. The ache that spread throughout my body wasn’t because of the suffocating grip he had to keep me pressed to his chest, but because our bodies were on the brink of fusing into one. 

On second thought, maybe dying in his arms is more painful than I previously thought. 

I tapped out, and he immediately released me, placing me gently on the ground. I struggled for air, but it was like he didn’t miss a beat. Not a drop of sweat in sight on his gorgeous face. Instead, I could see a bright smile forming. 

“Are my thoughts clear enough, now?” He asked, breaking out into smirk.

But I had no time to acknowledge his joke, for I could feel reality setting back in. And reality is, I was a flustered fuck. 

“I’m sorry.” I stammered. “I must be holding you from your business on Asgard!”

“What? No—”

But he had no time to argue, for in a flash I was already gathering my gym bag and heading for the door.

“What about your training?” I heard him yell.

“I’m sorry! Maybe another time!” And after that, I practically sprinted to get out of earshot before he could protest or stop me. 

I raced passed Peter who was on his way into the gym. “Y/N! Are you okay?” I heard him yell. But what was strange is that I couldn’t hear him think it, despite being more than enough distance away from Thor.

“I’m fine.” I yelled back, hoping he wouldn’t follow. Maybe Peter’s mouth was faster than his thoughts.

No. That wasn’t it, because as I raced through the tower, everyone’s minds were silent, even though they were chatting casually with one another. That never happened. 

I burst through the nearest lady’s room, desperate to calm my nerves, when I saw Natasha applying red lipstick.  The action by itself wasn’t disturbing, but the expression she wore was.

“Don’t tell the others.” She voiced, in a threatening tone.

“Don’t tell the others what?” I asked confused. Maybe she’d be able to take my mind off of things. 

She looked at me like I had grown two heads, much like the first day we met when I proved that I could read her thoughts. “I know you read them. But this is different Y/N, the guys will never let me live this one down.”

“Nat, what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the date.”

“You’re going on a date?” No wonder she was so panicked. The woman was more comfortable with killing than she was with being vulnerable.

“Yes—What is wrong with you?” She half-yelled, interrupting herself as if she just realized something was wrong.

I had, had enough with trying to not think about him, because the task was damn near impossible so I decided to just say it. “Thor admitted his feelings for me. And then we kissed!” I cried. 

Oh, Nat mouthed, taking a more comfortable position against the bathroom sink. She leaned against its counter, and crossed her arms,“And now you can’t take your mind off of him.”

It was my turn to look at her like she was a lunatic. “How did you know that? Are you a mind-reader too?”

Song for the Chapter: Waiting For You by the Aces:  Pretty Self-explanatory lyrics. Think of the song from Thor’s POV

part II

A/N: If you made it this far, don’t be afraid to tell me what you think :)