#i like that they are acknowledging the mutual respect and reverence they have for each other (way back from ch. 187)

[strawberryclementine]

me and the few other kisatake enjoyers after reading TR 277

[ninibeingdelulu]

heyy can you write something about how would be the first kiss of Levi with one of his scout? i can’t really picture the scene. and can you write something about his first physical contact with her like their first time hugging in a detailed way cause i can’t really see him doing it, thank you so much

Physical contact with him ft. levi ackerman

a/n: im sorry it took so much time, hope you enjoy<3 i changed the story a little, but normally it’s the same.

How your relationship with Levi improves.

At first, Levi is strictly professional with you, treating you just like any other fresh scout recruit under his elite command. He's brusque, aloof and demands perfection in your training drills.

But you can't help being entranced by the captain's fluid, almost hypnotic skill in combat. The way he wields those dual blades is pure lethal elegance in motion.

You find yourself shamelessly staring more than once, only to be met with a withering glare from Levi's steel grey eyes.

Slowly though, he seems to begrudgingly respect your unwavering determination and rapid skill progression under his tutelage.

Levi's piercing gaze lingers fractionally whenever you execute a complicated maneuver flawlessly.

After one sparring bout where you finally managed to disarm him for a split second, the tiniest smirk played at the corner of Levi's lips amidst the sheen of sweat glistening on his chiseled features up close.

Your heart stopped at the brief spark of unmistakable approval flickering in those subdued eyes.

You realize in that crystalline moment of adrenaline just how intoxicatingly attractive Levi is to you.

Not just because of his impressive prowess, but his intensely focused determination and strength of will shining from the shadowed depths.

Before you can spiral further down that dangerous trail of thought, Levi's boot connects squarely with your chest, dropping you hard onto your back with a grunt. "Don't get cocky," is his only terse remark, though his gaze flicks away almost...shyly?

Things remain professionally tense between you two after that spark of mutual acknowledgment.

Until one day, you take a brutal hit while defending Levi's flank out in the field against a horde of Titans.

You're barely conscious, choking on your own blood after being flung against a tree trunk. Then Levi's steel cables are zipping overhead, and his boots slam into the earth directly before your fading vision.

You're vaguely aware of his familiar voice shouting for backup as he hoists you protectively against his broad chest, eyes darting with uncharacteristic panic now.

His trademark bravado has melted completely.

Due to your injuries, Levi spends painstaking days by your bedside while you recover in the infirmary wing.

All prior formalities have been abandoned - he won't leave your side, cradling your hand in his calloused fingers until your eyes finally flutter open.

The way his typically harsh gaze softens infinitesimally tells you everything you need to know - Levi doesn't fear losing subordinates, he fears losing you specifically.

Before either can overthink, he's tugging your face to his desperately and finally fitting your gasping mouths together like twin puzzle pieces.

His kiss is hard, needy and searing with all the unresolved passion Levi's spent weeks fighting internally. It buckles your knees anew as his warm breath mingles with your own in a ragged gasp.

But his iron grip around your waist keeps you anchored flush against the rock-solid planes of his body.

You're the only one privileged enough to peel back the hardened exterior and witness Levi's intensely guarded tenderness, though.

When it's just the two of you cuddled on his tiny cot, his mask slips away with each stroke of your fingers through his raven tresses, each heated caress and murmured reassurance exchanged reverently.

[delicatebarness]

the manuscript | prologue

Summary: The first encounter.

Warnings: Age Gap. (Dr Barnes: late 40s & Reader: 18 in this part)

Word Count: 837

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A/N: Oh, hello Dr. Barnes. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

Tags: Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list!

The university loomed before you, the ivy-clad walls and gothic spires stood as testaments to the centuries of academic excellence. Renowned for its rigorous standards, the prestigious institution drew in the brightest minds from across the globe. You stepped through the grand archway, the air humming with the energy of countless scholarly pursuits, each echoing through the hallowed halls. 

You haven’t long turned 18, now a freshman, driven by a passion for creative writing. Your nights were spent hunched over notebooks, pouring your heart into stories and poems. Determined to make the most of this opportunity, you reflected on your talent that earned you a place here. With the best and brightest. It was a new chapter of your academic journey, and it started today.

Dr. James B. Barnes is a brilliant literature professor yet, reserved. His reputation preceded him– known for his profound insights and standards, he was feared and revered by his students. As you approached his office, your heart began to race. 

Tucked away in a quiet corner of the library, stood a heavy oak door with a brass nameplate glinting in the dim light. You took a deep breath and knocked firmly. Creaking open the door, you revealed Dr. Barnes. Sat behind a cluttered desk, his gaze lifted from a pile of papers, meeting yours. Piercing yet thoughtful, there was a moment of silent assessment. 

You felt the weight of his scrutiny as you stepped inside. The room smelled of leather with a faint trace of whiskey. 

“Good afternoon,” you begin, trying to steady your voice despite the nerves. “I’m going to be joining your advanced English literature class.” 

“Ah, yes,” he responded, his tone measured. “You must be the freshman. Please, have a seat.” 

You took a seat in the heavy leather chair opposite his desk. The two of you exchange a few professional courtesies, keeping the conversation brief but charged with mutual respect. You could sense that he had recognized your passion, and you were determined to prove yourself. 

~

A week later, you found yourself attending his class, surrounded by fellow students. His presence was commanding as he stood at the front of the room. A masterful blend of critical analysis and profound insight, his lectures were delivered with authority. 

Your hand raised after a particularly challenging lecture, Dr. Barnes acknowledged you with a nod.

“Yes?” 

“I have to disagree with your interpretation of his work,” you say, your voice clear and confident. A stark contrast from your first meeting with him. “I believe his use of fragmented narrative serves as a challenge to the notion of a singular, authoritative voice, rather than to obscure meaning.” 

The room fell silent, all eyes turned to you. Dr. Barnes regards you with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance. 

“Interesting perspective,” he replied, keeping his tone cool. “However, I would argue that the fragmentation serves more to reflect the chaotic nature of postmodern existence.” 

You don’t back down. “Isn’t that chaos a direct challenge to traditional narrative structures? He seems to be inviting readers to find their own meaning within the disarray.” 

Your heated debate ensues, intellectual electricity cranking the air. Your classmates watched, their gazes swapping between you and Dr. Barnes like they were at Wimbledon as you exchanged arguments. 

Initially, he was annoyed by your boldness, yet you caught a flicker of intrigue in his eyes. You thrived on pushing boundaries and testing limits, in particular, with those you found intellectually stimulating and authoritative. Leaving everyone, including Dr. James B. Barnes, captivated.

“Your argument is well-crafted,” he concedes, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “I look forward to more discussions like this.” 

As the weeks passed, Dr. Barnes’ class quickly became the highlight of your week. A battlefield of ideas in each session, a place where you could push your intellectual prowess. Dr. Barnes, though initially reserved, seemed to relish the debates as much as you did. 

One chilly autumn afternoon, you lingered after another stimulating class as the other students left. The room fell quiet, as though itself was in thought and reflection. Dr. Barnes noticed and approached you.

“Good work today,” he said, his tone less sharper than usual. “You’ve brought a new energy to these discussions.” 

“Thank you,” you smile, a rush of pride coursed through you. “Your classes challenge me in ways I never expected.” 

He nodded, “To challenge and to inspire, that’s the point of academia. Keep questioning, you could go far.” 

You smiled again, your cheeks becoming flushed. “I’m glad you’re not tired of my questions yet.” 

“On the contrary,” he said as he leaned closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that caused your heart to race. “I find them… refreshing.” 

The flicker of something unspoken passed between you, a deeper connection yet to be explored. His words echoed as you left the lecture hall, the promise in his eyes lingered. 

What were the boundaries between student and teacher? And, could they transform into something more profound? 

- - -

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[eldritchamy]

We probably won’t see it in great detail in the campaign itself, for a number of reasons (not the least of which is that this is a fade-to-black campaign that has to be Twitch-safe), but I’m just thinking about the symmetry of Laudna and Imogen and what it’s going to be like the first time they have sex (if ever, because it’s very possible for Laudna to be played as ace, which Imogen would of course respect, but just hypothetically and for no self indulgent reasons whatsoever).

They really mirror each other in such beautiful ways. They have a deeply intimate relationship built on years of comfort and trust and the safety that they find in each other. They are each other’s tether, and have the kind of emotional home in each other to have said so before they acknowledged these feelings.

These two women are absolutely reverent for each other.

They’ve been traveling together for at least two years. They went to a red light district together where they thought the tiefling girls and their tassels were pretty. Imogen canonically experiences the thoughts and feelings of the people around her, and experienced that in a red light district. We’ve known that for a year.  In the negative space between the things she said about it, that was all but an admission of Imogen having experienced attraction to the female body. In Laudna’s company. During the time they spent traveling alone together. And meta-character jokes aside, Imogen has expressed pretty clearly that she finds Vex’ahlia beautiful. The woman Matilda Bradbury was chosen to represent for her similar appearance. (I mean we all knew this girl was gay.)

And these are two women who were driven from their homes by traumatic experiences with strange magic. Both of their bodies are marked with the scars of what that magic has done to them, and how that magic has chased them away from the homes they used to have. Laudna by her hanging and resurrection at the Sun Tree, Imogen by the will of some god-devouring monster imprisoned in the Red Moon. They literally have a sun and moon parallel hard coded into their character designs. They found each other on the road and found a kinship that neither of them have known from anyone else, even with the rest of the Hells, though those relationships are significant to them in other ways.

I definitely think their relationship will be healthier for the fact that they HAVE met the rest of these people. Especially for Laudna to have that rock-steady friendship with Ashton, who is such a great source of stability and mutual respect and emotional wisdom for her. Both of them have known acceptance from other people now, but the profundity of that connection they share with each other is still so deeply special, and the rest of the Hells give them that perspective. They both have the potential to trend towards unhealthy codependency, especially in their isolation, if not for these other people around to keep them from falling. The M9 were thought of as a much more chaotic neutral party than Vox Machina and their heroes-of-the-world story. But Laudna and Imogen might be two of the most neutrally-aligned characters we’ve seen so far (except Fearne). Both of them have been burned by the world, and there’s a part of each of them that would let the world burn back if that’s what it took to protect each other. Their moralities could truly fall in any direction with the right circumstances.

They would follow each other into hell as long as they were together, but it’s better that Orym is there to remind Imogen that his family died at the hands of the people she’s not sure she disagrees with. Laudna and Imogen are practically MADE for each other, and everyone they’ve met on the road since has picked up on the force of that connection, but having friends around them will make their relationship better than it would have been if they were still living alone with no one to keep the darker side of each of them in check.

They are, despite the current circumstances, so much better off having their relationship go in this direction NOW, as opposed to during their time together pre-campaign, or without so much intra-party development behind them.

But that is where it all started: when they ran away together and made home after home, protecting each other and that connection above all else, fostering this bond that they have, rooting each other to the earth with pure, unconditional acceptance.

Imogen was the first person who didn’t run away or try to chase Laudna away with pitchforks. Laudna was the first person Imogen could hear as music, a soothing presence in a world of psychic noise. And they found a quiet, private peace in each other that neither of them believed they would ever have again. They ARE each other’s home. They give each other something that neither believed they could ever have.

That connection, that intimacy, brings each of them a kind of comfort and trust that they have never known from anyone else. There’s no one else that could make either of them feel so safe with someone else’s body. One dragged back to life by magic twice, and one so flooded with power that it runs across her skin like inflamed, bruised veins. And yet there’s no judgment either of them will ever have to fear from the other. There’s such a beautiful, comfortable intimacy and safety between them.

And I really think that’s going to translate into something magical.

So many soft, reverent touches. Laudna tracing those scars, Imogen feeling that slow but full heartbeat, hearing only music. Two bodies scarred in different ways by strange magic, finding the safety and comfort of home in each other.

They just fit.

[jaccsonhyde]

finally finished perez's wonder woman run, have a lotta feelings on it. i love it, first and foremost. perez you could tell was a writer who deeply cared about diana as a character and respected her and her ideals and i love the groundwork he set up that was set to be the basis for the character for a long long time.

diana herself i think was overall really well done, you could feel how much she cares but she also gets to be genuinely powerful and smart when she needs to.

i really like julia and vanessa kapetalis in this run, i love that wonder woman gets a concrete family and essentially base of operations and i like how relatively grounded both the characters were. vanessa sometimes was just a caricature of Every Teen Girl through the lens of an adult man which was funny but by the latter half i was surprised by the shift her character shift being about her mental health and such. julia ofc is just a really grounded, level headed parent figure for diana and it works for diana as her intro to mans world. i know the kapetalis' will be dropped shortly and im not looking forward to that

steve and etta are... pretty boring. i dont have many opinions on them one way or the other im mostly ambivalent to their story and romance but i do at least like them

hermes was one of my favorite characters of the run and i loved his relationship with diana when it wasnt romantic. a major question of the book is essentially "Are dianas gods worthy of her and everything she does for them?" and of course diana and every amazon would answer yes, so imagine my surprise when hermes comes in and says no actually, theyre not, himself included. i like the mutual respect they garner for each other and i especially like how towards the end of it, diana speaks to hermes rather bluntly. instead of in a way of reverence, more in the way of an equal. she questions him and his plans irt the dr psycho arc and he listens to her and complies which while it doesnt sound like a lot, this was someone she worshipped. to see them develop from patron/worshipper to comrades in arms was one of the highlights of the whole run for me. and it helps hes the only olympian consistently willing to stick his neck out for diana.

the amazons and themyscira themselves i overall like buuuut overall wish more was done with them and we explored more of their complexities. i like seeing how diana essentially reflects them and their ideals, how you could see where she learned specific traits from. the question of are the gods worthy of diana is briefly expanded to include the amazons as a whole instead of just diana which makes sense but didnt go far enough. thats a common complaint with perez's themyscira. when heracles was brought back and hippolyte forgives him, i wont necessarily say that was a misstep, i think it works, and i know for a fact george knows of the complexities of this topic, he brings them up more than once through the voice of my favorite of the amazons from the run, Hellene, whos shown to be a naysayer to diana and essentially her philosophical antagonist. shes rarely ever mean about it but she often voices really good opposing points to dianas sentiments. irt heracles, she asks, are they all obligated to forgive their abusers? does this mean men have a free pass to abuse women but be absolved as soon as they apologize? and to me it shows that georges heart was in the right place but its equally frustrating as these questions mostly serve to lampshade the complexities of the topic and just acknowledge them rather than actually explore them. it becomes even more frustrating when hellene herself is killed off screen right before war of the gods. a really interesting character that imo shouldnt have died especially as she filled a really important role among the amazons. the rest of the named amazons are mostly fine i dont have many major issues or opinions on them.

the bana mighdall, however, are a whole different story. an idea of georges that couldve been so so interesting and been a step further into hellene's ideas that instead becomes a vehicle of racist caricature upon racist caricature. the idea of an amazon faction that became disillusioned with the gods and the amazon's secluded ways that they go to mans world to try and enact real change, no matter what, couldve been such a good foil to themyscira as a whole which couldve made both factions incredibly well rounded. instead we get a bunch of gray skinned misandrist barbarians whos main driving force is a lust for blood. i dont wanna rant too much on them or else ill get legitimately angry, all I'll say is the bana deserved better.

as for the series other villains, lets blaze through some first. ares is barely a villain imo, hes more of an origin story and works well as one. eris was a fun villain for that one arc where diana takes a bunch of global representatives to themyscira. decays a cool concept but not much more. dr psycho. cheetahs alright but bordering on very ableist tropes and in general the cheetah isnt often an interesting villain to me. valerie beaudry's silver swan is proooobably my favorite iteration of the villain, both in story and in costume, i think shes so pretty and i wish shed show up more

CIRCE! if you know me, you know circes one of my favorite dc characters ever so seeing her completely in power here was amazing. i love everything about this character. i love her haughty, devillish personality, i love her stupidly convoluted and endlessly cruel plans. i really love her simple green robe design from this run. i love her as a complete opposite of diana in almost every single way. i love her dialog i love her motivations i love every panel shes in i just simply love love love this character and cant wait to see more of her eventually.

overall im so glad i went and started reading this era of wonder woman. i miss george perez every single day im reminded of him and i love him and the work he left in this world. i cant wait to continue the volume and i especially cant wait to eventually reread cassies first appearances

[neto-hikari]

Love is in the cards 🂱

In the heart of a bustling city, twilights stretched lazily over the horizon as Leanna decides to take a vacation from the flashing bulbs and glamorous runway. Known to the public as the face gracing high-fashion magazines, few knew of her penchant for combat, not with fists and fury, but with cards. Under the cap of her backwards snapback and oversized hoodie, she blended seamlessly into the crowd at the local Yu-Gi-Oh tournament, Held in a  local game store. A place where she wasn't "Leanna Satomi: Super Model and Fashionista," but rather, "Leo the Beastmaster," a nickname she earned for her fierce playing style and love and preferences for beast-type monster cards.

It was her secret little world, a place where the heart of the cards, the love of the game and the spirit of the player were the only things that mattered, and the only runway was the one layered in mats of dueling arenas. Today a local tournament is about to begin. She just so happened to have her main deck on hand today. As sign up was about to close. Leanna just signed up just in time to partake in today's event. Leanna's eyes met with a pair of striking blue ones, eyes that sparkled like mystical orbs beneath a messy tuft of raven-black hair. The owner of these eyes, Alister Nathaniel, was the kind of nerdy man you'd find with his nose in a rulebook, seeking out loopholes and strategies that others would miss. As Leanna spilled over her cards on the ground. She began to pick them up 

Their first interaction was brief — an exchange of glances and a slight, acknowledging nod as two duelists respecting one another’s space. But fate has a playful side, and as the tournament advanced, their paths crossed again at the tables. The clash of their decks was fierce and thrilling, each move more surprising than the last, creating an electric atmosphere that left them both with an exhilarating high and a mutual respect.

After the dust settled and the crowd dispersed, Alister approached her. "Good game," They shook hands and he said earnestly. "Hungry?"

She could've declined, she should've walked away, but something in his earnest smile and sincere gaze made her nod. "Yeah, I could eat."

Dinner was an array of shared plates and shared stories, Alister’s random Yu-Gi-Oh facts making Leanna laugh more than she had in months. And Leanna's sharp wit drew a bashfulness from Alister that he seldom showed. Between bites and laughter, she thought to herself, "I don't want to fall in love. But I am falling for this guy."

Leanna and Alister were friendly but Leanna can't tell Alister that she is Leanna the most revered and sought-after model. She kept her secret. Each passing day Leanna falls in love with Alister more and. To the point of her questioning. 

“Why am I thinking about this guy like this!?”

Weeks turned to months, their bond solidifying amongst decks and duels. As the time passed on, They found themselves, unsurprisingly, invited to the Yu-Gi-Oh Championship Series (YCS). The crowd was immense, the tension palpable, As Leanna and Alister were remaining finalists at the end of this season. But their eyes locked in a silent conversation, a nod to the most important rule they had learned: enjoy the game.

The final duel was one for the ages, every card play, every strategy countered beautifully by the other. But as the end drew near, Leanna played her final, winning card with a smile. Beast King Barbatos. Attacks for the final blow and wins the series. 

After all of this all the time they spent together. Leanna said to herself.

“I didn't want to fall in love! But I did!” crying immense tears of pain and happiness. As Leanna steels her resolve. Leanna draws breath and says

“Alister!”

"You have stolen my heart! Now, I'll steal your last name!" she declared brazenly as she got on one knee. Pulling out a ring. before the stunned audience! As her hat was blown off of the wind of the open air stadium!

Gasps and whispers turned into a roaring applause as the announcer’s voice burst through the microphone, "Ladies and gentlemen, the victor of the YCS, not just Leo the Beastmaster, but the world-renowned runway model Leanna Satomi!"

The crowd erupted, but Leanna’s eyes were solely on Alister.  As he picked up his jaw that cratered the floor, The striking realization dawned on him. She was not just any duelist. She is Leanna Satomi. Runway model and fashion icon!

Alister looked at her, the woman he had come to adore for her spirit and tenacity, not for the labels and flashes of the fashion world. But as a fellow competitor. Leanna took his hand to put a ring on his finger. His voice was stammering, "Yes, I do."

A cheer unlike any other filled the hall, a cheer that was not just for the love of the game, but for the rare, true love that blossomed in the most unexpected of places. And thus, amid a sea of gamers and hearts that understood the value of a good match, Leanna Satomi and Alister Nathaniel taught the world that sometimes love is not just in the cards, it is the entire game.

The End

[johninrags]

Humbleness V2.0

Let's bring back the bow and the curtsy! And while we're at it, let's stand in awe of something or someone once in a while. It's time to slow down, care for each other, and show some humbleness. After all, it's the first requirement for anyone embarking on a spiritual journey. Let's humble ourselves and see what wonders await us.

According to the Bible, humbleness is not just about putting on a show for others. It goes much deeper than that - it's about having a true humility that comes from within. Sure, we might be able to act humble around other people, but that doesn't mean our hearts are in the right place.

In fact, when it comes to the Spirit, our egos can't help but feel a little threatened. We might be able to put on a good show in front of others, but when we're faced with something that truly humbles us, our egos can't handle it. It's like we're standing naked in front of the world, with nothing to hide behind.

But here's the thing: true humility isn't something to be feared or avoided. It's something to be embraced. When we let go of our need to be in control, when we admit that we don't have all the answers, that's when the real magic can happen. We open ourselves up to the power of the Spirit, and we allow ourselves to be guided by something greater than ourselves.

So don't be afraid to let your guard down. Don't be afraid to be vulnerable, to admit your weaknesses, to ask for help. That's what true humility is all about, and it's what can lead us to a deeper connection with the divine.

Romans 14:11 (ESV)

for it is written, “As I live, says the Lord, every knee shall bow to me, and every tongue shall confess to God.”

When we acknowledge God as the creator of the universe, we should be in awe of the beauty and complexity of his creation. However, we often fail to appreciate it and forget to show reverence to the Almighty. While performers bow to their audience, and lovers bend the knee in proposal, we often neglect to bow before God. This gesture of humility is still practiced in the East, and it's time we learn from it.

Bowing isn't just about showing respect to others, it's a symbol of mutual self-respect and an expression of inward humility. If we seek spiritual gifts and the fruits of the Spirit, we must first humble ourselves before God. It's essential to examine our motives in everything we do, to distinguish between pretentious and sincere reverence.

Our biggest rival in the search for humility is the ego, which can be a cunning and elusive opponent. It deceives us into thinking we're humble when we're not. We must be careful to listen to our hearts and act with true humility, not just on a mundane level.

Many have fallen into the trap of "consumer spirituality," chasing after contemporary pathways that claim to lead to higher consciousness. But these paths only serve to boost the ego and satisfy secular desires. True spirituality is not about reaching up to heaven or elevating our consciousness, but about the Spirit descending and entering our physical being.

This is precisely what happened to Jesus before he performed miracles. Let us follow his example and humbly bow before God, inviting the Spirit to descend upon us and lead us on the path to true spirituality.

Luke 3:22 (NLT)

and the Holy Spirit, in bodily form, descended on him like a dove. And a voice from heaven said, “You are my dearly loved Son, and you bring me great joy.”

Jesus' humility allowed the Spirit to descend upon him, granting him the power to perform miracles. Before ascending into heaven, Jesus promised that the Holy Spirit would be available to all who follow his commands, as stated in John 14:15: "If you love me, keep my commands. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another advocate to help you and be with you forever - the Spirit of truth."

But true humility is not just a virtue - it is the key that unlocks spiritual awareness. Without it, progress on the spiritual journey cannot be made. God uses humility as a key to safeguard the heavenly treasures from the prideful governors of the material world. And the key fits into a very ingenious lock located within our hearts. Only by understanding the puzzling mechanics of this lock can we continue on our spiritual journey.

The lack of humbleness prevents us from giving glory to God and accepting His control over our lives. It also prevents us from acknowledging Jesus, the humble man who saved us. How ingenious is this design? The lack of humility is what prevents us from attaining spiritual wisdom. Our own pride is the obstacle that hinders our search for riches. The ego craves power and glory and refuses to submit to God and Jesus. Its inability to accept a higher authority prevents it from attaining spiritual enlightenment. Humility appears deceptively simple yet it serves as a powerful barrier against the temptations that block our path to heaven's treasures. Only by cultivating true humility can we acknowledge this truth and gain access to the Garden of Eden. Let us remember that humility is not a weakness, but a potent shield in the fight against our prideful tendencies. Jesus tells us that we must become humble like a child before we can advance on our spiritual journey, so let us embrace humility and unlock the spiritual treasures within us, and find true wisdom.

Matthew 11:25 (NLT)

At that time Jesus prayed this prayer: “O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, thank you for hiding these things from those who think themselves wise and clever, and for revealing them to the childlike.

Matthew 5:5 (NLT)

God blesses those who are humble, for they will inherit the whole earth.

James 4:6 (NLT)

And he gives grace generously. As the Scriptures say, “God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.”

Instead of arrogantly seeking mastery over the Spirit, we should humbly acknowledge that it is a gift bestowed upon us by the Grace of God. Our focus should be on preparing ourselves to receive the Spirit and becoming worthy vessels for its power. Only by shedding our pride and selfishness can we truly open ourselves up to the Spirit and fulfill God's promise for us.

As Isaiah 45:3 reminds us, God promises us hidden treasures and riches stored in secret places, but only if we recognize that He is the Lord, the God of Israel, who calls us by name. We do not have the power to summon the Spirit, but rather, it is the Spirit who calls us to its divine presence.

The Challenge

Are you ready for a challenge that will take you to new spiritual heights? This challenge requires complete solitude, as it is crucial that you aren't distracted by the humdrum of the world. So, if you have kids or pets around, it's best to wait until you have some quality time to yourself. Find a quiet room where you can kneel comfortably for 10 minutes - next to your bed is a great spot, or just kneel on something soft. Assume a humble posture or a position of prayer, close your eyes, and put your hands together. If it feels uncomfortable, that's a good sign - the ego does not like to kneel.

Take a moment to settle in and listen to everything around you, whether it's the chirping of birds in the morning or the singing of crickets at night. Observe your breathing and get into a comfortable rhythm of shallow, soft breathing. When thoughts arise, don't dwell on them - let them come and go. The goal is to achieve a sense of calm and stillness.

When you feel ready, speak the following sentence aloud: "Dear God, bless me for a whole week with a humble heart, Amen." Remember that there is an unfamiliar power in the spoken word, and King Solomon wrote that "the tongue has the power of life and death." So, for those familiar with prayer, I challenge you to speak it aloud rather than thinking it silently.

After completing the challenge, take some time to enjoy the peace and silence. Be mindful of your thoughts throughout the week and try to distinguish between the workings of the ego and the Spirit. By being more attentive to your life, you'll be amazed at how much more you notice and appreciate. This challenge is a powerful tool for spiritual growth, so don't hesitate to give it a try.

The wonders that await us through the Spirit surpass anything our consciousness can fathom; all we need to do is attune ourselves to them. Let us not be like those who expect our Savior to come and vanquish our foes through violence and vengeance. Instead, let us be the ones who understand that kindness and compassion are the key ingredients for a fulfilling life. The miracles of God are not always grandiose events that shake the very foundation of our existence. They are often gentle and subtle, like a quiet breeze that gradually transforms the landscape. But make no mistake, these changes are powerful, like tectonic plates shifting beneath the earth's surface, capable of moving even the mightiest of mountains.

1 Corinthians 13:4-7 (ESV)

Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

[vermillioncrown]

do you know who else likes horoscopes and astrology? teenage girls. it’s my very strong held belief that the girls on shinchan’s class adore him. maybe in the first week the girls sat in front if him were gossiping with each other about boys, and one of them was complaining and the other scoffs “god, i bet he’s a libra” and shinchan snorts. thus quickly making it know to the entire freshman grade girls that shinchan is without a doubt the expert on the subject. they be making star charts and calculating couple odds, planning perfect days for outings etc etc. the girl next class who plays tarot and shinchan have a Reputation, they’re revered guides and advisers. one bad word out of shinchan’s mouth will tank any boy’s chance at getting dates (not only bc of the horoscope thing but bc actually shinchan is a very sweet weirdo who has a strong moral code). between shinchan’s army of devoted girls and his biceps, and later on takao, the boys of his class maintain a very health respect for him. and that’s wo even considering his basketball mythos.

i like the vibes of most of this, but i think there's more of a western, irreverent treatment of horoscopes + superstition going on in your depiction anon.

bc i'm diaspora chinese, i can't speak for japanese culture. but it's been kinda agreed amongst a lot of my asian friends (huge demographic where i grew up) that we're all culturally superstitious.

it wouldn't be a "ugh i bet he's a libra" type remark. the girls would be worried, full discussion "idk if B-kun is compatible... he's been blah blah blah..." and her friend might pull up the latest magazine and say "what was he, again? libra? we should consult. get his blood type, too?"

and our weirdo shin-chan wouldn't be able to help but "hmph. a libra with AB-blood type is highly untrustworthy. this will not end well for you" (it's also a thing to ascribe blood typing with personality typing, too)

first girl starts whimpering and is about to burst into tears, the other girls glare at shin-chan for being so tactless

=

but it plays out as he says. turns out, 'B-kun' was double-dipping girls from different schools.

=

the reputation evolves. if you can brave the cold tsun-tsun front that is shintaro midorima's everything (having takao around to shit on him helps), catch him on a good day, he will be willing to disseminate your horoscope concerns. but this is a guy who is not direct when it comes to helping people, believes in people needing to do their best to get the best payout (so if it feels like people are using him as lazy google rather than as a genuine in-depth resource he's not helping).

he shares an unspoken mutual respect with tarot-chan in the next class over.

=

eh he might see the type of things that the girls are devoted to (re: dating and love) as a bit frivolous, but he'll acknowledge the ones that are putting their full effort into success. there's understanding that develops.

he's like the class pet lmao.

after seeing him go through death without his lucky items and takao's very real fear that the shin-chan event horizon could also threaten his life, there is a very healthy respect for everything shintaro midorima. leave him to his own happenings. he's the class cryptid. the teachers might scold him but his classmates just deal with it. the boys start jokingly (but not really,, but what if...?) asking for shin-chan's blessings on things

"i am not a priest nanodayo" >:(

they have to rearrange the class display for the school festival because shin-chan got bad vibes lol

oh yeah, the boys are more secretive about it but they also ask for his consultations on dating compatibility - this one is even funnier bc takao basically sharks them for a consultations. and uses the money to buy the two of them snacks

[by-kilian]

This is very random but I just wanna say shout out to my silent readers. While I appreciate all my readers and especially the ones who engage with me a lot and talk to me and give feedback etc.—I really appreciate my silent ones, too.

I love that you engage, support, read, and follow stories with gentle reverence, respect, and mutual love. I don’t need you to tell me you love it because I can still see it through your quiet likes and private bookmarks. I imagine you visiting a story once and smiling and nodding to yourself, and I love that. I see you visiting a story over and over again when you have time to yourself on a weekend, and it makes my heart smile.

I know there’s a lot of rhetoric out there about feedback (and to each their own in regards to that) but I think about the grandiosity of grace and love in silence a lot, and I wanted to acknowledge that it’s just as good as the grand, “I love you’s/this.”

It will always be cool and interesting to me that anyone engages with my work at all and I love and appreciate all the ways that looks like.

So shout out to my silent readers. I see you ❤️

[kodzumie-archived]

Can l request a yandere kokichi and nagito with a insecure possessive so? Thank you very much

❝HE LOVES ME, HE LOVES ME NOT❞

Synopsis; What are the yanderes like with an insecure and possessive darling?

Featuring; Kokichi Oma and Nagito Komaeda x GN! Reader

Warning(s); Yandere themes, established relationship, manipulation, emotional abuse, possessiveness, insecure thoughts (reader), sacrilege, worship, implications of stockholm syndome, self-harm (Nagito), blood, slight gore, attempted suicide, and mentions of hospitaliation.

Kodzumie’s Note; Of course you can! Thank you for your request, this was a very interesting concept, and one that I enjoyed writing! Take care, love. Muah! <3

➤ KOKICHI OMA

⤷ He’s cunning; calculating all the ways he can use your weaknesses to his advantage. Truthfully, he’s the reason you have a desperate need to pledge your claim on him. He made you this way; riddled in insecurities, fearing that you’ll never be enough for him.

⤷ The constant malice laced with faux, brutal honesty in his words as he admits that if you get boring, he’ll leave you. In the way he drops such soul-shattering admissions without a care terrified you. Were you that easy to discard?

⤷ And thus spiraled your fogged mind of whether or not what you do is spontaneous enough. Is it enough to be deemed unpreditable? Will it keep him interested? Will he be entertained?

⤷ It’s a cruel, sadistic game that he’s forced your self-assurance to play. Constantly chasing after him as he turns his back to you, threatening you with the shackles of abandonment.

⤷ He’s caged you in a mindset where you cannot rely on trust any longer. Trusting a deceiver would bring you nothing but heartbreak; you’ve had to bear this lesson far too many times to relive it once more. Trust—in this corrupted love—was a vice.

⤷ So you took it into your cold, dead hands to carry the burden of ensuring that your lover remains. Wary glances of where he runs off to, heart worrying away over who he could possibly be with at that very moment. Who has he deemed worthy of his invaluable time now?

⤷ You fret over any and all possibilities. Perhaps he finds someone more deserving of his time, leaving you for them in the blink of an eye. Or perhaps he simply grows tired of you, your existence proving to be far too predictable and not suitable to his adrenaline-crazed tastes.

⤷ In every moment, you fixate on the where his eyes flicker when he’s with you. It’s taunting, the distraught of catching him looking at someone else. Someone other than you.

⤷ And he knows this. He’s more than aware of how worriedly you follow his gazes, hoping not to find another person they’re directed towards. It’s a realization he plans to use to the fullest, caving in whatever sense of self-esteem you had that maybe—just maybe—he only had eyes for you.

⤷ But having faith in such a deceitful individual was a mistake you’ve made far too many times. Even now as you follow Kokichi’s eyes to settle upon a figure.

⤷ Your heart dropped to the pits of your stomach, an unruly pang piercing your conviction with the tendrils of a distorted reality; he’s gazing upon someone else.

⤷ That’s not you. That’s not you. That’s not you. That’s not you. That’s not you. That’s not you. That’s not you—

⤷ “Kokichi, what are you looking at?” You cut the suffocating silence. Your breaths uneven as the functioning of your lungs felt labored. Throat contracting in anxiety, you swore you wouldn’t be able to hear his—inevitably deleterious—reply over the deafening pulsating of your heart.

⤷ “Just someone.” He mutters. But you see it, you notice what you prayed was merely an illusory of your culminated fears; he wouldn’t take his eyes off them. Not even as he replied to you. Not even as you tightened the grip on your intertwined hands. He wouldn’t stop looking at them.

⤷ In that moment, you could only describe it as the relentless tearing of your fragile heart. The desire to be his faithful partner in which such devotion is reciprocated is tattered with disdain.

⤷ You’re replacable. In what you believed were the earnest eyes of Kokichi Oma, you were to be repudiated.

⤷ As your eyes tear up and you begin to drag your boyfriend away, successfully garnering his attention away from that supposed stranger at long last, your blurred vision and hasty steps led you to miss the deviously depraved grin of his that was far too sinisterly crooked.

⤷ Your reactions, your blind fury and innermost apprehensions were so amusing; so comically enthralling. It’s no wonder he promises the two of you are sworn lovers; you never cease to stun him.

⤷ Once you two have reached a somewhat secluded area and far enough from the previous scene in which your heart ached to think about, you turned to Kokichi with such a catastrophic sheen of betrayal yet interlaced with the poison of envisage. You had expected this, hadn’t you?

⤷ “Why?” The words hang in the tense air as you peer down at the ground below, unable to meet his eyes in which—to your expectancy—darkened with the tainting of rejection; rejection of you.

⤷ This was a game that seemed far too easy for the cunning boy. It was as though you’d granted him the key to your mind, allowing him to feverishly jeopardize your self-reverence.

⤷ “What do you mean?” It’s a simple question; a plead of elaboration. But Kokichi knows all-too-well what plagued root pollute his intentions. He wants to see you break. And it seems like he’ll be getting exactly what he wants.

⤷ “What do I mean? Kokichi, what do I mean?!” You sharply inhale, your breathing sporadic as tears spill from your eyes.

⤷ “Stop playing dumb for once! Just tell me, just say it to my face, Kokichi! Are you tired of me?!” It’s a shout that tears your throat raw, emotion seeping into each word, woven with the most intricate of desperation.

⤷ He sees how you’re beginning to lose yourself; losing your self-respect as you claw at all that he’s formulated to define you. It’s as he’d planned, you need him.

⤷ And it should’ve ended the moment he’d realized how far gone your independence has been muddled upon his taxing gambling upon your mind. But he didn’t. It was far too amusing to stop now. Your desperation for his affections to be for you—solely for you—were addictive, and he wanted more of it.

⤷ So, as he cradled you, drawing you closer and inviting you to seek comfort within his bodily warmth, he suppresses a wicked cackle.

⤷ Whispering promises that you were still the one whom held his heart captive; you, you, you! And as pitifully naïve as you are, you decide to believe in him once more.

⤷ Perhaps you’d never believed him, and rather seeked out an excuse that brought the most comfort to you. Attempting to piece together your fragmented self-assurance, you depended on the contentment of his promises. Even if they were nothing more than the lies you’ve come to confide in.

➤ NAGITO KOMAEDA

⤷ A sworn worshipper; Nagito will go to the ends of the Earth to prove his devotion to his darling. His heart belongs solely to you, interlocked between the weaving of your hypnotic web as he hails you.

⤷ He believes with the entirety of his worthless being that you are a divinity; a detiy amongst purposeless nobodies that serve as nothing more than your stepping stone. But he believes you are merciful.

⤷ After all, if you had not been so graciously charitable, you’d have no associated with a low-life such as himself. Much less, willingly put yourself in a relationship with him.

⤷ It’s a blissful thought; to think that he could mean something to someone. To have some sort of negligible value.

⤷ But it’s one that he cannot take to heart. His worth lies on whether or not he can serve you—his darling deity—to the best of his lousy ability. He’ll happily dedicate his life to you.

⤷ Far-too-gone in the abyss of infatuation, Nagito finds himself unable to properly comprehend how someone so ethereal—someone so celestial—couldn’t see their blinding eminence.

⤷ He genuinely believed the notion of insecurity was foreign to you; a vulnerability that the emobodiment of all that is heavenly shouldn’t identify with. And yet he is forced to acknowledge that his lover—his one true hope—is unbearably familiar with such a plagued enigma.

⤷ Your sporadic hues narrowing at those who meet eyes with Nagito. The common practice of smiles directed towards strangers irked you; they were smiling at Nagito. Was he familiar with them? How was their smile comparable to yours? Could it rival yours, the one he claimed to encapsulate his heart?

⤷ An inkling of doubt resided within you whenever another was involved with your boyfriend. You understood full-well how much he loved you, but love is as empowering as it is contagious.

⤷ You know that these fears are nothing more than that; a drop of blood in which dirties the pure waters of reassurance. You’re aware your reactions are exaggerated, a carciture in comparison to the situation. But then why did he bother to smile back?

⤷ The thought resides within the back of your consciousness as you ponder over it. Certainly, it was no big deal. But why did it spur such an ache within your heart? Why do you feel the insuppressible urge to vacate the vicinity right within that moment?

⤷ It hurt to think. A torment so grand at the miniscule possibility that-that mutual exchange of smiles meant something more. Was it possible for Nagito—who pledges full allegiance with you as his faultless god—to fall through the clutches of your claim?

⤷ He devoted himself to you, that much you were sure of. Upon your first true meeting, he terrified you to your very core. You insisted that there was something wrong with him; something sickeningly distorted within his fogged mind of fixation.

⤷ But over time, after the relentless admissions that he wants nothing more than to serve you; worship you; love you; you’d eased into his proclomations. His depravity, albeit sinister and channeled with great fault, was out of his love for you; his pure loyalty and devotion.

⤷ So why had you continued to doubt him? He told you himself, didn’t he? He loves you more than anyone else could, more than anyone else could ever be capable of. And despite this, he still admits to viewing himself as mere scum, unworthy of your love but whose purpose is to worship and hail you.

⤷ Could it be that he’d ever seek out someone he’d believe himself to be worthy of association? Would he truly leave you for someone he deemed, too, as lowly as him?

⤷ Your thoughts have riddled themself until there’s a gaping hole within your heart—a cavity that’s sunk itself deep within the caverns of your gravitated love—and within his home that you two enter, hand-in-hand, you allow your visage to crack.

⤷ One sob after another, your knees give out from beneath you, harshly meeting with the wooden floorboards.

⤷ The sound startling Nagito as he turns to you with concern evident within the stitch of his brows. Instantaneously, he drops to where you were seated on the floor, weeping away as sobs scratched your throat raw.

⤷ “My love, what’s wrong?” He questions. His heart thumping within his ears as he cradles you, swaying your bodies ever-so-slowly in order to soothe you. Thus your crying turned erratic as you clutched against the fabric of his jacket.

⤷ He holds you so gently, he embraces you with such a warmth pooling from his heart. Did you really have any right to doubt him?

⤷ Yet it spurs such pain as the flashing of his reciprocated smile loops within your mind. Over and over, eating away at your self-restraint as you blubber; Did that smile mean anything?

⤷ He pauses, attempting to register your words. But they’re far too vague for him to properly process, and he pulls away from the embrace to face you with a perplexed countenance.

⤷ “Y-You smiled at that one person a-and—and...I just felt—“ Before you could continue, a sob escaped between your quivering lips. Your throat ripped dry as you began to question why you were crying so hard.

⤷ But before you could continue, Nagito pulled away from the embrace completely. Unfortunately, putting the worst possible conclusion within your mind as your break down was amplified.

⤷ Why did he move away? Why, why, why, why, why? Is this it? Have you finally wrung out your time with him? Is it finally over?

⤷ Though your momentary doubt was put to a halt as Nagito presses his hands against his chest, gesturing towards himself, frantically.

⤷ His eyes dilated with depravity interlaced by the seams of desperation. His lips curled into a crooked grin as his breathing came out in sporadic huffs.

⤷ “No, no, no, no, no! My beloved hope, this is just a misunderstanding.” He confesses. His hands visibly shaking as he seems to tremble from the possibility that his darling deity would ever be put under such pain from his incompetence to outwardly convey his true, unhindered love.

⤷ “I’m merely scum beneath the soles of your shoes, I’ve caused this minsinterpretation due to my ignorance. I shouldn’t even weild the right to say, my beloved, please forgive me.” He rambled. With each word, his breathing was becoming more prominent to you. It’s heavy; panicked; furious.

⤷ “I promise to you, I am solely yours. Your stepping stone towards renouncing the world of its despair. Your follower even through the flames of societial Hell. I am yours, and only yours.” His hand move to grab a hold of yours, but he quickly shrinks back in disgust at his audaciousness. How dare he grab at the hands of such divinity?

⤷ And thus, he reels his hands back and clutches his throat. His nails digging into the supple skin as he releases a breathy chuckle. His eyes blown open with a sheen of insanity, you find yourself thrust into the fear you’d experience upon first meeting him; when his luck had been particularly bad that day, and you caught him situation outside your bedroom window.

⤷ His erratic, turbulent temper terrified you. The way he dug his fingers further into his throat, clawing at the skin until the salmon-tinted lines began to trickle with deep, crimson. His pale skin stained with his own blood as he kept tearing at his throat.

⤷ “I deserve the worst of punishments for enforcing such despair upon you! Being killed within a millenial of lifetimes could never be enough to repent for the sins that the trash that I am has committed!” He shouts. You gasp, fearing for his wellbeing as he continuously attempts to pry the skin of his throat open; an inevitable suicide if he continued.

⤷ “Stop! Nagito, stop!” You scream, tears blurrying your vision considerably. Yet as his figure turned to abtract forms of color, you could still make out the sickeningly red blobs. He was bleeding, he was bleeding so much.

⤷ Prying his blood-stained hands from his throat that—if he’d continued—would’ve been torn to shreds. Your breathing loud and hiccuped, whilst his is mellow and nearly inaudible. It must hurt to breathe.

⤷ “Why? Why, why, why, why?!” You question, fear woven into your eyes as you tighten your grip on his wrists for reassurance; the assurance that he won’t proceed to try and kill himself.

⤷ He smiled, though as he attempted to speak, he coughed up remanence of what he’d inflicted; blood mixed with his saliva as he attempted to regulate his breathing.

⤷ He needed to go to a hospital and he needs to go now. But as you attempted to carry him to the front door, your phone in hand dialing an ambulance, Nagito presses his thumb against the end call button.

⤷ You face him with a panicked and agitataed expression. Is he truly hellbent on dying? All because of the conveyance of your insecurities?

⤷ “Don’t...Can’t.” He voices. Though it’s so hoarse and mangled that you could barely understand his words. But with a bit of thinking, you find yourself deducing a reason behind his rejection of professional aid.

⤷ Even if you got him to a hospital, you’d inevitably have to explain what’d occurred. And informing them of his attempted suicide would surely have him hospitalized for much longer or even transfered to a clinic. Nagito always told you that any moment spent without you is the eye of true despair.

⤷ Why had you doubted him? Why couldn’t you suppress yourself? His pain, his injury, it was all your fault. You know he devoted himself to you and through extremes such as this.

⤷ You flung his arm over your shoulder, carefully treading towards the living room as you set him down upon the couch, ready to fetch the first-aid kit.

⤷ You can fix this. You can make up for your mistakes, and help him. This is your fault, all your fault! But you can still fix it, right? You can still make it right, yeah? It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll all be okay.

⤷ As you laid him down on the coach, his throat now barely trickling as he winces from the pain, he gazes up at you with such sincerity you find yourself in tears once again. “I love you, and I would happily die for you. I’m sorry for what my worthless self has caused you.”

⤷ His words force you into a state of fear. How could he speak of his death so easily? It unnerved you, yet you consistently reminded yourself that he wouldn’t die. The wounds are shallow, thankfully. He would live.

⤷ But that doesn’t alleviate the guilt as you choke back a sob, pressing a fleeting kiss to his lips before pulling away. The tears from your eyes cascading and rolling onto his cheek, a now painful intimacy. Never agin would you allow yourself to succumb to the clutches of your insecurity. “I love you too. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

[thinkingisadangerouspastime]

What do you think about the "Katara and Aang idolize one another" agruement?

it’s bullshit

I think this argument is a lot like many ship-related arguments in the A:TLA fandom: while perhaps it contains an inkling or two of truth, it is by and large an inaccurate assessment. Here’s the thing about Katara and Aang idolizing one another: they did! But only for a brief portion of Book 1. That is all. People who insist Aang and Katara idolized each other for the entirety of A:TLA are incorrect, plain and simple, and I encourage them to rewatch the show, lol.

Before I go any further, here is a definition of “idolize”: to admire, revere, or love greatly or excessively. Obviously, the qualifier of “excessively” is what demands attention, as “great” admiration and love are not emotions inherently bad.

So let’s jump right in - I’ll start with Aang, since fandom launches most of its “critiques” on him when they examine Kataang. Aang’s idolization of Katara in early Book 1 is pretty straightforward: he had a crush on her!

(Note that Katara had a crush on Aang, too, but her idolization overall presents itself in a different form that I’ll discuss later.)

But yes, Aang had a crush on Katara. And like anyone who’s ever had a crush, he definitely idolized her in the beginning! We see in “The Fortuneteller” the rose-tinted lens he views her with; the scene is cute and relatable, as a majority of alloromantic people have had That Moment where they’re a little bit overwhelmed by their feelings towards their crush.

But Aang’s perception of Katara does not remain this way. The idolization argument implies that throughout the entire series he saw her through rose-tinted goggles, but the fact of the matter is that he doesn’t! Aang sees Katara at her lowest points (just as she sees him at his, which I will expand upon later); to name only a few:

- her frustration about her waterbending abilities in “The Waterbending Scroll” that she unfairly takes out on him

- her anger as a result of sleep deprivation in “The Chase”

- bloodbending in “The Puppetmaster”

- and, of course, much of “The Southern Raiders”

Why is this relevant? Well, human beings are flawed by nature. To idolize someone generally involves either a lack of exposure to a person’s flaws, or to see but to then actively ignore someone’s flaws (and, for the record, ignoring a person’s flaws is entirely different from accepting their flaws). So, it’s plain as day that Aang has been exposed to Katara’s flaws, meaning the former doesn’t apply. But does Aang ignore her flaws?

Short answer: no.

Long answer: no, and the series clearly demonstrates this fact.

Example - Aang experienced firsthand Katara’s frustration about her waterbending abilities, so what does he do? When they reach the Northern Water Tribe, he sacrifices a night’s rest to teach her waterbending in direct defiance of Pakku’s orders, and would have continued doing so had Pakku not found them. Aang understands her struggle, he acknowledges her frustration for what it is, and he seeks to help her resolve it! If Aang still “idolized” her by this point, then chances are he wouldn’t have recognized Katara’s conflict in the first place, namely because idolization = rose-tinted lens that would have clouded his vision and prevented him from identifying her flaw/struggle.

To jump to the end of the series, “The Southern Raiders” is a titular example of how Aang does not idolize Katara. TSR is perhaps Katara’s lowest point; if Aang idolized her as some people like to claim, he probably would have shied away from her during this episode. He would have avoided confronting her anger and her hate, because acknowledging someone’s flaws means destroying the image of perfection one has created for that person. But Aang doesn’t shy away. He tells Katara, straight to the point, that she is going on a revenge mission. It hurts, but it’s the truth. That is the thesis of the entire episode, and it is what Katara herself comes to term with by the end of it.

Basically, my point is that Aang not only bears witness to Katara’s flaws, but actively confronts them. That is… pretty much the exact opposite of idolizing someone?

To put it simply: it makes no sense to say Aang idolizes Katara, seeing as he refuses to shove her flaws under the rug rather than pretending they don’t exist (which is what idolization would suggest). He sees them, he acknowledges them, and in fact he always seeks to help her resolve those problems, which is a sign of a healthy, mutually supportive, and respectful relationship. Over the course of A:TLA, Aang gets to know Katara (and she him), thus the series itself and plain logic demonstrate how his rose-tinted lens fades away with time.

Also, please examine the progression of how Aang looks at Katara throughout the series. He clearly starts with a cute crush, but by the end of the show? No idolization in sight. That’s acceptance and love, babey.

Now let’s talk about Katara. Her idolization is less related to her crush (there are aspects to look at there, too, of course; however, most of them track with what I just discussed about Aang) and instead is largely connected to Aang being the Avatar. And tbh, can you blame her? Katara had faith in the Avatar’s return well before she met Aang - of course she’d be a little starstruck after they first became friends!

Think about the very first episode, where Katara insists that Aang is full of wisdom. Yes, she is technically correct about that, but she really hasn’t known Aang long enough to justify that conclusion - she believes it solely because she believes in the hope and power of the Avatar. (I think technically she may not have known Aang was the Avatar at that point, but like, Katara isn’t stupid lmao. An airbender who’s somehow alive after 100 years?? And yet he’s not the Avatar? Sure, Jan.) Later, in “The Storm,” she defends Aang’s actions (or lack thereof) as the Avatar. And of course she would do so at that point (i.e. early) in the series! She doesn’t want her hope (read: her idolization) to be dashed that the Avatar will save the world!

But again, Katara’s perception of Aang does not remain this way. As aforementioned, Katara also sees Aang at his lowest points. To quickly name a few:

- in “Bato of the Water Tribe,” where Aang hid the letter from her father

- in “The Avatar State,” where Aang is trying to forcibly trigger the Avatar state (not good lol)

- after Appa was stolen; when Aang learned what had happened to Appa; when Aang tries to stop letting himself feel because of his grief about Appa being gone

- after the failed invasion, when Aang is heartbroken over his own failure

Again, Katara is exposed to Aang’s flaws as he is to hers, and just like Aang, she does not ignore them. She gets understandably upset when Aang hides her father’s letter, and after thinking about his action she recognizes what incited him to do so and thus chooses to forgive him. It is not an immediate decision (had she idolized him, it most likely would have been, as idolization implies there’s no way the idolized person can be in the wrong). Similarly, in “The Avatar State,” she disagrees with Aang’s decision, tells him so, and sticks by her opinion (a direct parallel to Aang’s advice to her in “The Southern Raiders”!). Later in the series, when Appa is stolen and when the eclipse invasion fails, Katara does not look away from Aang’s pain (versus to idolize him would mean to ignore any demonstration of his flaws); like Aang with her, she faces his negative feelings head-on.

So after a while? Katara still admires Aang as the Avatar, as any normal person does, but she knows him. She knows his flaws. And she loves him regardless. Not only that, but she seeks to help him address whatever problem is at hand (e.g. her comforting him after Appa is stolen and even her simple decision to put a hand on his shoulder after the failed invasion), just as Aang does with her.

(There is a FANTASTIC gifset here that demonstrates how whenever Katara and Aang disagree, they acknowledge their disagreement in healthy ways. Quite the opposite of idolization.)

And again, take a second to examine how the way Katara looks at Aang changes, too. That’s love, babey!

So do Aang and Katara idolize each other? Sure, they used to. For all of… ah, yes. A few episodes in the very first season. But by the end of the series? Sorry, that assessment couldn’t be further from the truth. Katara and Aang know each other better than anyone, from their positives to their negatives, and that is why their relationship is a titular example of healthy and supportive best friends to lovers.

[a-lil-perspective]

Hello there! 😆 I was wondering if you could please do #33 with any of the Bad Batch? I love those boys so much if you couldn’t already tell! Thank you, I love your writing, and I hope you have a nice day!

Indeed!! Thank you so much!! For kiss prompt #33: An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it—My thoughts immediately drifted to Hunter. That man has been fervently on my mind. For this concept, I wanted to dig into and firmly establish a unique perspective of Hunter’s regarding his feelings for the Reader. I hope you enjoy, lovely.

@karpasia @obiorbenkenobi

@starflyer-104 @shadow-hyder

Serendipity With A Slice Of Sergeant | Part I

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At any given time, there were really only two topics that encompassed Hunter’s main focal points:

His brothers, and you.

You, currently.

Inherently overwhelming, though not as easily discernible, Hunter’s emotions were substantially more refined than his brothers’—the role of an intrinsic leader and full-time ori’vod further emphasizing that point.

The occasional cocky attitudes of his vods, the snarky insults to one another, overall rambunctious behavior, and even tears weighing several swirling variations of melancholy—all of which Hunter could handle with ease. Factually stated and with pure amusement, he regarded each scenario to be a daily occurrence at some point or another.

But you—a stark contrast yet seamlessly integrated into the mix, armed with the respectable ability of effectively mellowing out the boys, had Hunter thoroughly impressed.

Impressed, and in reverent appreciation.

He reflected on the monumental effect you had on them—all of them. The outpour of respect and understanding that flowed from you never-ceasing was, in turn, mutually reciprocated with all enthusiasm and authenticity.

The way you validated their existence in nurturing and embracing each member’s individuality—It made them feel wanted. Important. Needed.

And that—you—meant more to Hunter than words could ever convey.

It was the way you, with infectiously high spirits and effervescent personality, reciprocated Wrecker’s suffocating embraces in shared eagerness; how you never passed up an opportunity to share a gentle touch or overall quality time with the big guy.

Your patience with Crosshair; how you maneuvered a shot with calculated trajectory straight through his otherwise indifferent heart, aided by a scope of transparency as you learned to read him like a holobook, soaking up the words and learning to decrypt the unspoken while skipping over nothing in determined analyzation of understanding every angle of the enigmatic sniper.

And they way you interacted with his youngest vod’ika; your support and matched enthusiasm in sharing the engineer’s passion and penchants for daunting projects and mechanizations proving so wholesome for Tech.

You were good to the guys, and Hunter couldn’t deny the way each of them exuded a rare fondness for you in their own way; with Tech beyond smitten, Crosshair’s softened moods, and Wrecker in absolute adoration of you.

No, Hunter could never rob his brothers of their bliss. Even at the sacrifice of his own.

What kind of leader would he be? More importantly, what kind of brother would that make him in the eyes of his vods?—If he dove in for you with reckless abandon, his own adoration fixated with all earnest in pursuit and unabashed dedication to you?

He forced himself to decipher and quell a pernicious line of thought involving the loom of possessiveness and self-interests that threatened to envelop him, something that Hunter—as a leader, a brother, a role model—could never permit himself in the consumption of. The Sergeant didn’t work that way— he wasn’t shallow, and you deserved his fervent respect.

Though it never failed that you—your touch gracing his forearm and sending a shock of electricity down his spine, your lingering gazes radiating such warmth, and your melodious voice ingrained into his memory playing on repeat when lying awake as he allowed a sigh of your name to escape his lips—each time sent Hunter away to the company of quiet solitude in order to re-evaluate everything he thought to be understood about feelings.

Currently, his legs had apparently developed a will of their own as Hunter now found himself motionless in front of the durasteel door to your quarters in the deep hours of the night.

Seemingly forgetting how to knock as his eyes simply remained transfixed to the door, Hunter was startled at the sliding of durasteel suddenly parting before him, as if the intensity of his gaze somehow allowed the metal and lock to give way to his staring.

Dark brown eyes quickly zeroed in on the woman revealed in front of him, stifling a yawn.

“Thought I heard something out here,” you hum sleepily with a smirk before leaning against the doorframe while beholding the Sergeant standing before you, who promptly copied your position.

“Oh? Light sleeper?”

“You were muttering.”

“First I’ve heard of it.” Hunter arched his brow and felt the corner of his lip turn upward in a wry smile at your light chuckle, before acknowledging his chagrin at your peculiar admittance. “Are my thoughts really that loud?”

“Only to me.” You regarded him softly before continuing. “Can’t sleep?”

“I...” he faltered, unsure of how to begin, uncharacteristically timid. “...just wanted to talk to you.”

“Okay.” You stiffen, shifting the weight on your feet as any lingering fatigue immediately dispersed at your sudden perk in attentiveness. You became vaguely aware of the way your heart began to hammer slightly against your ribcage. “I’m all ears.”

You were indeed all ears, even if your internal gears became furiously turning at a high speed rate in attempt to decrypt all the different interpretations of his statement at 04:00 in the morning- Was that an upset tone? Did you do something wrong? Where did you overstep? You found it difficult to allay your reservations.

As if sensing the palpable shift in your demeanor, which of course he could, Hunter quickly raised a hand in explanation. “Nothing’s wrong.” His smile projected reassurance.

Your intense gaze of perplexity made Hunter quickly realize that he now came to the part in his endeavor where he could not conjure up any further words. He hadn’t planned that far ahead yet.

You softly cleared your throat before hesitantly offering your space for Hunter to have a seat, to which the Sergeant stammered slightly in politely declining.

Hunter’s gaze became obscurely affixed to your hair; what usually was pulled away from your face when donning your uniform, the soft contours of your jawline and cheekbones usually exposed now gently enveloped by soft, messy locks cascading around your facial profile.

Absentmindedly, he gingerly reached out to tuck a stray strand behind your ear. Your eyes widened slightly, but simply watched the Sergeant’s movements with piqued curiosity as his hand hovered around the shell of your ear before tentatively trailing down to cup your cheek.

Hunter hadn’t been equipped with any scripted kiss upon a visit to your quarters, even though the action is what he surprisingly found to have transpired in that instant.

It was an affectionate kiss of firm determination and purely unrepentant, beholding a thousand unspoken words and blooming from a deeply kindled appreciation and reverence for your beautifully kind soul; a kiss born less from lust than from the hope of satiating a pang of deep longing that swirled in his chest. The physical act of a sealed kiss gave way to solidified ramification of a profound desire the Sergeant could never vocalize. The sweetness of your lips in that moment a sampled taste, taunting, of a prospect Hunter could never have, should never be privy to:

Loving you.

“I had to do that.” Hunter spoke at last, slowly pulling away while leaving behind the sensuality alongside the image of your utterly surprised face—eyes fully widened and lips parted in agape. He exhaled a shaky breath, nearly emitting an apology but reconsidering the declaration of merely empty words that would simply prove him a liar. Every fiber of his nerves were heightened; heart yearning, head on fire, and fighting friction. His expression was pained, voice almost rueful; though not a hint of regret laced within.

You wrapped your arms tightly around your frame in the wake of his absence, trembling slightly and finding yourself intensely chewing the inside of the cheek he had tenderly stroked to refrain from the urgency of calling out to Hunter’s retreating form with a desperate plea—kiss me again.

He walked away wishing you would have.

[heartslogos]

the moon or the branches

Thus far they have been unable to procure her cavalier’s body.

No matter.

Harrow can make one. She is a Lyctor. She has passed several of the trials that would have led her to becoming one. She has a faint idea of what the others would entail.

She can grow armies out of a handful of scaphoids and capitates.

Harrow can make a Gideon Nav. She might not be able to create a beguiling corpse as the Seventh can, nor does she think she would want to, but she can create a skeleton. And she can figure out a way to conjure the soul of Gideon Nav and bind it to that skeleton.

Gideon Nav is somewhere inside of her and there is no reason why Harrow cannot conceive of a way to get her out.

The Necrolord Prime thinks it would kill them both to do so.

What the most revered does not know is that Harrow was never meant to be born to start with, and Gideon Nav was not meant to live. Gideon Nav does not get killed by the things that should kill her.

Apparently, Gideon Nav can only be killed by Gideon Nav and Harrow never permitted it of her, therefore Gideon Nav does not get into the obscure annals of Ninth census records to become dust. Gideon Nav gets to come back as a skeleton that Harrow will make perfectly for her and gets to explain all the reasons why she thought it was a good idea to attempt to die against Harrow’s explicit commands, and she gets to listen to Harrow explain to her exactly why all of her self-sacrificing heroic lunacy is exactly that.

Harrow has lived her entire life with Gideon Nav. She can build Griddle’s bones by heart without looking. It would be easier than making a key.

-

There is no reason why Harrow cannot do this. If Septimus’ house could do it, then surely Harrow can. Harrow is capable of doing things the Seventh House would weep to do. And Harrow isn’t even attempting to preserve flesh. She’s only working with the bone. The bone is strictly her forte.

And if Silas Octakiseron could manage to call his cavalier back when he had the ambition of a snail and the capability to think beyond the tip of his nose then Harrow can dredge up Gideon Nav — the loudest, most obvious, brazen, and obnoxious pain in Harrow’s side — and make her say something suitably mind numbingly idiotic through the form of an undying bone servant.

Gideon might not have lips nor lungs to speak with, but the dead have other ways of speaking and Gideon’s already had practice pretending to have a vow of silence. A fake vow that, despite all odds, Harrow has to admit Gideon stuck surprisingly well to.

Obtaining the bones is not difficult. Traveling in the retinue of the Necrolord himself on the way to what Harrow presumes to be an elite area filled with all the resources one in training to be the Necrolord’s hand and member of his direct following, suitable of one with the title the First, means that the procurement of supplies for her to work with should not be hard.

The hard part is finding a place to be left alone.

The Necrolord’s ship is not the kind of loud chatter of the Canaan House, despite there being more people with flesh than not, but it is still a bustling hub compared to the Ninth’s sacred misery.

Thus far Harrow has only ran into Tridentarius once, by accident, and the two of them departed that meeting with the strong and mutual desire not to have any repeats.

Harrow needs to be alone. She needs to be alone with space to work, without others to peer over her shoulder or gawp or question or — or what have you.

She is also faced with the surprising problem of having too many choices in regards to material. Harrow is used to working with whatever happens to be available.

Now she has an entire breadth of bone available. Bones from the young, bones from the old, bones of someone who was six foot four, bones of someone who was a runner, bones of someone who was a priest, bones of someone who spent their life in plate armor — a plethora and variety of bones with which she can work with. Each one of them with their unique characteristics borne of whatever life the body they shuffled through the mortal coil decided to lead.

Some bones are so new that Harrow can imagine sucking the marrow out of them. Some are so old that they look like one faint jostle will send them scattering into the ship’s ventilation, lost forever.

Obviously, Harrow declines to use those. Despite how entertaining it would be to stick Griddle in something ancient, probably revered, and most likely deeply important.

Harrow pushes her sleeves up and gets to work. It is unlikely that Griddle will be in this skeleton for very long. Chances are that her cavalier will break something within the first few days. Probably on purpose.

That is fine. Harrow plans on this being a work in progress. She can add and subtract from it as time goes on. And with the many tricks and secrets Lyctor-dom has ahead of her, she is sure that there will be many, many additions she will be providing her cavalier’s vessel.

But right now she needs a good, stolid base.

-

Harrow is furious.

She has the bones. She has the theory. She has the power.

What she does not have is Gideon Nav piloting a perfectly well assembled skeleton at her side, where she ought to be.

Gideon hasn’t spoken to her since she woke up that first day, since the battle at Canaan house that killed her. And truthfully, Harrow isn’t sure — well.

She isn’t sure that her mind didn’t imagine he entire thing. It could have been a hallucination borne of grief and pain, as said possible hallucination said. It could also have been Gideon being a dick and playing it off.

If it was the latter then where is Gideon now?

Harrow closes her eyes, breathes, and concentrates. She drags her fingers through her own mind like a sieve, looking and searching out the edges of her soul from Gideon’s. They must be here, surely.

Because Harrow can feel the strange overlap of Gideon’s knowledge of sword and body with her own experience with necromancy. She can feel the discrepancy in the expectation of a sword in Harrow’s hand versus what Gideon’s soul-body knows a sword should feel and move like in Gideon’s own knowledge. Harrow knows that the difference exists. Gideon did not disappear completely into her.

Gideon Nav is somewhere inside of her and is being a complete and utter ass about not coming out.

One would think that Griddle would be pleased that she doesn’t have to ride along, silent and hapless, as Harrow’s private accessory.

And yet.

No Gideon.

-

“Are your accommodations to your liking?” the Necrolord asks in that calm, unnervingly gentle voice of his. Harrow still can’t look at him directly without wanting to weep.

Whether she wants to weep with rage at what she has lost in the name of service to him or because he’s overwhelmingly god she isn’t sure. Both, but the ratio between the two is fluid and perpetually unclear. Much like ocean tides, going hither and yon.

“Yes, lord,” Harrow answers, keeping as much bite out of her voice as possible. Her head hurts. She’s feeling dizzy from blood loss — and she’d spilt all that blood for nothing because there is still no Gideon Nav.

He doesn’t say anything back, but she knows that he is looking at her and finding her answer and lack of truthfulness falling below par. Harrow may fear, respect, and find herself slightly brain-dead just looking at him, but that does not mean that she trusts him. Not with this.

Not with her cavalier. Not when it was his Lyctors, his edict, his trials that took her away.

It doesn’t matter if the way it happened was not as he intended, ultimately he meant to take Gideon away and Harrow would never have —

Harrow bites the inside of her cheek.

She might have. It would have stung and hurt and it would have been another dark burden for her to carry for the rest of her life, but she might have. If things had gone a shade differently. She might have.

“It will take you time to process what has happened to you,” he says, infinitely steady. Something about him makes Harrow think of black holes. Silent. Roaring. Infinite centers of gravity. Terrible and sublime. “Do not over exert yourself, do not push yourself into what you do not yet understand, Nonagesimus.”

“No, lord,” Harrow nods.

He sighs, and she thinks she is not imagining the smile in his voice when he continues, “Do not push yourself into something you believe yourself to understand, either.”

Harrow’s fingers curl into her palms, hidden in her sleeves.

Harrow knows perfectly well what she’s gotten herself into and what she’s doing. It’s Gideon who’s being an absolute blockhead about it.

-

“Griddle,” Harrow hunches over the table with her immaculately laid out skeleton, “I am not trying to undermine your idiotic heroism. Don’t be petulant just because your heroics and your supposed final last stand are not as final as they would have appeared to be. I think everyone would acknowledge that you’ve gone and finally been true to yourself and gotten yourself killed in the most spectacularly reckless way possible. So get in the damned bones.”

Nothing. Nothing at all for the past hour. Days. Weeks.

Harrow’s fists shake with the force with which she’s digging her nails into her palms.

She closes her eyes, headache pounding in her temples.

She reaches down into herself once more, searching Gideon out, running her fingers over the fine line that snags as Gideon Nav.

She digs her fingers into that crevice and attempts to rip it open. She can feel it resisting, wavering.

Harrow focuses on Gideon’s hair. She conjures to mind Gideon’s cocky smirk, with and without the paint that marks a member of the Ninth House. She traces the marblesque lines of Gideon’s arms as she takes up a sword, and the curl of her fingers and the press of her broad palm. Harrow breathes in deep and fills her ears with the sound of Griddle’s incessant chatter, even when she isn’t being talked to directly.

In her minds eye she traces her entire life back. An entire life filled with Gideon Nav — front and center, off to the side, in the background. A life with Gideon Nav, the walking dead who refused to die.

Gideon was called to die thrice, and died only on the third time.

Gideon Nav.

Gideon Nav, Cavalier Primary of the Ninth House. Your adept calls you.

-

A shuddering gasp of breath. It feels like her entire body has been thrown through fire and smothered in ash. Every breath is laborious, and her throat is simultaneously wet and dry. Her lips are cracked. Everything feels like it needs a few dozen washes and then an extra dozen goes in a sanitizer.

Sore is an understatement.

Her fingers twitch and she groans. She feels the groan more than she hears it, throat so dry that breath stings.

Something at her fingertips clatters and it takes forever to slowly turn her head — each slight moment a terrible jostling feeling as she looks down at whatever it is she’s touched.

It’s those damned stupid glasses.

She feels a defensive spark, faint hurt and a touch of amusement, but overall sullen. They aren’t stupid.

Watch it, I like those glasses. I look hot in them.

-

Harrow’s eyes fly open as she gasps, knees weak as she stares out in front of herself, not quite seeing the skeleton on the table in front of her, and not quite seeing what the dust and the grime and —

There was no body. There was no damned body.

“Gideon?” Harrow’s eyes feel like they’re going to pop out of her head, she almost loses the fine thread that connects her to her cavalier. Is this relief? “Where the hell are you?”

Gideon’s entire mind is like a cacophony of bright screaming sound-color-tastes that slam against Harrow like several thousand pounds of stone on all sides, bludgeoning and pummeling her into almost losing her grasp on Gideon.

She can feel the burn of wounds all over Gideon’s torso, fractures in her bones, bruising in her muscles, the shuddering hot pain with every breath.

Gideon’s gaze slowly travels until the irons are in sight.

“You mean to tell me that all this time you’ve been right there?”

Gideon’s mind is a riot. Like a sputtering fire. Harrow can hear her snapping “Where the fuck else would I be?”

“No one could find you!” Harrow knows that Griddle can’t hear her, not exactly — it’s a miracle that they’ve even managed to form a connection from this far away. But Griddle has always had an uncanny knack for putting words in Harrow’s mouth, that while lacking in the quality of their diction have always managed to convey the same general idea or tone as what Harrow herself would use.

Gideon’s field of view slowly moves further and Harrow can now see that while Gideon is with the object of her demise, that object is no longer where Gideon’s assumed death had taken place.

The stone cliff must have crumbled in the aftermath, when Harrow was unconscious. Gideon fell. And as improbable as it would sound, survived.

Well. Of course. Gideon Nav can’t die. Of course.

Gideon Nav would be so inept that she would fail at dying. Harrow’s heart curls tightly in her chest, and her eyes sting. You can’t kill Griddle. Not even Griddle can kill Griddle.

That would explain why Harrow has been unable to establish the same connection as she had back at Canaan House. It raises some worrying questions as to whether she is actually a Lyctor or not, but Harrow would rather have this than that.

Harrow feels the questions building up in Griddle’s mind, just as many and pressing as her own.

The most important question being — how does Grideon get back to her adept? To Harrow?

Harrow’s en route to…some sort of school. Or training ground for new Lyctors. Gideon’s somewhere in the shattered wreck of Canaan House. There’s leagues and leagues and leagues between them, now.

She doesn’t know how to get this ship to turn around. What does she say? Turn around, Gideon Nav is alive? Despite all odds, the Ninth House Cavalier Primary is alive and waiting for them — for her? Who would she even speak to?

How long would it take for them to get back? How long can Gideon last? No food, no shelter, no water, no access to medical equipment — she was impaled. She was buried under rubble. And before that she had blown out her arms and legs fighting a centuries old Lyctor possessing the body of a walking eternal thanergic generator.

Harrow clutches her chest, vision doubling as Gideon’s battered lungs wheeze. Griddle’s wet hacking sounds like a rapidly deflating balloon as she laughs. Harrow squeezes her own eyes shut as Gideon slowly rises to her feet, struggling to remain upright.

“What are you doing?” Harrow hopes that every portion of her dread goes through to the cavalier. Because, knowing Gideon, there’s only one thing she can be doing.

“Well. If you can’t get to me, I guess I’ll have to figure out a way to get to you.”

Harrow imagines that this comes along with much more colorful and coarse language, but she already has the idea of it.

“How? Griddle, you’re a mess of broken bone held together vaguely by skin that somehow hasn’t burst apart at the seams.”

A mental shrug.

“Be serious, Gideon.”

Whatever the mental equivalent of blowing a raspberry would be, Gideon does it.

Every step and movement Gideon takes sends spikes of sharp pain through Harrow and she has no idea how Gideon is being so flippant about all of it. Harrow’s feeling it by extension, Gideon’s the one living it.

“Do you actually want to be dead?”

Gideon’s mind lets out a loud and empathetic fuck no.

And then, softer, more smug and pleased and confident, everything Gideon Nav right down to the stupid glasses —

One flesh, one end, dumbass. Can’t do that if we’re on separate planets.

A faint memory flickers at the edges of Harrow and Gideon’s mind.

If I could figure out a way off of the Ninth, where you were actively trying to stop me, I can figure a way off of this planet.

True.

Harrow closes her eyes, focusing on Gideon’s vision as she feels the connection between them waver and thin.

Don’t make me wait overly long, Griddle, Harrow thinks at her.

Right, because you’ve never been known for your patience. Chill, boo, I won’t even give you time to miss me. Smell ya later.

[lynne-monstr]

apparently I plotted out a malec assassin au on Twitter and thought I'd share it here. there was a post about "subtle assassin aftercare" and I ran with it.....

magnus and alec are rival assassins who occasionally call a truce for unbelievably kinky bdsm sex. except the aftercare keeps getting longer and longer because neither of them are willing to admit they're falling for the enemy.

alec is the clave's top assassin. magnus heads the assasination arm of the warlock council.

(yes there's an assassination arm of the warlock council. of course there is. the shadowhunters are out there convinced they own and run the world. you better bet the warlocks are turning things to their favor in the shadows. besides, the nephilim have a bad habit of losing prisoners and some people are too dangerous to entrust to them.)

magnus is hired to assassinate a visiting clave member (intel says he's corrupt, torturing warlocks off the books). alec is hired to assassinate high warlock lorenzo rey (too isolationist, and the clave needs someone more amenable in charge). both targets are attending the same negotiation on neutral ground in a glamoured area of battery park.

but there's only one perfect vantage point for an assassin to hide in wait. they lay eyes on each other and it all goes to hell.

both magnus and alec's work relies on the utmost secrecy and discretion. they can leave no evidence. but now the game is more complex. not only must they take out their target, but also each other, or risk death by their own organizations. it's standard protocol. neither side can risk their activities being discovered by the wider shadow world.

killing each other would be a lot easier if they didn't find each other so attractive. magnus would much rather save the murder activities until *after* he's taken the hot shadowhunter assassin to bed. it would be such a waste otherwise.

the fight is difficult and it only ends when alec's blade is at magnus' throat. which might worry magnus except his magic is perfectly poised to stop alec's heart in an instant.

they do the only logical thing.

it's the hottest makeout magnus has had in years. perhaps he'll let the shadowhunter live. just this once. (he tells himself the same thing next time. and the next. and the next.)

mutual blackmail ensures that neither of them will report the other's presence to their superiors. they see each other on the fringes of their work but don't dare acknowledge the other. at least not in public. in private it's different. they don't trust each other outside of the bedroom, but when they're together their fragile truce holds.

magnus finds out by lucky accident that alec likes to be spanked. alec won't let himself be healed with magic afterwards in case it's detected on him. he will however let magnus soothe the sting with a cold towel on his skin. will let magnus sit with him until they've both got their breath back.

(similarly, alec makes the delightful discovery that magnus enjoys being tied down and praised. even after alec collapses beside him and frees him, magnus makes no move to get up, or to heal the dark bruises around his wrists with magic. and so alec wraps them, fingers lightly skimming over bare skin as he works. the softness and warmth of him feels strangely at odds with the strength of the magic humming underneath)

the sex gets better with each secret encounter, and by unspoken agreement the time they spend holding each other in the aftermath gets longer. neither of them mention it, the way they've stopped reminding each other of the mutual blackmail they hold. the way their touches are just as often gentle and reverent as they are fast and bruising. the way neither of them wants to be the first to say goodbye.

and maybe they would've gone on this way indefinitely, until the next set orders comes in.

magnus looks at the fire message with a sense of dread and locks down every emotion attempting to scream its way out of his throat. his target: alexander lightwood

in the bowels of the secret cells in alicante, alec looks down at his own piece of paper with magnus' name printed in neat, precise lettering.

(they don't kill each other. neither of them will admit it at first, but they don't even consider it. they team up to find out why they're both targets and discover corruption in both their ranks. together, they work to take both their respective superiors down)

[gilbertgonzalezjr]

2010 - 2020 A Recap!

A decade, in an instant, told as only I can! (WARNING: Not for the faint of heart!) My Personal Highlights from 2010 - 2020

- Quit the California School for the Deaf after 10 year - Moved to Los Angeles - Had 22 [rotating] roommates in my one bedroom apt (just in the first year) - Got an agent, a manager, auditioned and started booking work as a Hollywood actor (Even recorded an original pop song in a major studio) - Got my certification and started working full time as an ASL interpreter. - Delivered my first sermon and became a preacher - Started a non-profit ministry - Rediscovered keto (formerly my version of “atkins”) and lost 100 lbs. - Got a boyfriend (my first [long term] relationship) - Met my 20+ year #1 favorite music artist: Celine Dion - Met many celebrities and influential people that I have always respected and admired and even became close friends with a couple of them. - Launched a video production ministry and started creating documentaries, short films, music videos, and featurettes of my own. - Officiated 2 marriage ceremonies - Got over my fear of flying - Tried mangos for the first time. I like them.

Life was good at the end of 2009. I was with my friends A LOT whom were (and still are) my family. I had just taught my first year of Bible Study and I was working at a job I really enjoyed… well, somewhat.

Now, I have never talked about this publicly before, but the school for the deaf taught me a lot in the 10 years I worked there to that point. I became involved because I loved to sign so much, I was really gifted at it, and I desperately wanted to help people (interpret). I wasn’t always greeted in the community with the same level of openness unfortunately. I was surrounded by very strong personalities and I was targeted a lot by the staff that were all much older than me. I was reminded of my place constantly. Comments about my youth, my “flamboyant” personality, and my being hearing (not deaf) would constantly come up as a negative. It became a hard place to work at. After a couple years of tolerating it, it began to wear on my health and I had to go on medication for anxiety. Staff members would brag to one another about how much they could put me through hoping I would quit or break. I was imitated, mocked, and teased endlessly. I was accused of “stealing” sign language (“their” language) for profit. I was not taken seriously by some and ignored entirely by others. One time, I was even removed from a Valentine’s Day party because the teacher didn’t want me to have a good time with the other staff and students knowing I bought them all small gifts with my own money. I was escorted by the teacher of the classroom to a printing room far across the other end of campus to make unnecessary copies of random books (“busy work”). She bragged about it later to our mutual supervisor. 

“You should have seen what I did to Gilbert earlier today. I got him so good! You should have seen the look on his face. Ugh! I don’t like him! He’s always so happy”.

My supervisor, whom I revered as a mentor, scolded her,

“You’re evil. What has he ever done to you?”,

to which the teacher replied,

“Nothing except that others, like you, like him. I just want to make sure he knows that I don’t like him and I don’t have to.”

It was classic bullying, by *staff*. I had come to learn that most people want what they perceive as “validation” and relevance so intensely that they are willing to take or create it however they can, especially at the expense of others… in whatever little corner of the world they are currently in.  At CSDF, specifically, there was a history of culture clashing from the deaf towards the hearing so a very tangible hostility was constantly felt by hearing staff members, even if they only meant to contribute and serve the community. It was super politically charged and I didn’t have the stomach to fight it everyday just to stay kind and happy in my daily interactions with other staff. I felt like I was in a pressure cooker and there was no place to come up for air. I knew I had to leave, or else it would make me just as bitter and jaded as they all were. I didn’t know how I was going to do that, but just around the corner, was my ticket to exceedingly do so. I was about to be free.

Four years after competing in American Idol (2006), I was contacted at the beginning of 2010 by the President of Nova Talent International: Tammi Smith. She knew of my singing and wanted me to join Team USA and compete in the World Championships of Performing Arts. Several months later, I was in Hollywood, CA, amongst 50 other American performers and 52 other countries all with their own teams of talented contestants. I won 5 silver medals, made the semi-finals of the competition, and met my first talent manager and acting coach. It was then that I called my boss and gave my notice at the school. Within 3 short weeks, I was living in the city of angels, out of my car, with only my clothes, my cats, and a massive amount of faith. It was the boldest move I have ever done in my life.

It took me a month to book my first commercial and get my own apartment. I had spent much of that initial time with my good friend Kiki who took me off the Inglewood streets and let me crash on her couch while I auditioned and made my daily rounds with agents and scouts. It was hectic and her hospitality saved my life. I love you, Kiki! Thank you so much!

I fell in love with the Los Angeles Dream Center and its pastor Matthew Barnett on my very first visit. I was scared because I didn’t want to invest into a Church community if the Pastor was going to end up speaking terrible things against the LGBT community like I had previously experienced in the Bay Area. I hadn’t had a home Church like this, where I felt welcomed and celebrated and was able to serve so openly. I became great friends with Pastor Matthew and became the Church’s sign language interpreter and even starred as a lead in their Christmas play. It was all so magical. I felt special, chosen, and like I was starting to cause real growth in overly conservative circles. I started close friendships with so many of the young adults that attended there (my age group). It was like I stumbled into a dream. It wasn’t long, however, before I realized I was the butt of so many jokes behind my back with my new “Christian” friends when I wasn’t around. I wasn’t aware that I was the only openly gay attendee at the Church. The support that I received to my face was diminished by the comments made about me when I was gone. “When will Gilbert stop being so rebellious and learn that being gay is a choice, and he can simply choose out of that lifestyle?” ”Gilbert wants to start a bible study? How can we trust him? He thinks it’s okay to be gay. Yeah, I don’t trust that. I will not be attending.” “I will never attend Gilbert’s wedding if he marries a man. That’s an abomination.” I began to distance myself from the very people that I thought were my new friends.

Soon even, after that.. I stumbled upon a subculture at the Church that I had never even considered before… closeted gay Christian men! It was such a phenomenon to me, but they had their own community. I was not raised Christian so I didn’t know that in some circles, you can be as flamboyantly gay and “out” as you want as long as you don’t identify with the word “gay” or wholly accept your attraction to other men. I found myself running in circles of gay men that were just as gay as me (and in some cases WAAAYY “gayer”) but they would never talk about it. In fact, they would go immediately silent when I would discuss my desire to date Zac Effron or the guy from the Betty Crocker potato commercial. I would be confronted with “Gilbert, you have to not feed that. That’s an attack on your identity by “the enemy” (meaning the devil). “You’re not gay. You’re straight. You just have to keep speaking it over yourself until you feel its truth.”

I was so confused because I thought that being a Christian meant you had to live openly and honestly and it was *profoundly* obvious that none of us liked women. For some in the community, they would still even date girls and would go through the charade of pretending to be into them hoping that their attractions would be “corrected” and change one glorious day. It grieved me to see all these girls that thought they were dating the holiest boys around because they refused to touch them. The girlfriends did not want to accept or even see that their boyfriends were refusing to touch them only because they would rather be touching each other instead of the girls. Often they even would. I can’t tell  you how many times we would be hanging out and things would become so intensely homoerotic, that it would even make me uncomfortable. That was the secret though… they could “act gay” and indulge in that behavior in private because they were able to “release” with one another without acknowledging the constant elephant in the room. It was a level of delusion that I just couldn’t get into. I separated from all individuals within that community...  with the exception of one. The truth is, I had fallen deeply in love with one of them. He and I had insane chemistry... and I remained in that hopelessly romantic place with him... for 6 solid years.

For 6 years, I waited for this young man to wake up and understand it was okay to be both gay and Christian. I wanted him to be free and hoped that we could be together, officially. He never made that journey though. In fact, he confessed that was too afraid of what others thought and what his family would think and feel. His parents were famous ministers and he put his entire worth and value on his and their reputation. We had long talks about it, and hard conversations about our mutual attractions to one another. (He didn’t trust himself to sleep over at my apartment). Because I was the only one who was willing to acknowledge that I was gay, I was in an impossible situation.  The desire and weight of making the first romantic move was on me, full force, but as a friend, I also wanted to respect his “attempted” orientation as a “straight” man. The situation put us both in a constant stalemate.

Like most instances of unrequited love, or being stuck in “friendsville”, I couldn’t move forward because I was blinded by what could be, right in front of me. I was also plagued with insecurities stemming from our dynamic. “Was I not good enough to come out for?” “Was I not attractive enough to push this relationship past ‘friends’ into something more?” were my constant thoughts. Most importantly, I attributed my waiting for him to God. I wanted to do this God’s way and thought that waiting was achieving that. Love is “long suffering” and “about the other person” I would tell myself, I would quote Galatians 6:9 over myself and my situation everyday hoping God would reward me and allow this guy to “get it” and go on a journey that would end with him in my arms… but it never happened. I had enough at the close of 2016 and decided to kick myself out of friendsville. After Church one day, he walked me towards my car and half way there, I stopped him. I took him to a secluded corner, looked him dead in the eye, and asked him out on our first official “date”. He smiled and looked intrigued. He told me that he would consider it. I asked him to consider it himself and to not discuss it with the “non-affirming” people in his life that believed being gay was wrong. He agreed but then broke his promise later that day when he asked three different people what they think he should do. (I wanted this to be a decision he made, alone, for the first time, for him.) He came back very angry. He said that he now saw this all as a betrayal to our 6 year friendship and I had to accept that. I was was now the bad guy. It was my worst fear, but at that time I didn’t care. It was the key to my sanity. I had to realize that he was living a life for the approval of others… not himself. A relationship wouldn’t have worked for us that way. He was mad that I wouldn’t continue the charade anymore of staying in the “undefined” place we were always in. It was the hardest I grieved and the hardest path back to healing I had ever had to take. The only other time I cried that hard and that often in the weeks that followed was when my grandmother died. A broken heart does feel like a death, because it is. The harder part was feeling like I had to forgive God for never giving me what I waited 6 years for, and yes, I felt like He was the one that asked me to wait. It was a difficult journey. I was hurt and angry with God but that had to process quickly. I was still a minister and the ministry was counting on me to walk out what I had always taught them to.

The other big journey during this decade was not just discovering the Gay Christian community, but becoming an established leader in it and starting my own ministry.

I didn’t know what I was in for. It has been the most fulfilling journey and also the most challenging. I had thought gay Christian ministry was gonna be rainbows, unicorns, pizza, and movie nights while we all discussed how great Jesus was… and boy was I wrong. No matter how much I wanted to avoid it, politics kept coming up… government and “Church” politics. It was something I still have to get used to. I also met the combative side of people that can be so vocal about what they want from me, that they are willing to act out in unbelievable and often dangerous ways to try and force me to give it to them. I wasn’t prepared for that, and I faced it often (and still do).

Also, I originally believed that it was only the non-affirming world that didn’t understand me, personally and my perspective on life and faith, but I must admit that the times I have felt the most misunderstood, isolated, and alienated in my life was by my very own gay Christian community. I still love ministry and what I do, and it is still the place that I feel I do the most good, but the journey has been far from a walk in the park.

Since 2010, I have had an unusual amount of Judases in my life. My own talent manager (and close friend) went after my former roommate (whom I had strong feelings for) and he moved him into his yacht when I was at work. I came home to an empty apartment. They thought it would be fun to call me on speaker phone and brag about their new affair. I lost a manager, and roommate and gained a broken heart all in one horrific night. My anxiety attack was so bad that night, I thought I was going to die and nearly called 911. My second talent manager was no better. He moved a younger guy in with me from the UK so that he could have “sexual access” to him whenever he wanted. At first, he told me it was because he was a fellow actor, but once he later confessed his true motive, I never let him in my house again and protected my roommate (whom had become a close friend) at all costs.

In 2014, I had a ministry partner and best friend who tried to steal the ministry from under me and was collecting people behind my back to start his own Church. He was only moderately successful, and then when his Church launched, he burned his bridge with every single person that left me for him in a matter of days. I knew God would justify me, but it still hurt. During this time, one of my absolute closest and most trusted friends started sending homemade Snapchat porn to the members of the ministry behind my back. I had just helped him patch up things with his fiance (another Phoenix member) after he was caught by multiple members having an affair. And then in 2017, one of my closest friends whom had seen all the other stuff unfold, suffered a stroke and during his healing, began to actually self destruct. He turned on me and started pursuing very young members in our ministry, confessing to them that he enjoyed that they looked underage because that’s what he was sexually attracted to. I dealt with all of this at the time of being dumped by my boyfriend who I caught texting his female ex. Later, I found out that he had lied to me about his feelings towards her and how often they were in contact and were even still seeing each other. I felt like the world was caving in on me. The members I was pouring into the most were growing increasingly more unreliable and yet more demanding of me and my time. Then, a third leader (also a close friend) informed me that he too was stepping down. I didn’t know if I had it in me to continue anymore. I nearly gave up... but I didn’t. I pushed through, and I am so glad that I did. 

My 7 year journey with ministry has been some of the most exciting and fulfilling years I have ever had, but it has also caused me the most pain. I can see why some ministers leave the call and never return, remaining bitter and jaded. I don’t judge them. My heart goes out to them. We are all human and we all have our limit of what we are able to handle. I will say this though.... if you attend a Church or a Bible Study... be on time. Be reliable, and help out wherever you can. The leader needs all the help that they can get and they are doing this as a sacrifice of love, not obligation. They deserve your constant respect. I’ve learned that you can’t join a walk of life where you pour into the best of people without seeing and experiencing their worst as well, myself included. I have had to grow at an exponential rate to keep up with what I was teaching others. I believe the best teachers are  the ones that lead by example and therefore I want to always deliver a great example.

Being a minister is a path not meant for all, but for those that choose it, what a painfully glorious one it is. I will have to keep you updated as this is still a path I am on, growing every day, still trying to encourage others every day. I can share now that what I have learned the most is boundaries. I have learned that “yes” and “no” wield far more power than I could have ever imagined, and going forward, I intend to wield that power more and more, and hopefully in the future… without guilt.

Meeting Celine Dion earlier this year and watching our interaction go viral on the internet was surreal. It changed me forever by showing me that anything really is possible. We have always heard it in school, but to have evidence that dreams come true can be overwhelming in the most wonderful way. The moment her and I shared is something I have only wished in my heart until that point, nearly certain it would never get to happen. Thanks to God, the joke was on me.

Ending the year with our 6th annual Christmas video, “Extraordinary Merry Christmas” was appropriate on so many levels. The concept of the video is simple, “what makes a Christmas season ‘extraordinary’ is just the people you choose to spend it with.” I think this statement is far more true than just being limited to the holiday season. I think what makes life ‘extraordinary’ is also based off the individuals we meet and the relationships we get to cherish along the way.

My platonic soul mate Theresa Eugenio shared this song with me by the Jonas Brothers earlier both by phone and by her 2019 post and I would like to share it with you with a dedication as well. Going into 2020, I am more guarded with my time and my peace of mind. Yes, I am more of an introvert and far less social, but when I do engage, I do so with intention. I want people to be off their phones, and unveiled with me. I also want people to feel loved and supported by me like never before because I have learned that that truly is what is most important in any interaction.

Thank you to everyone that made this decade one to remember. It is absolutely my most EPIC decade to date. Let’s see if the next 10 years can compete. (SPOILER ALERT: I have a feeling that the next 10 years will not only will be able to compete these past 10, but they will be FAARR better! The best is truly yet to come… not only for me, but for all of us!

Happy New Year! God bless! 

[erasethedarkness]

Silver Threaded Lining -Day 6 | Blind Date / Setup- (Best Jeanist x f!Reader)

Summary: Working at a news station had its perks- and one of them included being friends with a popular newswoman. When asked to take her place in a blind date, you were skeptical but wanted to help her out, accepting the request in the end. Neither of you had any idea what was in store for you once you arrived at the venerated Chateux de Joel Robuchon. 

Note: Ship and reader requested by Every.man.at.midnight on Ao3!!! Also, this reader insert is… definitely a more larger than life one. Like, it’s probably not really relatable, but hopefully it’s still one that can suspend your beliefs. The reasoning for this is that I wanted to take into consideration the type of person Best Jeanist is, and this is what I came up with and what felt most intuitive to me. Also, I’m tempted to write a sequel or turn this into a series? Just because it’s … so… fantastical and extra? Let me know what you guys think. Hopefully I didn't butcher his character since this is my first time writing for him. 

Theme Song: Tell Me Baby - Red Hot Chili Peppers 

Reader: Female (requested)

Words: 2908

Tell me baby, what's your story…

Working as a makeup artist was one of your greatest pleasures. You got to mess around with different palettes, special effects, and meet people from all walks of life. Professionally, you were employed by one of the top news stations, which gave you the opportunity to work on celebrities and heroes. And for fun, you ran a special effects channel with a fairly sizeable following and sponsorships from various makeup brands. Life was pretty solid and good, though you were too busy to focus on every aspect of it. With your work and social life booming, it was only natural that your personal and romantic life were neglected.

“Say, (Y/N), are you free tomorrow night?” one of the news anchors asked as you worked on her makeup. Her eyes were closed and brows raised, so you couldn’t make out much of an expression as you applied some shadows, but you two were fairly close and you could be honest with her. In the workplace, she was basically your best friend.

“Yeah. Why do you ask?”

“Well… could I ask you for a huuuge favor? Please? I’ll seriously owe you one.”

You paused from her makeup, cuing the newswoman to open her eyes and look at you. She was faced with a somewhat worried and skeptical expression as you inquired more.

“What trouble did you get into?”

“It’s not trouble!” she quickly defended herself before sighing and closing her eyes so you could resume your work. “It’s just… One of my friends set me up on a date, but I’ve been talking to this guy from SVME a lot lately and I think we’re hitting it off really well, so... I don’t really wanna go on this date. But, you’re single and pretty and talented and, like… I think that whoever my friend’s got waiting for this date is gonna be a great person and maybe even a good fit for you. It’s someone she’s trying to set me up with, so… it’s not like I mean any disrespect, y’know? I’m just asking for a favor, one girl to another. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Please?”

You listened to her argument, meticulously applying false lashes and then blending it into the eyeliner so it looked flawless. Taking a step back, you looked at her face to make sure it was symmetrical and up to standard.

“You have no idea who the guy is?” you sighed, giving away that you were seriously considering it. You wanted to help her out, and it’d been about a year since your last date because you were just sick of bothering when you had other things to do, like manage a successful channel on top of working.

“Not at all. She just promised I wouldn’t be disappointed. So… hopefully you won’t be either?”

With a sigh, you told her to open her mouth so you could apply lipstick. “...Alright,” you agreed. “What are the details?” She went into everything she knew- time, location, and expectations- and promised to reimburse you for any money you’d potentially have to spend. You nodded, simply noting everything.

The following night came, and you gave yourself a final look over before leaving. Your makeup was perfect and set, you weren’t worried about your lipstick fading or distorting with dinner, the dress you picked was elegant, flattering, and trendy, and the heels you wore were both fashionable and comfortable. You were aces. The friend you were doing this favor for sent you a car that would take you to your destination, and without time for a moment’s hesitance, you were chauffeured to the rendezvous.

From the moment you arrived, you were treated no less than royalty. As soon as the car pulled up, a valet opened the door for you. “Bonsoir, Mademoiselle. Bienvenue au Chateux de Joel Robuchon,” (“Good evening, Miss. Welcome to Chateux de Joel Robuchon,”) he greeted you with a bow, gesturing towards the western inspired establishment with an immaculate white glove. You smiled politely at him with a small nod of your head, stepping out gracefully. The valet closed the door behind you, the car leaving a second after, and you were left with a small walk across the elegant courtyard to the four-story building. When you arrived, the doors were opened for you once again, and you were greeted with a fusion of elegant French and Japanese hospitality and grace.

It really was like being in a castle. A host came to meet you and took your jacket, while a hostess guided you to the second level where the restaurant and lounge operated. She asked what name the reservation was under, and you gave her your friend’s. With a smile, the hostess suggested you help yourself to a drink at the Rouge Bar while you waited, as you were the first to arrive. Finding that agreeable, you were escorted to an elegant, more than fully equipped and stocked lounge. It was dark with warm, golden lighting that made the red walls something sensual and alluring, rather than loud or intimidating. Black leather furniture beckoned you to take a seat wherever you pleased, and you were promptly met by a waiter offering a drink menu. You ordered a light wine to sip at while you waited for your mystery date, and gazed around the bar. At least it was going to be easy for him to figure out who he was meeting- you were the only lady waiting alone.

As you reclined and sipped, you noticed some of the patrons’ behaviors change. Eyes were skirting to and from the entrance and voices hushed themselves. You managed to hear a woman whisper to another, “Oh my goodness, is that… That’s Best Jeanist!” The temptation to turn around and see the hero for yourself was great, but your dignity and pride were greater, so you didn’t flinch or move to follow everyone else’s gaze. Bringing the wine glass to your lips, you tasted it once again before noticing the curious eyes beginning to fall on you.

“Miss (Y/N)?”

You knew that voice- you knew it from countless interviews, and having met the hero once when he appeared on your news channel. Of all the makeup artists, you were the lucky one who got to powder and touch up his already faultness face. With fluid timing, you blinked while gracefully turning your head to the speaker, eyes opening with an almost hypnotic look. A single green eye received yours, its match hidden beneath fastidiously combed and treated blond hair. His expression was covered by a square silk scarf that was both tasteful and contemporary, complimenting his navy three piece suit. It was no wonder this man was at the forefront of men’s fashion.

“Best Jeanist.” You acknowledged him by his hero name, a calm and sweet smile on your lips. Although you couldn’t see it, you hoped he was smiling from the way the corners of his eyes seemed to just barely move. The hero bowed to you, his hand extended to help you stand, creating a scene that was almost impossible to believe- both to you and those spectating. Delicately, you lifted your hand from the wine glass and placed your fingertips into his palm. With nimble finesse, his fingers curled behind yours, thumb gently crossing over your knuckles as you rose to your feet, and then respectfully let go as you thanked him.

Your thoughts raced as you two were escorted to your table. How could your friend pass this up? On top of that, how did she not know that she was going on a date with Best Jeanist? And who was her friend that was able to convince the No. 3 Pro Hero to even go on a blind date? You had so many questions that were going to be answered the next time you saw her.

A new elegance welcomed you as you two entered Joel Robuchon Restaurant. Dreamy gold lighting and draperies warmed the walls while black dominated everything else. Tables were blanketed in a silky black cloth, their legs just as dark and matching the chairs that framed them. Polished and shining black vases and centerpieces decorated the tables while the flowers, accents, and plates were a stark and contrasting white. It was beautiful and even surreal- especially for a first date, set up or not.

Agreeing on the 6-course specialty menu and a bottle of wine to share, the date began smoothly. You both expressed your preferences and were pleasantly surprised to share some similar tastes, needing to compromise on very little. Starting off this way allowed an immediate familiarity to develop between you two, the conversation becoming more natural and effortless as a result. He made you smile and you made him laugh, all before the bread basket arrived. Even though you were sitting across from the revered Fiber Hero, you didn’t feel any pressure or unease. It honestly felt like you two were on the same page, the same level, in the same ballpark, and just… equal. Already, there was a foundation of mutual respect laid down, and he even asked you to call him by his name as you two worked through the six plates, taking your time and getting to know each other.

“So how is your recovery coming along?” you asked him in a soft voice with genuine concern and interest. Everyone knew the damage he took from All For One and that he would be resting for an unknown but extended period of time.

“Quite well,” he answered professionally. Although he’d been looking at you all night, his gaze became a bit sharper at your question. It wasn’t that he was soured by it, but you could tell it was something he was fairly guarded about. He was able to walk and move, yet there must have been more limitations than before.

“Is that the newsroom answer?”

The hero chuckled at your perceptiveness, making you hope again that he was smiling afterwards. Your imagination was vividly curious of what it would look like, but that was something even you weren’t bold enough to ask yet.

Offering your own smile to him, you carried on gracefully, unaffected by the closed off topic. “I’m glad that you’ve recovered as much as you already have, and look forward to seeing you back in action,” you supported. “I think only the greatest heroes could survive and recover from such grave injuries. It really shows you have so much you want to live for.” Your sincerity softened that steeled look he gave you, and eased away the faint tension that came with it.

“Thank you, (Y/N).” His voice was casual again. Even with the composed and dignified way that he spoke, you were able to pick up the differences between his relaxed and formal speeches. “Experiences like this are rather humbling, for better or worse. They remind us all that heroes, too, are human.”

“Had you forgotten that you were, Hakamata?” There was something coquettish in your voice, bolstered by the confidence you had in catching the nuances he expected to slip through.

“It’s easy to forget,” he responded, meeting your coyness with his own. “I am greatly honored to be a widely received hero and icon- as accessible as the availability and handiness of denim itself. Such responsibilities require a near superhuman balance in life.” The way he spoke of his popularity was anything but arrogant, showing that he took this all very seriously. It wasn’t simply a job or profession- being a hero was an identity that everything else conformed to. “In its own way, the time necessary to heal is a kindness.”

His words were enchanting with the way he spoke. Each syllable was magnetic, tempting you closer to the person across from you not as a hero, but as a man. Your conversation was scarcely interrupted by the restaurant’s staff, plates coming and going as if phantoms were providing them. In this moment, there was only him in your field of view. “How so?”

“It’s the only reason a moment like this is possible right now,” he explained with a foreign glint in his eye. You couldn’t help but wonder if that was what it would look like if eyes could smile. “While we’ve met once before, it was brief and strictly business. Wouldn’t you agree this time is a benevolent result of my injuries?”

Your lips pulled back as you chuckled softly, your cheeks lifting with a smile as you blushed and averted your eyes. For the first time tonight, he charmed you, and he did it without relying on fame or prestige. Seeing a break in the conversation, the attentive wait staff approached your table, retrieving the empty plates and bowls, pouring the last of the bottle of wine for you two, and then presenting you with a dessert trolley that could rival entire bakeries and chocolatiers. An espresso list accompanied the sweets, and you two ended up with the same order, save for a minor detail in your truffles. One was accented by raspberries, and the other by thin orange slices.

“Only in part. This was also the work of our friends, wasn’t it?” you teased him with a mirthful smirk.

“That’s true,” he agreed, explicitly acknowledging for the first time that this was a blind date. “However, no amount of planning could make two unwilling people meet in circumstances like this. Close encounters are perhaps the strongest reminders that, as humans, we seek a love and intimacy beyond praise and fame. And if I may be candid, (Y/N), I’m honored to have been recommended to you. It may seem silly, but… I do place trust and faith in a close friend’s suggestion.”

Once again you blushed, closing your eyes this time as you took a sip of your cappuccino. He was more of a gentleman than you expected- and you certainly had high expectations for such an exemplary hero.

“I take it you’re skeptical of those you meet on your own?” The question was rhetorical. “I suppose you’d have to be; there must be a plentitude of people with ulterior motives seeking your attention and affection.” You placed your cup in its saucer, your hands coming together in your lap afterwards as you sat ladylike with a sweet smile on your face despite the seriousness of your words. “For what it’s worth, I had no idea who I’d meet tonight. When you offered your hand, it felt like a dream- this whole date has.”

At last, you could tell with certainty that Best Jeanist was actually smiling beneath that silk scarf. His handsome expression was as joyous as it was composed, and you were proven very wrong in believing he couldn’t become more of a heartthrob.

“If we continued meeting, would I be able to convince you reality was better than a dream?”

You were stunned by the smoothness of his words. As a rule of thumb, you were exceptionally skeptical of charismatic men, but you made an allowance for the one across from you tonight. While others came off as womanizers and playboys, Hakamata seemed knightly and trustworthy. After all, the whole of Tokyo trusted him with their lives- including you.

“I would love to find out.”

As you two finished dining, the bill was directly handed to the hero. You offered to pay, or at least cover part of it, but his kind eyes and voice told you there was no need, and the expenses were already taken care of. He took the bill, and you could make out that it seemed like some sort of letter before he folded it and slipped it into his breast pocket. Standing, he opened his hand to you once again and guided you to take hold of his arm as he escorted you downstairs. You two walked with a closeness that evolved over the course of your extravagant dinner, and he waited patiently for you as you received your jacket before escorting you outside.

Before getting close enough to signal the valet to open the door, Best Jeanist stopped with you. His arm shifted so that your hand fell into his as you turned to face him. “May I see you again, (Y/N)?”

Your eyes gazed into his and noticed that his hair was pulled back just enough to allow you to see them both. You couldn’t help but grin a bit widely, your teeth just barely showing as you nodded. “Yes,” you answered in what only came out as a whisper. That unmistakable joy gleamed in his eyes at your response, and you two exchanged personal contact information. When it was all saved, he finished walking you to the familiar car that awaited. Just as you were about to sink into your seat, your date brought your hand towards his lips, his other coming up to the scarf and lowering it just enough so he could give it a proper kiss, covering his face afterwards as he brought his eyes to yours.

“Thank you for this wonderful night. I look forward to the next.”

You blushed as you thanked him in return, the door closing soon after and the driver taking you back home. This was a night you’d never forget, and the idea of future ones with him quickened your heart.

… You’re so lovely, are you lonely?