#and just going where is the love where is the kindness why does nobody care

[femmeleatherface]

@caiteaz i was going to make this a reply but then it ran away from me, so sorry for the delayed response!

first up i just want to say that your interpretation of them a brotherly relationship is awesome and i love it. when all is said and done i'm personally open to really any interpretation of their dynamic, ultimately they are fictional characters and we have better things to do than argue over fake people. that's part of why i kept the romance mention in the tags rather than in the post itself

that said i am one of the people on the romance train so. i will explain my take on it!

realistically i think the main reason erik/the daroga as a ship exists is because of the susan kay novel. idk if you've read it but they are. very gay in that. it's been a while since i read it, but if i remember right at one point erik nearly steals diamonds--aka the stuff they make wedding rings out of--to give them to nadir (the daroga's name in this version). and then i remember VERY vividly erik even ponders if nadir is going to be his lover but then decides nah because erik can't comprehend the concept of bisexuality (despite clearly being open to the concept himself)

also more obscure but beloved by me if nobody else, there's the 1991 musical where the daroga swoops in at the end, plants himself on erik's bed, tries to comfort him because he's sad about christine leaving, then talks about how he's followed erik from the ends of the earth and will continue to follow him until the end of time. and then they smile and clash swords together (this is not a euphemism but sounds like it)

but in terms of the leroux novel, then for me the romantic interpretation of erik/the daroga comes from two approaches: fun reading-between-the lines of their interactions, and speculating the concept of such a relationship based on the characters themselves

from the between-the-lines approach, in the leruox novel they're antagonistic, but close. they feel almost like exes who are still kind of a little in love with each other, but also broke up for really good reasons, but also still understand each other better than everyone on the planet. i don't even read them as exes, i just think they have the vibe all on their own because their chemistry is so fun

basically, they annoy each other, but also clearly still care about each other. from erik's side of things, he doesn't drown the daroga in the lake (but is very okay drowning anyone else), and when he's at death's door at the end it's the daroga he goes to so he can tell him what happened with christine and get help fulfilling his burial wishes. and the daroga, despite literally losing everything and being exiled from his homeland because of erik, still follows erik to paris and keeps in touch with him and stalks him, really, the way erik stalks christine. (i'm a simple person, i see any parallels between same-gender relationships that are totally not romantic and hetero ones that totally are and i immediately raise my speculative gay eyebrow)

and obviously there's multiple ways that kind of relationship can be interpreted. i don't even know if leroux intended for us to read them as friends considering the daroga repeatedly calls erik a monster and they clearly get on each other's nerves. this is why i have a second approach, speculating on the concept of them

like, think about leroux erik. he desperately wants to be loved but also his relationship with christine is super unhealthy. i mean... someone who knows what he looks like and what horrors he is capable of and who still hasn't abandoned him despite losing everything for him is RIGHT THERE

and the daroga. he literally saved erik's life ages ago and never seems to regret it no matter how much evil erik commits. prior to christine's kiss, the daroga seems to have an recognition of erik's inherent worth as a human being when no one else does, even with all the times he calls him a monster. he wants erik to be alive and wants him to be happy, but also knows when to step in because he's gone too far. also he himself is an outsider in paris because he is an immigrant who is distrusted by the people around him because of his appearance, giving him a degree of empathy for what erik has been through as an "other." (i would argue christine also has this potential because she's swedish and this is even why she and the daroga are the two people able to get the most close to erik, but that's another post)

even if all that's not romantic love that's still got to be some kind of love. and considering romantic love and the so-called "intrinsic need" for it is a huge part of the novel, the romantic interpretation just makes sense theme-wise

anyway. sorry for the long post but i hope that answered your question. like i said, that's just my take. i'm sure others have different opinions because art is wonderful and subjective that way

the relationship between erik and the daroga is great because while yes, erik is the bane of the daroga's existence, the daroga is EQUALLY obnoxious to erik. for every gray hair the daroga receives from erik causing mayhem, erik receives one split end of what little hair he has left from the daroga stalking his house, butting his nose into his private life, and all around being a major buzzkill by reminding him of promises he made forever ago like "no more murders" or whatever

[darkfires]

you guys just don't know how to write angst anymore. putting people who say they like "toxic yaoi" in my dni cause they have no idea how to actually write toxicity

[luveline]

𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

You begin to have intimate dreams about your roommate, Spencer. [9k]

c: pining roommates, dreams, tipsy non-confessions, spencer being a sweetheart. fem!reader. this fic was requested! 

｡𖦹°‧⭑.

i. a dreamt bruise 

“What are you doing?” 

Your chest lists slightly forward as a body warms your back. Arms wrap around you, solid but gentle, arms you’ve been held by a thousand times. 

You cover them with one of your own. “What does it look like I’m doing?” you feel yourself ask. 

The room is golden, gaussian, better now he’s behind you.

“I don’t know, dove. That’s why I asked.” His voice is soft in your ear. His hair presses to the side of your face as he hugs you —you’ve never felt love like this. It’s palpable. It’s in his hands. 

Nobody’s called you dove before, but he is, he has. It might feel strange if it weren’t for how softly he said it, affection in the very marrow of the word, warmth of it kissing your cheek as he holds you. He says ‘dove’, and it feels like he loves you. Feels like you’ve done something beautiful to earn it, but that’s the beauty of it: you didn’t do anything. 

The room turns narrow, sunlight on the dining room table of your apartment. A table usually crowded thickly with books, or your work. A space has been cleared away and filled with pieces of a jigsaw. 

“I thought you were going to do this with me,” you say, dragging a piece across the table with your fingertip. 

“Maybe later.” 

“You can’t stand there all night.” 

Are you sure? you think he says, but things are hazy, and he’s turning you toward him suddenly, you’re standing, the puzzle forgotten. “How’s your bruise?” 

“What?” you ask, almost sleeping as a big, kind hand drags up the front of your shirt, holding it to the underside of your breast. 

“Does it still hurt?” 

His thumb brushes over your contusion, skin on your side, your back. It’s tender. Any breath is lost, any sense of breathing at all. You’re not a girl so much as something being touched with care, warm joy and love and a contrasting ache wedged under your heart as he draws a circles into your skin. 

He hums sympathetically, the weight of him ebbing as he leans away, letting your shirt fall back into place. 

The dream stretches on for a lifetime, the two of you standing in your living room, dining table behind you, couch and TV opposite. Your life in one room, his life, his books, his furniture, but your home. You know it all well, just, in the light, you can’t see the stitching. 

He takes your face into his hand. Nobody’s ever touched you like, turned your face up like they were moving through honey, staring at you with eyes that shade of brown. Brown, brown… so big. So melting. 

Spencer holds your face gently. 

His nose touches yours. He tips his forehead into yours, his breath skimming lips he’d just warmed as he says, “Don’t worry, alright? You’ll be okay. Just take it easy,” he says, the last of his pleading lost to your mouth. 

You wake up with a caught breath. 

Your eyes are glued together, eyelashes threaded, gummy. You turn into the pillow beside you, slightly deflated and cold where you’d turned away in the night. 

The room is dark when you manage to pry your eyes open. You close them just as quickly, begging your body to sleep, to plunge back into the dream. Just five more minutes of golden colour, hugging your pillow, love in somebody’s hand, in Spencer’s hand… five more minutes…

Your eyes open again. 

Spencer’s hand on your cheek, guiding you carefully upwards for a kiss. 

You raise your hand, feeling along the swell of your bottom lip with your thumb and index finger. They tremble with the weakness of having just woken up. With having something torn away from you. 

What was that? you think, the hook of sleep lodged in your throat as you struggle to sit up. Your face tips forwards heavily, but your back doesn’t hurt like it tends to in the early mornings before work. There’s no ache there —your body slept well. You use your hands as anchors and drag yourself foot first from the bed. Your sheets fall to the floor with a quiet shush. 

It felt so real that for a moment you’re wondering where Spencer went. 

He was touching you, he was caressing your waist. You rush to the door of your room, every night left ajar, pushing it open and beelining for the bathroom. You flick on the light and stop in front of the mirror, staring at yourself, wondering if you’re foolish enough to do this, before peeling your shirt from your stomach to analyse your bruise. 

It’s not there. 

You turn and contort yourself to catch the light. Maybe it was further back? But no… there’s no bruise, nothing for Spencer to check. Your torso is a stretch of unharmed skin to run your hand down without pain. 

Your head whirs. 

From somewhere in the apartment, Spencer puts down a mug. You flush with heat at the realisation that he’s home, and panic flares when his footsteps move in your direction. Your bedrooms are on opposite sides of the apartment, and there are two bathrooms —the bath and toilet near your room, and the en-suite to his room— meaning Spencer’s coming to see you specifically. 

“Hey, Y/N?” he says. 

It’s been a few days since he was home, and you aren’t just roommates, Spencer’s your friend. He sounds happy that you’re awake, pausing at your bedroom door. 

“I’m in the bathroom!” you say, your dry throat turning your voice to fractures. 

“I just wanted you to know I’m home. Are you working?” 

“It’s Saturday.”

He laughs. “Oh. I know, I forgot. Well, can I make you breakfast? I was gonna have oats and sliced bananas and stuff.” 

“Okay.” You clear your throat. “I’ll be right there.” 

“Sorry,” he says, like he’s just remembered where you are. “This is harassment. I’ll be in the kitchen.” 

You wash your face and brush your teeth. You head back into your room to change from your pyjamas into loungewear that’s just as soft. The flavour of your dream follows you around, you’d like to call it sweetness, saccharinity, but it doesn’t fit the bill. The feeling you’d woken with wasn’t a sugar high but contentedness, like a warm evening meal. You’d felt utterly sated, your arms reaching out for a body that wasn’t there. 

A heaviness takes your heart. Suffocating longing, you carry it to the kitchen with you to find Spencer’s already made you a cup of your tea. He’s warming oatmeal on the stove, blueberries and bananas on the countertop. You sit at the island. You should hug him. If you hadn’t dreamt of his hands on your waist what felt like mere moments ago, you would’ve. 

“Did you go shopping?” 

“I did, I went to Leaven last night. You were already sleeping at ten.” He peeks at you from over his shoulder. “Long day yesterday?” 

“I get too tired by Friday,” you say, averting your gaze to stare down into your mug, steam twirling up to kiss your chin. 

“No, I get it. Me too. Are you feeling any better today?” 

You were sick when he left. “I’m fine.” 

“Okay, good. I’m gonna put the blueberries in with the oatmeal, is that okay?” 

“Sure.” 

“Okay.” Spencer’s gaze lingers on you. He turns back to the counter. 

He cuts two bananas. You realise he has strawberries, too, watching as he cuts them, wetness leaking from their punnets where he must’ve rinsed them in the sink. He slices out the stems and cuts the strawberries in clean halves like hearts. 

“I missed you,” he says. 

You can’t read his tone, but you aren’t cruel, even feeling shy as you are. “I missed you too. How was the case? Everyone made it home in one piece, right?” 

“Everyone’s fine. Emily got into a car accident and it was pretty bad, but she’s okay now. Recovering from her concussion at home with Sergei.” 

That’s good. You’ve met Spencer’s boss, Agent Hotchner (very scary), and Emily, JJ, and Penelope (who aren’t scary at all). You’re glad to hear they’re all okay, because they’re good people, and they risk a lot to keep others safe. You forget sometimes how much Spencer puts on the line whenever he leaves. 

You poke at him for details of the case, though legally there are things he has to keep from you, and you don’t mind either way. Nothing personal can crop up while talking of murder, and for now you’d like the conversation to stay far away from you and your bed and your sudden dream. 

You assume you’re safe, but then Spencer mentions the bruise one of the sergeants got from their weapon’s kickback and you’re flushing nervously all over again. 

Spencer grabs two bowls from the cabinet, dark brown ceramics he got from Koreatown, the perfect size for each helping of oatmeal. The purple from the insides of the blueberries bleed into the oats as he pours.

He lays each bowl with a curve of banana slices, strawberries, and covers half with a drizzle of dark fudge sauce. “Salt?” he asks. 

“Yes, please.” 

Spencer grabs two spoons from the cutlery drawer. He grins when he finally turns, bowls held aloft, making his way to the stool beside you. He puts his own down first, then the cutlery, standing ever so slightly behind you as he lays your breakfast down in front of you. “What have you been doing while I was away?” he asks softly. 

You can’t look at him. Can’t think. 

What are you doing? 

What does it look like I’m doing? 

I don’t know, dove. That’s why I asked. 

You lean away from his presence, desperate to have him follow, and ashamed. Spencer’s a friend, a good one, he’s kind and loving and handsome beyond description, but you’ve never thought of him like that. Each time your mind slips wondering what he might be like in love, you’ve let the thought go. But now... 

You shrug, grabbing your spoon. “Not much, Spencer. This looks amazing, it’s really pretty. Thank you for cooking.” 

“No problem. Are you sure you’re feeling better? You don’t look so good.” 

You take a quick bite of oatmeal, the spoon scalding your tongue, “Ah,” you say, breathing harshly around it, “I’m fine. Woke up a little wrong, that’s all.” 

Spencer sits in the seat next to you with a soft smile. “Good. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” 

Oh, no, you think, reading way too much into how he says it. No, no, no.

—

ii facts 

We should explore the city, Spencer declares after breakfast, before we forget what it’s like to be outside!

You were outside yesterday before you got home, and everything sucked as much as it usually did —it’s the weekend, and the point of it is to stay home resting and or lazing, but you wouldn’t usually say no to Spencer so you can’t now. He can’t ever know about your dream, so he can’t know how you’re feeling, so you have to be the friends you’ve always been. 

Spencer analyses people for a reason, but you have practice. You’ve successfully hidden what it was that morning that made you feel cagey and tender. He knows something is wrong regardless. He attempts to fix it the best way he knows how: Spencer talks. 

“Cheese production globally outshadows coffee, tea, tobacco, and chocolate, over twenty two million metric tons of it every year, with almost half of that made in Europe alone, which is only a half million metric ton more than what’s being eaten. The average American eats forty two pounds of cheese a year, but I don’t really like cheese that much? So I’m bringing the average down. Besides, every time I eat cheese I get strange dreams.  There’s actually a chemical in cheese called tyramine which is linked to nightmares. Hey, you okay?” 

“Cheese gives you weird dreams?” 

“Why, have you been eating a lot of it lately?” 

“No,” you say resolutely. “I hate cheese. I’ve never eaten cheese before.” 

“That’s a lie.” 

“Let’s get donuts.”

Spencer is easily swayed. You glance around the square for the McDonald’s and follow that to the street with the bakery, landmark to landmark, until the smell of sugar and oil is strong enough to follow. “Do you wanna know something about donuts?” he asks, crushing in behind you as you pass through the heavy wooden door of the bakery and join the line. 

“Sure.” 

“They were first called oily cakes.” 

“I knew that,” you say, “you’ve told me that, Spencer. That’s the first fact anybody thinks of.” 

“Okay, don’t be rude,” he says, giving you a playful poke in the ribs, right into the bruise that isn’t a bruise. 

You look over your shoulder at him, catching his eye. You share a long look that’s daunted on your part and confused on his, brown eyelashes tangling in the corners the longer he looks at you. “What?” he asks, squinting. 

”Nothing.” 

“Okay,” he says, his voice lowering, quiet to match the hush of the bakery and its humming fridges, “don’t tell me. I’ll work it out eventually.” 

“Dude!” 

“What?” he asks with a laugh. 

“Boundaries!” you laugh back. “Stop trying to figure me out.” 

“But there’s something to figure out?” 

He’s evil when he smiles like that. His pride is adorable, giving his sweet face an even fresher look. You’d pinch his cheeks if they weren’t already pinking in the October cold. His scarf hasn’t saved him, his coat buttoned tightly no match for the winds. Not to say it’s a bad day. The weather is fine if you keep your fingers in your pockets and your nose in the depths of your coat. 

“What do we want?” you ask rather than answer. 

They have white icing, chocolate with sprinkles, jelly middles, smiley faces. They have donut holes by the bag. “Hazelnut spread,” you say, pointing at the side of the case. “That looks good.” 

He enters in conspiratorial whispers with you. “Apple cider doughnuts with cinnamon sugar,” he says, pointing at the row below. “What about a double chocolate chunk cookie? They look good. Hey, there’s cake in the fridge.” 

You let him lean into your side. His hair kisses your cheek.  

“Pick whatever you want, okay?” he asks, offering a smaller smile than before. “I’m buying.”

“You can’t, Spencer Reid, I want so many things.” 

“It’s fine, I missed you, I dragged you out when you wanted to stay in bed.” He stares at you. “Let me,” he mouths. 

You ignore the hot twist of your stomach and nod. Okay. 

Spencer buys the baked goods you’d admitted to wanting and the three others you’d eyed, as well as a cookie and two fat slices of red velvet cake. He asks you to carry the box while he pays. The woman behind the counter gives you a knowing look and a flick of her head, as if to say, Lucky you. You can’t quite smile back, distracted by the insinuation. You haven’t thought of it before, but you and Spencer, naturally, look like a couple. You could easily be one. And the idea that she thinks so fills you with a shocking amount of smugness. 

You and Spencer head home before dinner. On the walk back, he pulls the cookie apart and offers you half. 

—

What if, when you fall asleep tonight, you dream of Spencer again? 

You lay on your back with your hand on your chest, drawing circles. The cold of the evening is explained by the rain lashing your window, distant winds coming forceful now. A thunderstorm. You tap the middle of your chest in an attempt to be idle, rather than restless. 

It isn’t a dream you’d like to have again, you decide. Spencer had been soft. You’d been familiar with each other. 

What would it really feel like to have him touch you like that? Is Spencer confident, when he’s comfortable? Is he imposing? 

My stomach, you think slowly, is never going to stop spinning. 

“Y/N?” Spencer asks. 

You can hear him all the way from the kitchen. 

“Yeah?” you ask, raising your voice so it carries. 

“Can I come and sit with you?”

It’s an odd request. You know Spencer’s like you, no social butterfly, quiet and content to spend time by oneself because being with others hasn’t always been an option. He isn’t timid, however, and his asking shouldn’t shock you, but it does. “Sure,” you say, shifting onto one side of the bed. 

Spencer arrives at the ajar door and lets himself in. He carries two bottles of water and a heat pack, which he likes to use when the weather allows it. A creature comfort, you assume. Something soothing and constant, like the sound of a fan at night, or rain on a window. 

“I can’t sleep,” he says, “which doesn’t make much sense.” Spencer sits on the empty side of the bed, his lips pulled into a grimace. “I like the rain.” 

He’s more handsome when he’s smiling, but there’s a charm to him as he passes you a bottle of water and crosses his legs. The plaid slacks he’s wearing are rough with age, dark blues that seem black in the low lighting. 

“Maybe it’s because of work,” you say. 

“Maybe, but I’m pretty used to getting woken up.” 

“Right. It’s not easy, though, the stuff you do. It would keep me up at night if I did your job.” 

“I think sometimes doing my job is the only reason I can sleep.” 

“It's hard. Sounds hard, Spence.” You relax into your pillow, turning to see him. Spencer’s eyes run along your hip for a millisecond, just long enough to remind you that he’s a boy, that he could see you in a different light. 

“It’s okay,” he says. 

“Was it hard, this time?” you ask. 

“No,” he whispers. “I don’t know, it was bad when Emily got hurt, but she’s so stubborn. If Morgan didn’t strap her down she would’ve kept going like nothing happened.” 

You and Spencer have lived together for so long that you remember a time before he even knew Emily. You answered his ad in the paper —you hadn’t realised people still put ads in the paper— looking for a roommate. His apartment was already furnished and he didn’t want to change much, but the second bedroom was spacious and the bathroom could be monopolised. As a girl, you’d been a little dubious reading about a single male looking for any gender, but his self-description was inviting. Twenty-two, just finished a doctorate, working for the FBI and expected to be away from the state at least once a month. 

You’d met Spencer and felt even less intimidated. He was awkward and dorky but friendly, too, with his glasses he apparently didn’t want to wear, but would eventually give in (before choosing contacts), and his big red sweater fit for a grandpa. “I can make more room for you but I can’t get rid of the books,” he said, “so I don’t expect you to pay a neat half.” 

How could you pass it up? 

“I can’t believe I’ve never met them,” you say. 

“Do you want to?” 

He sounds so surprised. “They’re your friends. I’m your… friend.” 

“You’re my best friend. I’ll arrange something, or try to. It’s hard to get us all in one room when that room isn’t the conference room,” he says. 

“You look nice in a t-shirt,” you say, not thinking as the words come out. 

Spencer leans in to whisper, “Thanks. You like this one?” 

His t-shirt says, I may be NErDy, but only periodically. The NErDy is made up of elements from the periodic table. It’s a bad pun. 

“I love it.” 

He reaches for you. Tentative, he squeezes your elbow. “Is there something wrong? All day it’s like… I don’t know, did something happen when I was gone?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

“But…” 

“Please,” you say, as he catches the last bit of light from the hallway, every eyelash illuminated for the counting. “I don’t wanna talk about it, Spencer. But thank you.” 

He, in a move that’s almost uncharacteristic, pushes your arm into the mattress and leans over you. “I wanna be the first one to know when you do wanna talk,” he says firmly, holding your gaze. 

How’s your bruise? 

You nod mechanically. Spencer recedes. “Okay, good,” he says, grinning. 

“Good,” you echo, thinking of Spencer in the dream, his hand on your hip and climbing up your sore ribs. “Let’s watch TV.” 

—

iii. scared of snow 

“You’re being weird.” 

“I’m not,” you refute. 

“You are.” 

Spencer frowns at you, a show full downturn of the lips. A dusting of snow lands in his hair and you both look up to catch it, a drift of it from the marquee as you pass. You don’t remember when it started snowing, but it feels like it’s been coming down for days. It’s in his eyelashes. Your sleeves are wet with it. 

“The snow’s making you strange.”

You hold out your hand with fingers parted, feeling his laugh travelling down his arm and into yours as he takes it, intertwining your fingers tightly. He doesn’t feel cold. 

“It’s making you strange,” you mumble. 

You and Spencer walk down a cobbled road. Snow crunches under your shoes, turned to slush in the high traffic spots by vendors booths left curiously empty of shopkeepers, though their festive wares still line the insides, carved cuckoo birds and metal ornaments, glass balls made to be personalised for mantles. You can smell orange oil and chocolate fudge, crepe carts and churros and cinnamon, and then suddenly any hint of your olfactory sense is gone. 

“It’s so quiet.” 

“It’s the snow,” he says, pulling your arm against his chest as you walk and walk, your footsteps the only sound. “It acts as a sound absorber when it’s fluffy like this. The sound waves get caught.” 

Caught. You think, or say, not sure if it makes it out of your mouth. 

“Like you,” he says, stopping in the middle of the road. 

“What?” you ask. 

Snow lands in his eyelashes. “You’re caught,” he says. 

You wake up thinking his hand is on your cheek. Like a nightmare, you start, still picturing his lips moving around the words. Caught, you think again, heart a hummingbird in your chest. Your mouth is dry. The heat is up —Spencer must be home again. 

You suck in a deep breath and sit up, curling over yourself protectively. 

You dream about Spencer more often than ever, and half the time they’re normal dreams, which is to say, they follow no rhyme or reason, with no discernible plot. Spencer loses all his teeth, or he takes you to the movies to see one of his long Swedish films, or he’s an afterthought, a bystander. The main plot of your dream doesn’t involve him at all. 

But the other half of the time is ruining your life. You dream of Spencer holding your hand like you had been, or touching your shoulder. Never again do you dream of that tender bruise, but Spencer lifts your shirt in other scenarios. He pulls your pyjamas off, his hand inching between your legs but never touching, or he helps you out of your bra. And every time you think, why is this happening to me? Perhaps a sex dream could be explained away by want and Spencer’s proximity, but all these constant intimacies weigh heavy in your head. 

You head to the shower and picture Spencer helping you out of your bra, and all of you goes hot, so you turn the water to lukewarm and stand until you’re cold to the point of misery. You clamber out and shiver into a towel, then your robe. 

Spencer’s humming in the kitchen. 

You honestly wish that the dreams made you like him less, that the sound of him might send you running back into your room, but you poke your head out of the bathroom and wait until he enters the living room. He sees you waiting, his face splitting into a smile. “Hey, good morning, did you sleep better?” 

You can’t explain the discombobulation of your dreams. Spencer had become convinced you have insomnia. You may have let him assume. 

“Slept fine,” you croak. 

“Okay, well get dressed and I’ll make you some coffee.” 

“‘Kay.” Your stomach pangs with nerves seeing him, reminded of tonight’s big event. “Are we still, uh, on, for tonight?” 

“Nervous?” he asks. 

You feel like you're about to be a fish in a pool of sharks. “Of course not.” 

 “Yeah, still on, even JJ.” 

Awesome. Spencer turns around to make you your cup of coffee and you go to your room, dressing quickly, two pairs of socks. You tone your face and moisturise, fanning yourself slowly. You don’t hurry to the living room, but you aren’t slow, and it’s not Spencer, you tell yourself. Not Spencer. You’re just craving the warmth of a cup of coffee. 

You spend the morning together on the couch. Spencer reads and occasionally chats to you about whatever tome it is that specific half an hour. You make sandwiches at lunch time, he showers in the early evening. You get dressed and primped while he’s gone, and at 6PM, Spencer knocks your bedroom door to ask if you’re ready to go. 

“Could I fake an illness?” you joke nervously. 

Spencer’s hand falls on your handle. The door is ajar as usual, but he doesn’t tread any further inside. 

“Come in,” you say. 

Spencer takes a single step inside before stopping. He looks you up and down without the hunger you crave from him, a more clement, familiar appreciation to him as he says, “You look pretty.” He traces your arm, leaving the skin tingly in his wake. “Really pretty.” 

“Thank you. I didn’t want to overdress.” 

“It’s perfect, don’t worry. And no, you couldn’t fake an illness. They all know when I’m lying, especially Hotch. And Emily, actually.” 

You squeeze your hands together tightly at your stomach. “I don’t know why I’m sooo nervous.” You lick your lips. “I feel like I can’t stop fidgeting.” 

“They’re used to it, I promise. They know that they’re gonna make you nervous, but they’ve sworn to be on their best behaviour, and besides, you’re not the only plus one. JJ’s bringing Will, and Morgan’s bringing his sister, I’ve only met her once. The focus won’t be all on you.” He lowers his voice. “After two drinks they forget they’re supposed to be scary.” 

“What if I say something extremely stupid to your boss and get you in trouble?” 

“What are you going to get me in trouble for?” 

“I don’t know. What if I accidentally tell him that that sick day you took a few weeks ago was to help me make brownies?”

“Everyone lies about sick days.” He deliberates. “Maybe not Hotch. But I’m pretty sure he knew I was lying, and it’s explainable. I felt… irate.” 

You raise your eyebrows. “What?” 

“Staying home with you made me feel better. Which made me a better worker the next day, it’s fine.” His phone rings from somewhere in the apartment. “That’ll be JJ. Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Yeah?” He grins. “Okay. You’re wearing a coat, right? It’s cold. The forecast says snow. It’s thirty degrees out.” 

You layer a coat onto your jacket and a scarf to make him happy. You and Spencer get a taxi, black leather gritless under your hands, though you squeeze the seat like it’s gonna stop the car the whole time. Spencer doesn’t talk much, but he looks at you unapologetically, and he smiles, and the quiet is as severe as it was in your dream that morning. If this were a dream he’d be leaning over to cradle your ear. He’d ask in whispers if you were alright, and he’d let his hand rest kindly on your knee. 

“What?” you whisper. 

His lips part like he might answer. The car comes to a crunching stop outside the bar, and whatever it was he was going to say is kept for later. “I’ll tell you after,” he says. 

He pays for the taxi before you can work it out and you say thank you to the driver. The sidewalk is clean, broad, and glowing with the last bit of light. The sun sets behind you. The bar beckons in front. 

Your fear is daunting. 

You have years of practice fooling Spencer. You know that he knows your tells, so you’ve changed them, and Spencer cares about you enough to ignore obvious truths if he thinks you might not want to share. His colleagues, FBI agents trained to detect deception, are going to take one good look at you and know you’re lying about… this. 

You’re plagued by dreams of Spencer, but nothing can touch the real thing. 

You feel the space between you like it’s aflame. Spencer checks you’re with him and opens the door. 

The bar is busy even for a Saturday. You aren’t expecting the volume, the boisterousness of the patrons already slumped together over tables and waiting at the bar to get their drinks. It’s smaller than you’d pictured too, but its size is made up for with a patio at the back, smokers haunting the door, wary of the cold. 

You know what his friends look like already, yet seeing them in person is odd. Hotch is taller than you’d thought, Emily more startlingly pretty. JJ’s frowning, and her partner Will looks like he’s about to fall asleep despite a lazy grin. 

Hotch notices you first. He taps Emily on the elbow, who pauses in a thought to follow his gaze. Her face breaks into a smile, and if you weren’t in love with Spencer Reid, you might take a tumble for his pale coworker. 

“Hello,” Spencer says, ushering you to the table with an arm behind your back. 

“Hi,” you say. 

“He-llo,” Emily says, leaning into the table, a strand of her hair dangerously close to a short glass of juice. “I can’t believe we’re finally seeing you in person. I’m Emily.” 

“Y/N,” you say. 

“Aaron,” Hotch adds. (Aaron! He’s far more intimidating casually than as a boss, it seems.)

“Derek was just here,” JJ says in way of greeting, while Will drawls from over her shoulder, “I’m Will, it’s nice to meet you.” 

Spencer pulls out a chair for you and promptly sits in the one beside Emily. “Sorry we’re late. I forgot my wallet and we had to go back up to the apartment and the cab I called got so angry about it that he left.” 

You slide between the table and your chair, looking to Spencer for guidance, but he’s distracted taking his coat off and you have to look at Aaron instead. 

His smile is immediately knowing. Read for filth in seconds. “We don't bite.”

“Not so early in the evening,” Emily says. 

You take a shuddering breath, thankful they can’t hear it over the sounds of the bar. 

—

“I’m caught!” you exclaim. 

Spencer hugs you under the arms. “I know,” he says gently. 

“Caught!” 

He holds back a laugh as your arms react, practically flung behind his head in a hug that threatens to cut off the oxygen supply to his brain. “I think you’ve caught me, instead,” he says. 

You laugh in his ear. There’s gin on your breath and the sweeter smell of orange juice. It’s not bad, but weird to know it’s from your mouth. Or not weird. It gives Spencer a feeling like seeing the soft curve of your hip when you’re lying on your side. Like watching you bite your bottom lip when you’re distracted by the TV and worrying to yourself, which you do more often than not lately. They’re private things that Spencer shouldn’t know about. 

“I’m not trying to,” you say, and Spencer can smell the shot of vodka you did too, which is less pleasant. “Not trying to catch you. Not… I’m sorry.” 

“What for?” 

“It’s hard to explain.” 

Over your shoulder, Spencer spots Hotch’s entertained gaze. All the team has done since you sat down together was pick on Spencer and his obviousness. Boyfriend? they’d asked you. Looking? Sights set on someone? All while JJ nudged him under the table. 

Things are falling apart now. JJ’d departed to hold Emily’s hair back, and Will with her. Hotch caught the eye of a woman across the way, and they sit chatting amicably at the bar with more peanuts than drinks. Derek, when he did appear, stayed for an hour with Desiree, recounting to you his most embarrassing stories of which Spencer had taken care to shield you from, and laughed at his subsequent blush. 

He never wanted you to know about his run in with anthrax, and he especially didn’t want you to know he’d been stripped nude afterwards and hosed off like a muddy dog. 

You’d turned to him with wide, worried eyes. “You were poisoned?” you’d asked. 

It’s stuff like that that makes this difficult. 

“I don’t know if you know this,” he says now, rubbing your back, “but I’m good with difficult concepts.”

“I did not mean to be like this.” 

“You didn’t eat much.” Spencer helps you stand on your own two feet. “They kitchen’s still open. I can get you food, how about a burger? Or we can go find you something.“

“What kind of burger?” you ask, poorly concealing your excitement. 

Spencer gets you back to the table. “I’ll be right back.” 

“Wait, don’t go.” 

“I’m gonna get food. Do you want fries?” 

“Spencer, what if I throw up?” 

Spencer shrugs. “I can rub your back?” 

“I don’t want to throw up.” 

“Then drink that,” he says, sliding his glass of coke toward you. “Alcohol irritates the lining of your stomach and increases the production of stomach acid. If you drink,” —he flinches as you knock the cup back— “slowly you can dilute your stomach contents without upsetting it. Slowly,” he says, squeezing your hand, “I’ll order food.”

“No, wait.” You drop the glass and grab him. “Please don’t go. I don’t want to throw up by myself.” 

“You won’t throw up.”

“Please,” you say, holding his wrist in both hands, your eyes shiny. “Spencer, don’t go.” 

“I won’t.” He doesn’t know how true it is and then suddenly he’s sat down. He won’t go. He wouldn’t leave your side ever again if that’s what you asked of him. 

He puts your chairs together, entertaining your tipsy thoughts with light conversation and the occasional slight of hand. You have an aura about you, like Spencer’s doing more than close-up magic, hanging on his every word. Your nervousness had you gasping like a fish, not so subtly downing one drink, then another, but now that you’re feeling the effects of them (and a few extras), the tightness you’d held in your fingers is gone. You’re leaning against the back of the chair with all the ease of you on the couch at home, but the easy fondness you’d usually wear while he speaks is replaced by a bright and shining awe. A sweetness like he’s remarkable. The soft line of your lips and your widened eyes. 

You’re not the sort of drunk that leaves you listless and ready for bed. This is giggly and fun, and so long as you don’t push it you’ll be alright. It wasn’t enough alcohol to leave you inebriated all night, anyhow. In a few hours the giddiness will wear away, leaving you with a headache and a deep longing for your missed dinner. 

“I’m glad you didn’t let me fake food poisoning,” you say. 

“Is that what you were thinking? That’s a terrible excuse. You need something with sudden onset symptoms, like an asthma attack, or pneumonia. An acute illness.” 

You take his hand. “I love that you know that stuff.”

Feeling as in love with you as ever, and sorry for you drunken state —he could’ve stopped you, he just didn’t think— he folds your hands together, both of his, rubbing the hills of your knuckles with his thumb. Your hands look right together. 

That’s what Spencer likes to think, anyway. 

You slow like you’re tired, hand lax in his grips. Your mouth opens but nothing follows, no sigh or gripe or conversation. 

“You okay?” he asks softly. 

“I think I’m having one of those dreams again.” 

“You’re awake,” he says. 

“I don’t know about that. They’re all like this.” 

He hums, smoothing his thumb down the back of your hand. “If this were a dream, you wouldn't have control over what you’re doing. Why don’t you do something you wouldn’t do in a dream?” 

“Like what?” you ask. 

“There’s a ton of stuff you can’t do in dreams. People find they have a poor memory, but I can’t ask you to recall anything. You might not remember regardless. How about temperature?” he suggests. “Most people can’t feel warm or cold in their dreams. Do you want to feel something cold?”

You watch him for a few seconds, your eyebrows pulled together unhappily. “Your hands are warm,” you say. 

“Right.” He suspects they’ll feel warmer in just a few seconds when the hot flush in his face manages to work its way down. “I’m warm. So are you.” 

“Sometimes I feel like you’re warm in the dream, though. You make me feel warm.” 

“It’s remembered, maybe.” 

You don’t look any happier. “Sometimes I wish I could stop having them, but…” You duck your head. “Sorry, Spencer.” 

“What are you sorry for?” 

Your head ducks lower. With a start to his chest, your shoulders shake, like you're inhaling the first half of a sob. 

“Hey, hey,” he says, reaching for your cheek, ducking his own head to see you, “what’s wrong? It’s okay, you don’t have anything to be sorry for!” he whispers emphatically. “You have nothing to be sorry for, why would you think that?” 

“I keep having these dreams, all the time, and– and I– I’ll mess everything up. Everything we have, I’m going to–” You hiccup, eyes turned glassy, imploring him to forgive you for something you haven’t done. “I don’t feel good.” 

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he says, his hand sliding back to your ear, down to your neck, “you’re just drunk. You’re confused.” 

“But the dreams–”

“What dreams?” he asks gently. 

You blow out a daunted breath. “Where you love me.” 

“I do love you.” 

“But more than this. You love me more than this,” you say, shaking your head. “I really don’t feel okay… Do you think we could go home?” 

You’re so sorry and frowny that Spencer would attempt, in all his unfitness, to climb Mount Everest for you should you ask. “Yeah, we can go home,” he says, rubbing your arm up and down and up again, a line of affection from shoulder to wrist. “I’ll take you home. It’s okay, Y/N. You don’t have to be upset, I shouldn’t have asked.” 

He’s not sure what he asked, really, but the answer upset you. His heart’s racing like he just sprinted the length of the bar and you’re close to tears, this strange weepy sullenness about you as you say, “It’s okay. Let’s just go.” 

—

It’s cold to be sitting out by yourself, though the snow stayed its hand another night while the temperature fell again. Your coat poses a weak defence against the chill, nipping at your nose, burning the insides of every breath, and your feet are stiff like ice in your shoes. Yet, the idea of returning to the apartment is a leaden stone in your stomach. 

Spencer could barely look at you that morning. You hadn’t given him much of a chance, slipping out of the apartment with little more than a call to say you’d be back later. Your groceries freeze in a paper bag by your feet. 

You’re not too embarrassed about getting tipsy. It was drinks with Spencer and his friends, not dinner. Emily had been twice as drunk, and Derek had encouraged you to drink with a round on him. You’re mortified, however, by what you’d said. Your memory is clear enough to know you’d told Spencer about your dreams. 

He’d been confused at the time, but he’s a smart boy. He’ll figure it out. 

“This headache,” you mumble, tipping your head into your hand morosely. You rub your brow, fingers against the ache, the cold getting worse. 

Why did it take a dream for you to realise you had feelings for Spencer? And why did you have to realise at all? If you’d never had that dream, never had that phantom bruise, his hands careful and caring and touching up to the band of your bra, you wouldn’t know now what it is to want him. The dream gave you a bruise, and Spencer presses against it real or otherwise every time he looks at you. You were wrong thinking that it never happened; it’s still there, a purple lash against your ribs. 

Every time he makes you breakfast, or he texts you from a different state, or he sits down on the couch just to talk to you. Every time he says something smart, or he tilts his head back as he laughs, or he draws a smiley face on the mirror by the door–

“About those dreams?” 

You rub your eyes hard. Of course he’d come to find you. “Please don’t.” 

“Please,” he says. You see him through your fingers. His thick scarf is unravelled at his neck, his hair ragged around his face like he’s been raking it repeatedly behind his ears. 

You straighten. 

“I don’t get it,” he says, “you’ve been dreaming about me? Why is that such a big deal?” 

“It’s embarrassing.” 

“I dream about you all the time,” he says. “We’re in each other's lives, we live together, it makes sense that your hippocampus would use me. You have a lot of memories with me.” Spencer crosses his arms in front of you. “It’s freezing.” 

“I’ll be home in a bit.”

“I’m not gonna go back without you,” he says, like that’s a given. 

You move across the bench to make room for him. Spencer sits. 

You settle. The occasional bus trundles past, a limited rota for an early Sunday morning. Spencer shoves his hands into his pockets. His lips are already turning blue. 

“I know you know what I mean,” you say. 

Spencer presses his knees together. “Even romantic dreams where I’m… where we’re together, it’s all easily explained away by brain science. You can’t control what you dream, and I’m not going to hold you to it.” 

Silence, silence. You tip your head back to see a horrible grey cloud closing in on you both, the sun a white and gauzy memory behind it. Spencer’s right about control, but he doesn’t get that you like them. It’s not fair to him that you’ve somehow rallied a second life when you’re sleeping, where he’s your mind’s puppet, hugging and holding you, pressing his cheek to the side of your face. Saying things you wish he’d tell you now. 

“Well, I like you.” 

“What?” you ask, coughing. 

“Not to make things awkward or anything, but I like you. Romantically.” Spencer’s voice takes a sharp veer into high-pitched freneticism. “Does that help at all?” 

“What?” 

“It’s far more embarrassing that I like you on purpose than your accidental dreams, right?” He thumbs at the inside of his wrist. “You don’t have to say anything, or think anything, and I’m not going to change, but I have feelings for you.”  

You feel like you’re standing at the top of a very tall building. “Oh?” 

“I kind of thought you knew.” 

“How could I know that?” you ask, cringing as a cold gust of air bites at your face. 

Spencer takes his scarf off and pushes it into your hands. “I don’t know. I guess we know less about each other than we thought.”

The way he says it. 

Spencer wraps his scarf around you when it’s clear you aren’t going to do it yourself, and he touches your cheek briefly, a brush of his fingers like he thinks he’s doing something he shouldn’t be allowed to. 

“I dream about you all the time,” he says quietly. 

A bus passes by and shines headlights at your feet. The wind blows, your ears roar, and just above you, in a cold front to mark the season, snow begins to fall. 

You look up simultaneously. A snowflake gets caught in Spencer’s eyelashes. 

Just one. 

“This is so weird,” you mumble. 

Spencer wipes at his eye. “Could you tell me why?” 

“I had a dream just like this.” 

He laughs warmly. “Of course you did. Forget all reason, then. You’re prophetic.” 

“I don’t think I could’ve predicted this.” 

“Why? It’s only snow. Virginia gets an inch of snow most Decembers.” 

You laugh. In a dream, this is where you and Spencer would kiss or hold hands, or rest your cheek on the other’s shoulder, but neither of you are brave enough. And, as the snow turns to a sleet below freezing, you can’t ignore the cold. 

—

iv. the end 

The longest anyone has ever slept in recorded human history is eleven days. Two hundred and sixty four hours, or nearly sixteen thousand minutes, just shy of one million seconds of sleep. 

The first pillow was invented in Mesopotamia more than nine thousand years ago, in a time where the amount of pillows a person had directly correlated their personal riches. The history of pillows is tumultuous and eclectic. Headrests made of wood, stone, or jade. Curved neck holders worn soft with use. 

And, of all Spencer’s gifted facts, you find yourself circling back to the same one as you wait for him to wake: most dreams are no longer than twenty minutes. However, it’s important to note that the longest dream ever officially observed was in 1994, when a man managed to be in REM for just over three hours. You’ve had dreams that felt like they lasted for hours, but likely took place for just twenty minutes. If you could dream for three hours a night, you could live an entire life of longing in a pocket of time. 

Thankfully, you have no need to hide from reality anymore. Spencer sleeps beside you and you don’t want to sleep, you just want him to wake up. 

“Good morning,” you whisper, drawing your fingertip across his cheek to encourage the hair that’s fallen there back in line. 

He doesn’t stir. It’s alright, you hadn’t meant to wake him. 

“I love you,” you whisper, shuffling across the sheets to feel the heat and weight of his body against your own. He doesn’t move for a while, snoring gently, his breath kissing the top of your head as you burrow into the slip of space under his chin. Then, as if he were awake, he wraps his arm around you and drags you in further. His face angles down and his nose finds your forehead, and a hum of what you’d personally say is content kisses your brow. 

You tuck your hand behind his back and rub a circle. 

Spencer didn’t last long after the initial realisation of requited feelings. In a day he’d asked if you wanted to be his girlfriend (vaguely apologetic, still worried about scaring you, though you’d already come clean about wanting him as you’d warmed your cold hands by the stove). A week later he kissed you on a date outside of the cosiest Indian restaurant in Washington, D.C, and things have been nothing but smooth sailing from there. 

Now, when he’s feeling romantic, he brings home butter chicken and turns your face up for kissing, fork in hand. Every night before bed, he tells you to have good dreams, a self-satisfaction in his eyes that you dearly love. 

You knew he was a dork and you liked him because of it, but the sheer increase in him is amazing. Yesterday he sent you Close to You by Carpenters over text claiming they wrote it about you. When he got home, he tried to make you dance with him in the living room. After two or three kisses, you’d let him pull you to your feet. 

Spencer has turned loving one another into an everyday spectacularity, and not some mystical dream you ached for. 

He squeezes the skin of your shoulder as he wakes. Heavy in the hands of sleep, Spencer rubs the tip of his nose to yours, nudging your face up, and waiting there with your lips a few millimetres apart as he finds his bearings. You don’t open your eyes. There’s no need. 

“Time?” he mumbles.

“I don’t,” —you clear your hoarse voice, his hand flattening protectively behind you— “know, um. Maybe seven. The sun was rising…” 

“You could have woken me up,” he says, and kisses you slowly. It’s almost gluttonous, how he does it. Not chaste at all. His hair falls into your face and tickles your cheeks, his nose smushes your own with his easy depth. 

You hold his face and kiss him twice, following a line under his chin, where you pause, smelling yesterday's cologne on his skin. “I was hoping I’d fall asleep again,” you confess. 

“Oh, no, don’t do that.” He scoops you against him and turns onto his back as you laugh. “Angel. Let’s stay up now. Let’s just… stay here.” 

If you stay here he’s going to waylay you with a smattering of his voracious kisses, and he’s going to turn you on your back and kiss your neck. He’ll touch that place on your ribs where you’d once dreamt a bruise. It’s a secret you couldn’t keep. He likes to kiss you there when he remembers, but most of the time his hands run along it without mention. A slow caressing. 

You push your face against his shoulder and sigh as his arms close in around you. With a little effort, you get your arms around him in turn, and you hug him for as long as you can stand the pins and needles in your fingers. 

“You smell so good,” you mumble.

He pats your back absentmindedly. 

Today, you’re going to make Spencer oatmeal with banana and chocolate. You’re going to shower, maybe together if the small space can handle it, laughing at the soap in his eyebrows and the way he squeals when you touch his hips. You’re going to drape yourself across his lap as he reads, and he’ll lean down to kiss the tip of your nose or some other strange part of you unused to affection. The top of your ear, the palm of your hand, maybe the crook of your elbow. He’ll ramble through dinner or creep up behind you to sniff your shoulder, and it’ll all be choices you’ve made. Nothing left to want or wanting, but being in love while wide awake. 

“Are you tired?” you ask him. 

He takes a deep breath of your hair. “No,” he says, drawing a light line up your side, “I’m okay. There are worse faces to wake up to.”

You try not to fluster noticeably. He’s always been a good roommate. You’re still getting used to the boyfriend part, the intimacy of being complimented, but Spencer seems to have slipped into the part easily.

“Sorry, that was mean. There’s nothing I’d rather wake up to.” 

“Thanks,” you mumble. 

You’re tired, suddenly. The minutes pass in heavy blinks —you don’t want to sleep now that he’s awake, but being here with him is warming you from the inside out.  You doze and wake and Spencer doesn’t say a word. His breaths come evenly against your cheek. 

Eventually, he clears his throat, asksing, “Did you dream at all?” His voice is hewn. He rubs your chest, right over your heart.

”I’m not so sure that this isn’t one,” you say, your heartbeat a crawl under his touch.

“That’s corny.” 

“Mm, the Spencer in my dreams is usually kinder.” 

“Does he ever get to hold you like this?” he asks, letting his hand fall from your chest to wrap it back around you again. 

You take a sleepy breath in. “No,” you say slowly, “he doesn’t.”

｡𖦹°‧⭑.

thank youuuu for reading!! please like comment or reblog if you enjoyed!! thank you❤️

this fic was requested! I usually link to the request I was sent at the top, but I lost the post for this one, but this is what the request said: 

“hi angel! i have a request for roommate!spencer where r has a very romantic dream about him and starts avoiding him because she's really embarrassed but spencer is so confused as to why his roommate suddenly can't even look him in the eye. maybe one of them realizes their feelings aren't entirely platonic in the end? love you!!!”

thank you original requester! 

[go-fornicate-yourself]

Every day I am in the trenches fighting for my life defending this poor man. He was going through so much and people online demonize him and say he's as bad as his abuser

(I've got a lot of thoughts about this so I'll make sure to separate things to make it easier to look at lol)

Curly is a victim of abuse. Jimmy is his abuser. This is something that I feel a lot of people tend to brush over or don't acknowledge it often.

And I'm not just talking about post-crash. Jimmy's abuse of Curly is there pre-crash too. The party scene where the crew learns about the company going under is a huge example of this. Jimmy verbally abuses him, he gaslights him, he blames him for their (his) misfortune. Jimmy accuses Curly of thinking he's better than everyone (better than him), that he doesn't care about them (about him). That he's going leave them (leave him). Which is not true. Curly tries to explain himself but Jimmy shuts him down and he just takes it.

The fact that he just allows this to happen makes it seem like he's used to this... That this kind of behavior is a recurring thing with Jimmy. And the fact that nobody else tries to defend him or stands up to Jimmy just normalizes it for him. When Anya tells Curly what Jimmy did it catches him off guard. Bc he genuinely didn't think that his friend was capable of that. It wasn't something that was obvious to him. There were absolutely many red flags in the past but they were subtle enough for him to not see them bc he cares for Jimmy, he trusts him. Jimmy's the only one he feels he can open up to, who he can let his guard down with. Jimmy's his home. That's how close they are.

Because of this deep love for his friend and the subtlety of Jimmy's cruelty, he doesn't see the constant verbal and emotional abuse as what it is: abuse. Which is why he finds Jimmy's abuse towards Anya so shocking and jarring.

He isn't a man covering for his rapist friend bc of the 'bro code'. It does look like that from a certain angle and it's understandable why people see it that way but that's not what his character is really about as much as it makes sense otherwise.

He's essentially a battered housewife who's still in love with her husband but is realizing for the first time that the man she loves is a monster. That the man she loves and devoted her life to has been hurting her this whole time and she didn't even realize it. That the man she loves and spent so much of her life caring for has gone and hurt someone else. That he's most likely hurt others before and she's been utterly unaware of it the entire time she defended him and made excuses for him when he wasn't the best or the fairest or the most responsible or when he screwed up yet again solely bc of how much she loved and cared for him.

And Curly barely had any time to process ANY of that before Jimmy decided to try and kill them all to avoid the consequences of his actions. It was ultimately a selfish act even if he thought he wasn't just doing it for himself. Jimmy is selfish and needs to be in control or he loses it. He cares for Curly. He loves him. Curly's done so much for him. Curly's the only one who understands him, who doesn't hate him. Curly's his home. He resents how 'successful' he is but that's only bc he thinks so highly of him. He constantly puts himself down and put Curly on a pedestal and worships him while simultaneously mistreating him.

He treats his best friend like shit, he's awful to him. But he's not aware that this is the case or maybe he's in denial about it. He can't or just refuses to see how he's doing all of what he does for himself in the end. He justifies his attempt to kill them all (to himself and to Curly) by claiming he's doing this for them both. That if they were to get back to earth it would all be Curly's fault, that it'll ruin his life and career... despite the fact he had basically nothing to do with Anya's abuse. Jimmy's shifting the blame on him while acting like he cares for him. Well, he does genuinely care for him but clearly not nearly enough to not mistreat him or use him as a scapegoat for his own guilt.

Jimmy is the rapist, Jimmy is the one who does all of these horrible things. And yet it's highly likely that Curly would just blame all of it on himself bc that's exactly what Jimmy did to him. He's in so deep he can't see the facts of the situation.

It takes abuse victims so long to come to terms with their abuse. It takes time and reflection to see things with an unbiased and healthy perspective. Abuse (especially years of it) isn't just something you can just escape. It consumes you and can twist your reality. Curly had about a week or less to process all of it and then take action in a way that protected his crew and abided by Pony Express' guidelines. Dealing with something this serious in a setting that makes resolving it extremely difficult in a practical sense is already hard.

There were no locks on any of the doors except for medical and the cockpit. They couldn't just kill him. There was nowhere they could detain Jimmy that wouldn't involve corporate potentially penalizing the entire group. They could have used the cryopods but then there'd only be three available for any actual emergency and there were already five crew members and four pods in total. Also, I doubt corporate would be 'okay' with them using the cryopods for anything other than their intended purpose. Hell, even if they were able to make it back to earth without any incidents there's a good chance that corporate would consider the situation 'poor team synergy' and collectively punish the entire crew for Jimmy's actions.

So on top of having to deal with an already difficult situation, Curly has to grapple with the realization that Jimmy a: abused Anya, b: has been abusing him as well (for a very long time too), and c: has probably abused others before Anya and he had no idea about it. He needed to act but he didn't and it doomed all of them.

But it's so unrealistic (maybe even cruel) to put that much pressure on someone, force them through an utterly earth-shattering realization, and then expect them to do the correct/right/responsible thing in that moment. It's a little ironic how people vilify him for that when other characters do the same thing that nobody blames for it.

Anya is the ship's nurse. Curly is the ship's captain. They both have duties and responsibilities on board the Tulpar. She has to keep the crew healthy and safe and is the only one with enough medical knowledge to do so. He has to make sure that everything goes well and goes according to procedure. He's responsible for the crew, the cargo, and even the ship itself. Both positions are integral and require a lot of responsibility to do properly

They're both put through distressing and traumatic situations where due to them being human people with emotions and fears that make them essentially avoid their responsibility/doing what's required of them.

Curly has a freeze response and doesn't act when he should have when it was crucial to have done so. Anya has a fawn response and essentially puts her patient in danger and harm's way. She knew full well what Jimmy was capable of. She experienced it herself and she witnessed it happening to Curly as well. And yet she allows Jimmy to be alone with Curly while being fully aware of how dangerous he is. Which she shouldn't have, that wasn't the 'right' thing to do. Keeping him safe was her responsibility.

But Anya's human. She's going through a lot at the moment. She's terrified of Jimmy and she's trying to appease him so he doesn't hurt her again. It's a natural very understandable thing to do even if it's not the 'right' or 'responsible' thing. They failed each other when they needed each other most and I think that's the most tragic part of it. If anything, all of them failed each other in some way, shape, or form.

So it's incredibly frustrating to see people give Anya so much sympathy and grace for doing something so human yet still 'wrong' but then turn around and give Curly none of that for doing essentially the same thing she does.

I don't know for sure if it's actually because Curly is a man or if it's only part of it or maybe some people just lack that sense of awareness but it's depressing and frustrating as fuck as a male victim of sexual violence and abuse to see this kind of behavior and this much victim blaming towards a character who is undeniably a victim of abuse like I am.

[helslastangel]

RANDOM ASTRO OBSERVATIONS #10

Nobody's safe. That's it. That's the disclaimer.

Libra Jupiter in 11th house can indicate having many opportunities in life that come through friendships and connections with others. People with this placement can often get very far in life simply because they talked to the right people at the right times. This is especially true if they also have Libra in their big 3 or Libra mercury.

Capricorn suns with Sagittarius mercury are surprisingly chill compared to the usual stoic reputation of Capricorn and energetic rep that Sagittarius has. My favorite friends and colleagues have this combination of placements and they are quite easy to get along with and fun to be around.

Very much like Virgo suns with Libra mercury, they can appear quiet and reserved at first, but become lively and chatty once they know you and have decided they like you. However unlike Virgo sun/Libra mercury people (who usually censor their words/tone and think out loud or form their opinions by talking through them first), not only are they a lot blunter (or straightforward, when older), they are more sure about where they stand, or certain of what they want to say on a topic before they say it.

Libra Mercury in the 11th house can have a lot of friends or just make and keep acquaintances very easily. These are the people who always "know a guy" or can say "my homegirl does that!" almost no matter what problem or need you have. They just know someone who can fix it. They are popular people, or at least seem that way to others.

They can sometimes appear to have a much larger network of friends and connections than they do, which is why many of them tend to either keep their friend/friend groups separate or may prefer to maintain superficial/lightweight connections with others over deeper and more intimate connections that would reveal more.

Capricorn Venus in 8th house people can go through a lot of one-sided relationships before landing the right person. They are probably the most caring and attentive of all the Venus sigs, but from my observations they are taken advantage of a lot and often treated very poorly by the majority of their partners.

My childhood friend has this placement (as well as a few of my relatives) and for over a decade I watched her pour so much love and care into men who ended up treating her like an afterthought. I never understood why, as she was very much what you'd think most males would consider wifey material.

She cooked, baked, was organized, and very clean. Motherly instincts intact, had a good job in healthcare and her own place. Knew how to kick back and have fun but could also be appropriately authoritative in the sense of managing a household. Like you could just tell she would be a firm yet loving mother, or even if she did not have kids, you could tell she would be the kind of wife where the husband could hand her his entire paycheck if he wanted and not have to worry for a second that she would blow it on anything foolish. Very capable and responsible woman. I used to get so angry at the way men would come into her life and enjoy all the things she would do for them, including having her manage their money. It was a bit surprising for me how quickly and easily men would put their finances in her hands, only for them to abruptly leave - usually for a woman who was chaotic and stressful too. I did not understand it then, and despite hearing all the talk about how men go for who they are passionate about even if they are the least productive, responsible, or capable person ever, I still don't get it now.

Capricorn in the 8th house can lead to a lot of situations where the native ends up handling other people's money because people can sense their stable energy and innate responsibility. But it can lead to the person feeling like they are nothing but a personal assistant or sentient savings account to others, and over time they can become (100% understandably) bitter if they do not meet someone genuine and kind in time to avoid this.

Aquarius in 6th house can have unusual or eccentric daily routines, or little quirks in the way they go about day to day tasks and responsibilities. I knew someone with this placement who could only brush his teeth in the morning and shower at night. He couldn't really bring himself to do it the other way around and would simply not do the thing at all that day if something disrupted that routine. He also had a job where his # of hours was consistent but his actual shift times weren't and he liked it that way "for the variety." He hated the thought of a schedule where he would have to arrive and leave at the same time every day.

Cancer Lilith in 1st house women can often run into situations where men string them along for a very, very long time. These men sense the stereotypical "nurturing/motherly" essence of Cancer but Cancer Lilith women display a unique twist on this essence where it is very clear to onlookers that her individuality and sense of self cannot be watered down or blended out into others.

Cancer Lilith 1H (and to a lesser extent Taurus Lilith 1H) women are the type who can have a husband, kids, work and manage the home without losing a single ounce of who they always were.

From my observations, they usually don't experience the fate many women meet, where they wake up one day and realize that they haven't even heard their first name in weeks because they're only remembered and referred to in terms of who they are to someone else ("Mom," "John's girlfriend," "Mr. Jones' wife").

Unfortunately, this rubs some men the wrong way, who will then subconsciously try to hang on to the parts of the Cancer Lilith women they like, while searching for other women who don't trigger their fear of women who retain their personality after marriage/children.

Gemini Sun Virgo Rising people can appear put-together and organized in public but could have very messy rooms or just have trouble keeping things in order at home.

People with Pisces in their 7th house might feel torn between going after people they are genuinely attracted to and people they perceive to be a better match, for whatever reason. They could also end up confusing the sense of security they feel with someone for love, or feeling more secure with someone than they should because of love.

Gemini Mars in 10th house does not mind going out of their comfort zone to further their career. They may even set aside their own values and morals if they believe that doing something will produce a good return on their investment (of time, effort, money, etc.).

Taurus Mercury in 9th house enjoys talking to people from other cultures about the foods they eat and what their daily routines and special/holiday ritual are like. They enjoy learning about other cultures on a more down-to-earth level, so they might be less interested in other philosophies and more into sensory differences.

Cancer Moon in 11th house identifies VERY strongly with their friend group and can become depressed or ill if there is too much discord between themselves and their friends, or between their friends with each other. They do not take kindly to any kind of abandonment from friends, real or imagined. If they decide you have left them or betrayed them one too many times, they will simply never speak to you again.

Virgo Mars people can be extremely picky when it comes to partners. One of my childhood friends has this placement and despite being a Sagittarius Sun & Mercury (along with having Venus in 9H), she barely has a romantic interest in anyone. She's not aromantic or asexual; she just gets the ick so easily that it is difficult for her to like anyone enough to date them for long. She didn't go into detail most of the time. She was the furthest from the kiss-and-tell kind of person, she would barely tell anyone even the name or age of anyone she was interested in, much less give details about her specific icks.

I tend to attract Virgo Mars people platonically and romantically quite often though, so I have other examples of the same trait.

My ex-husband is a Virgo sun with Virgo Mars and Leo Venus and the smallest things would throw him off. Like if I made scrambled eggs and all the pieces weren't perfectly yellow (if any got slightly browned, he would consider the entire pot as "burnt" and would ruin his day). If I did laundry and did not strictly separate the colors (I will wash black, dark grey, and bold colors clothes together. He will separate them all. I will wash off-white and very light grey or beige with white clothes. He would look at me crazy and ask me to just do a different household chore and leave the laundry to him. Hea

He also apparently got the ick from my frugality? Lol. I had cheap sneakers and dollar-store headphones when we first got together. A few weeks later he asked where I was and I told him I was at the mall with a friend. He showed up and wordlessly gave me brand-new Samsung Galaxy earbuds before driving home lmao. Then a couple weeks after that he bought me new AirMaxes and made it a point to tell me that my existing sneakers were so cheap. And that he got good ones for me in a style that "makes your feet look smaller." I guess my foot size was not to his liking. Lol. I'm almost 6 feet tall and wear size 9.5/10 women's shoes (for males reading this, that is around 8/8.5 in your sizes, so don't start, pls

A previous ex of mine (Cancer Sun) also had Virgo Mars (and Venus) but he had the opposite ick - he didn't like that I always wore nice jeans and blouses even if we were only going to Walmart or his friends' houses. Apparently, it was "off-putting" for him that I was "too fancy, never just dress down and look comfortable, even in the house." I was like... but I am comfortable? And he would be like, "Nah you're so fancy all the time, it's kinda weird, like do you even own any sweatpants? Your hair is never messy? It's like you're never just relaxed."

Um, as a Scorpio Venus/Jupiter, Libra Mercury person, messy hair will never be in the same room as comfortable for me but we are broken up for a reason, LOL.

Yeah Virgo Mars are just really, really picky. Idk how else to put it. They might be bothered by very different things, but they're all bothered in general! Love 'em regardless, they're also attentive and will know what you like and also what you need.

Leo Mars in 2nd house can have a hard time feeling satisfied with what they own or with their level of skill in certain areas. They don't usually express envy outwardly though. They will happily gas up their friends and colleagues, but implode on themselves in private.

They can have frequent pity parties or episodes of extreme self-loathing that only their closest friends or partners ever witness. It can be difficult to pull them out of these moods as they tend to feel like they either don't have enough or are not enough in some way.

Aquarius Eros men and masculine people are often attracted to women and feminine people with strong or eccentric personalities. They lust after the kinds of people who didn't even bother rocking the boat and jumped out to swim upstream and chill somewhere else.

However, unless they have Juno in Aquarius, Aquarius 7H or some other placements that support long-term relationships/marriages/longevity with unusual people or non-traditional elements, they eventually abandon such love interests for someone who fits better into societal expectations. Ask me how I know. :(

[etheries1015]

I had sort of a crack idea of what would the non-human twst boys do if their crush or s/o was allergic to them? Savanaclaw and Octonivelle with like the fur allergy and seafood allergy. Maybe diasomnia’s s/o has some sort of fairy allergy? Sorry if this is too silly for you to write, it’s alright if you don’t 😭

I LOVE THIS BECAUSE I'VE HAD A SIMILAR THOUGHT i'm allergic to cats and i'm like...man what am I gonna do around Grim BUAHAHA...this is a great idea. Nothing is too silly to write my friend!

Non-human Twst boys reacting to a S/O who is allergic to them!

featuring: Savanaclaw and Octavinelle!

general warnings: gender neutral reader, not really proof read \

TW: None! just fluff. and allergies.

Leona

The first time you sneezed around him, they didn't know it was literally BECAUSE of him. This was until you two took a nap together for the first time, and when you woke up he saw your face...Oh, brother. Your eyes were puffy and red, congested, and your nose leaked like nobody's business. He genuinely felt bad about this, but wouldn't let you in on his true feelings/emotions. Without understanding the cause (though he had an inkling) he immediately took you to the doctor.

"They're allergic to me? What kind of shitty nonsense is that?!"

Leona invested in the most expensive of healthcare for you. Allergy pills and whatnot, because he wasn't about to sacrifice his lovely naps with his significant other. No amount of allergy is gonna stop him from getting what he wants, and that is your affection.

Ruggie

"Sooo...basically you're saying you're allergic to me? Cause' im part heyena?"

"It's a little more complicated than that. It's more like...animal dander? I guess?" You didn't seem to certain in your answer either, it was more or less a guess since...well, there wasn't half beast half human where you are from. You can only make an educated guess on why you're so allergic to him based off of the information you had back at home.

Ruggie is honestly so sad about this. He can't afford to get you any treatments or medical help with this, so you two just have to be careful. He does manage to get his hands on some special washing products (probably legally) and takes extra care of what he eats, and how clean he his. He's consistently brushing his hair and cleaning his ears.

"Man i'm such a simp. What's wrong with me?!" ...He isn't used to bending backward for people. But seeing you so sick around him, hurt him even more than his pride, so he of course would do anything to make sure you're as comfortable around him as possible. Ahh...the power of love <3

Jack

He gives me the "I must stay away from you for your own good," Type. Although this doesn't last very long. Jack is incredibly loyal, and he's far too attached to let you go. There's times where he would try and keep a distance (much to your annoyance), but when you began sneezing and itching your eyes you knew he was somewhere nearby. Jack is protective like that, but it pains his heart to see you so sick because of something he cannot control.

He does both a mix of what Ruggie and Leona does. He took up extra part-time jobs to afford good allergy medication for you, the entire works. Pills, eye drops, nasal sprays, breathing treatments...He also invests in high-quality shampoo and conditioner to help rid of his dander and hopefully reduce the amount of shedding he has.

With the amount of hair Jack has, he is CONSTANTLY brushing it and it is CONSTANTLY shedding. He does EVERYTHING under the sun to control this, all for you. Although... this is a partnership! You told him that a relationship goes two ways. You love him regardless of how itchy you may get, and you equally chip in to problem-solve.

You're both loyal to each other until the very end, no matter what trivial matters may get in your way <3

Azul

He knew before you two started dating that you had a severe allergy to seafood, so he made it a point to avoid you. But...that didn't stop YOU from coming to HIM. It was one of the things that drew him towards you, the way even though you were gaining a rash you would still wrap your arms around the back of him. Although it wasn't as bad in his human form, he was always terrified what would happen if he were to unleash his original form.

But worry not! We are talking about the literal king of potionology. He finds a remedy very quickly, and you trust him...a little too fast. He is astonished when he says;

"Take this...the second you drink this your allergies will be something of the past. But be warned-" You grabbed it out of his hand and chugged it. He stared at you with his jaw slacked open, his face turning a deep shade of hot red when you throw yourself onto Azul and place a big fat kiss against his cheek.

He imploded. But hey! his potion worked! He tried to get you to give him some sort of paypack, but you mentioned that your form of payment was in that kiss.

He now demands kisses every time he makes the potion for you <3 It's kind of a silent agreement. He just stares at you after you're done drinking it, and whenever you feign ignorance the point upon his lips is far too obvious.

Jade

The first time you broke out in hives, he remained completely calm. Jade is rather smart, and he understands your allergy must be because of his disposition as a mer-folk. Although in human form, he couldn't help but notice the way you would hide your rashes either behind makeup or by bulking clothing. He was amused by this for a moment, but when he saw it worsen he couldn't help but become worried.

"Why would you go so far for me? what do you gain by allowing yourself to become sick?" When you replied with a blush that you simply liked Jade, thus his shock soon turned into action. He excused himself for a few days to climb mountains and collect the most effective of flowers and medicinal remedies for allergies and put together a potion that you were able to take to alleviate your symptoms.

He isn't the vice house warden for nothing! His talents and magic prowess truly aided him, albeit in a way that was seemingly selfish. It was all worth it for you, though.

But he does use you as an example during a class project in potionology, having you stand up in front of the class while he compares your allergies before and after taking the potion.

He got a 100% in the project. And a Significant other. A win-win for everyone!

Floyd

Floyd is much smarter than he lets on. The moment he hugs you from behind and touches your arm, he notices the rash right away. He eyed it with a frown, and without saying anything he let go of you much to your dismay, leaving you to your lonesome for a few days on end.

You had to admit you missed Floyd, his silly jokes and way of talking, his unpredictable personality, and the attention he would often give y you. While sitting at the table during a free period, your head was propped up against your hand and a sad sigh escaping your lips.

"Ehhhh? Why is shrimpy sitting here all alone? Didya miss me?" A familiar voice teased as arms wrapped around you and something akin to a vegetable drink set in front of you. You gasped and smile up at the tall male, who wasn't wrapping his arms around you as you were used to, typically ignoring the itching of your rashes. He convinced you to drink what he sat in front of you, and although you eyed it with suspicion, you sighed and drank it in one gulp and tightly shut eyes.

Nothing happened. You turned to look over at Floyd, about to question the purpose of making you drink the (surprisingly tasty) smoothie-like liquid but were quickly interrupted by lips pressing against your own.

The kiss caught you off guard and you began to panic, talking about your allergy...before you realized that nothing was happening. No rash, no itchiness, nothing.

"Seeeee? It's a potion. I made Azul make it for me. Now I can touch you as much as I want," He smiled proudly. However he managed to convince Azul would forever be beyond you...

He forgets to give you the potion sometimes, only when you two are cuddling and a rash or itching pops up do the both of you realize it's time for a dose.

Ya'll are so silly for each other <3

[gay-dorito-dust]

Whew you came in time. I’d like to request Wolverine (from the Deadpool movie in particular) with a very caring and affectionate s/o. Once again, my weakness for grumpy/traumatized individual x sunshine shows

Logan oftentimes wondered why you, someone so kindhearted and willing to do anything just to see someone smile, stayed by his side especially after everything he’s done.

He didn’t believe himself to be that great of a partner either when it counted but you’d always shone him that beautiful smile of yours and told him that he was anything but a bad partner. Oh how he too wishes he could accept that as the definitive truth but given how he had lead his life up until meeting you, Logan couldn’t help but think otherwise.

He had lost the ability to trust a long time ago and would instead double down on an inherited belief that he didn’t need nobody but himself, assuming that he was meant to walk this life a lone wolf he believed himself to be. Unfortunately for Logan he was a human as everybody else and humans more often then not craved connection, relationships and so on with other human beings.

Logan was no exception to this rule, no matter how often he thinks he’s not, but has forced himself to the point where he physically couldn’t stay within the presence of someone the moment he starts to deeply care for them. He couldn’t bear to be the reason someone else dies, regardless whether his part was intentional or unintentional.

So when you came into his life like a shining beacon, a second chance, everything within him told him to run away and maintain distance so that his bad luck doesn’t rub off on you and causes to to be sent to an easy grave. However you were rather stubborn for someone so soft and sweet that no matter what Logan did to put distance between the two of you, you were quick to close the distance with a knowing look within your eyes as you placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘It’s okay.’ You tell him. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Don’t promise something you don’t intend to uphold.’ He replies as he then shrugs off your hand and walks elsewhere. He wasn’t going to make it easy for you, that you were aware and were willing to anything to make him see that you weren’t lying, but what you weren’t aware was how easily you had slipped past Logan’s guard much to his dismay and that made him scared.

He had already lost Scott, jean, ororo, beast and many more due to his actions, the wounds were too fresh to be ignored as their screams of his name haunted his dreams as they did his waking life. He didn’t want to add your name amongst the seemingly never ending graveyard that was his loved ones, past, present and future. And yet he couldn’t help but find himself wanting to do everything in his power to make sure you were safe and protected.

His body was torn in two directions on how to go about you, leave you alone until you see that he wasn’t any good for you, or stay by your side and make sure that no harm ever does come to touch you. ever.

You were there during every turbulent moment of his life, watched him tear things apart and show the ugliest side of himself in hopes it would scare you away, but all you did was step over the dead bodies and hold his face in your hands as your thumbs wiped the blood from his cheeks.

‘Are you okay? You’re not hurt?’ You’d ask and Logan would always be left a little speechless because how can you still see the good in him after seeing firsthand what he could do when tested. He was confused at how you could still smile at him so sweetly while clearing him of blood that wasn’t his, he didn’t understand what he did to deserve you.

For all Logan knew was that he was cursed and shouldn’t be allowed a happy existence but yet life sent him the sweetest, most kind and honest person in the form of you as what? Repentance for all the shit he’s been through? Like he’d ever believe life would ever give him a fucking break when all it’s ever done but take everything away from him, even when he was doing okay for himself.

He saved lives but the ones closest to him were taken away, and even when he does take lives the people closest to him still suffer regardless. So what was Logan meant to take away from that other than the fact that he was doomed for the very moment he could heal a gun wound as though it were a scratch.

However overtime and a fuckton of patience on your behalf and soon enough Logan was more reciprocal of your affection and care, even going so far as to give you his own affection in his own unique way that wasn’t grunts and unconvincing reassurance of his own well being. He had grown a soft spot for you but he didn’t care, he loved your soft heart and the sweet sounds you made whenever he felt a little flirtatious then normal.

You were slowly healing the wounds that his regenerative powers could not and Logan couldn’t help but be thankful that you didn’t give up on him, nor leave him alone when you probably should’ve but wouldn’t because you didn’t want him to be alone anymore.

He isn’t one for pda, the most Logan would do was sling an arm over your shoulder, keep you close by his side with his arm on your waist as he glared at anyone who was tempted to take his little sunshine from him.

You described him as moody, temperamental, stubborn, a pain in the ass and then called him a grey storm cloud on a sunny day. Many would say that they were all negative things but you’d then reply with ‘yet they all look good on him.’ Because it was true. They did look good on him and you weren’t about to express pride in the good you see in him without acknowledging that he was a man of many flaws and scars. You wanted to show that your love for Logan was genuine and real, show him that you weren’t excepting him to be the perfect man with the life he’s lived, and you hoped that he could see that he meant everything to you.

And he did see because you meant everything to him in return, he’d tear everything apart with his bare hands if anything were to ever happen to you and he wasn’t nearby to stop it. He was like an unstoppable force to be reckoned with that he wouldn’t even acknowledge the bullet wounds nor the blood, not until you cup his face once more in your hands and wipe away the blood on his cheeks like you have plenty of times before.

‘You sure are a mucky pup Logan.’ You’d say lightheartedly as though he didn’t just tear apart an entire facility for you.

‘How you aren’t fazed by this I’ll never know.’ He replied but was relived to see that you were unharmed before pulling you into his arms, where he held you tightly to his chest just to breath you in while you cling to him in return, happy to see him as you felt safe and sound in his arms again.

‘Well when your lumberjack of a partner is the temperamental type, it kinda comes with the territory to expect him to come home a little bloody.’ You told him as you burrowed your head into his neck and closed your eyes, only to squeal in surprise when Logan pinched your side. ‘For someone who’s sweet and gentle, you sure are a sneaky shit aren’t you?’ Logan said as he felt you silently giggle but couldn’t help but smile himself as he presses a kiss to your head. Happy to have been given a second shot a life, a happier shot and with you no less.

[nisuna]

Need more yuuji smut!!

So hear me out-

bestfriend!yuuji finding your depressed ass in the park while it's raining and you're soaked. So he takes you home and take care of you and puts you to sleep in jis clothes.

Then wakes you up by eating you out and then .. you know.. the rest of the stuff

Holy shit am I in my angst era? 😭 Yuji is 100% my comfort character, so this was very nice to write. He's so boyfriend oml I love him so much<3 I don't even care if this does well or not. I really needed this, tysm for the idea!!<3

⚠️ If you or anyone you know struggles with their mental health or has thoughts like these, please look up your local s*uic*de prevention hotlines. Everybody deserves to get help, and everyone deserves to live. It might not always be as easy as in my little story, but please look after yourselves, I love you all so much and thank you all for all of the love and support🫶🏻 As someone who's been struggling with their mental health ever since their early teens I can say that I definitely can't speak for everyone on this matter, but maybe some will find comfort and familiarity in this

TW: angst, s*icid*l ideation, mentions of declining mental health, hurt and comfort, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, cream pie, body worship, nipple play, body appreciation, mating press, confession, a lot of crying, this is so dear to my heart, supportive!bff!yuji

~2,8k words~

<3masterlist<3

--------mature themes ;strictly 18+ MDNI-----------

Everything has been fucked lately. Your job sucks, school isn't going great, your social life is almost nonexistent, your family is a mess and you just want some peace and calm. You've been home constantly, but you just can't stand it anymore, which is exactly why you went outside for some fresh air. And as if the universe was giving you the middle finger as well, it started raining. But you just couldn't be bothered anymore. Life sucks and your mental health is declining. So you don't even flinch at the rain hitting your lowered head. You don't care that your clothes are soaked at this point. You just sit there and take it. You've been sitting here for what feels like hours. There has been multiple nosy on lookers that passed by mumbling. Some of them showed concern, but some of them were threw disgusted looks at you and assumed you're some kind of junkie that's loitering around in their peaceful park. You couldn't care less, nobody was actually brave enough to approach you anyway, so you let them talk.

It's getting cold, but you can't bring yourself to move. You're soaked and it's getting dark, but you feel like you have nowhere to go. You're starting to feel numb, your hands and feet are cold and you almost can't feel them anymore. This is actually quite nice, you're neither sad nor mad, you feel empty, but it's not uncomfortable like it usually is. You feel calm, you're not worried. You think that freezing to d*ath might actually be a good way to go. It would be like falling asleep without having to ever wake up again. For the first time in weeks you felt yourself smile. You've made up your mind, nobody will miss you anyway so why bother. But as you were about to lie down, you heard a familiar voice screaming your name.

"What the hell-", you thought to yourself as you sat back up and looked around. You didn't have to wait long before seeing a familiar figure run towards you.

"Y/N!!! Where are-? Oh my god there you are. I looked everywhere for you. What are you doing?", he reached out to grab your shoulders, only for you to flinch away.

"Yuji, what are you doing here?"

"Well, you weren't picking up my calls and I got worried." When you didn't give him an answer, he continued, "Are you alright? Whoa you're soaked and my god you're ice cold c'mon let's get you home. I don't want you to get sick.", he grabbed your hand, trying to get you off that bench. But you didn't budge.

"Y/N? What's wrong c'mon let's go-"

"No, I'm fine, really. Just leave me be."

"What are you even saying? How could I? You are in no condition to be left alone. It's freezing and you're soaked c'mon let's go home-"

"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE GODDAMN IT!", you screamed and felt tears leave your eyes. Shit. When you reached up to wipe away at your eyes, Yuji stopped you and wiped your tears with his sleeve instead.

"Y/N I don't know what's going on, but please let me help.", he knelt down, squeezing your trembling hands and giving you a warm smile.

"Why do you care so much?", that came out way too wobbly for your liking.

"Why do I care? Y/N, you're my best friend of course I care. How could I not? Look at you."

You were at a loss of words, so he continued. "Is it okay if I touch you more?" Nod. As soon as you gave him the okay he pulled you into a tight hug. It took you a bit to relax, but you eventually gave in and let your emotions run wild. You were shaking, crying loudly in his embrace. All the built-up tension of the past weeks came flooding out, but he was there to catch you. He held you close as you let go. He didn't say a word until you calmed down a bit.

He pulled away to take a look at your puffy face. "Let's go over to mine, hm? What do you say?"

"Fuck it.", you thought as you nodded and got up.

"Want me to carry you?"

"No, that's embarassing. I can walk alright.", you huffed.

"Don't worry, it's late. Nobody will see."

"Okay."

After he wrapped you up in his jacket, you got on his back and let him carry you to his apartment. He's so warm and smells really good. You subconsciously nuzzled your face closer to him. Falling asleep like this would be way nicer than alone. You thought of that as you closed your eyes and hugged him tighter.

Luckily, he only lived a couple blocks away from the park. He was gentle when he set you down as soon as you arrived.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it.", there it was again, his sweet smile. "You should go take a bath before you get sick. I'll lend you some of my clothes." Nod.

------

You felt like a new human being after the warm bath. His clothes were also warm and smelled like him. It was oddly comforting. Has he always smelled this good? Your thoughts were interrupted by a soft voice.

"Oh wow, you look better already.", he grinned.

"Yeah", you cracked a smile back at him, "I do feel a lot better. Thanks a lot."

"Of course! Now, what do you want to eat, you must be starving? How long were you out there anyway?"

"All day actually...", you confessed.

His shocked expression made you giggle as he pushed you into his kitchen.

After a good meal he said you could go sleep in his bed. He'd sleep on the couch tonight. But you stopped him. "I don't want to be alone. Can you sleep with me tonight."

"Sure, I thought you needed some space and didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

"Can we cuddle too?"

"We can do whatever you need."

That's how you found yourself back in his arms for the nth time today. The atmosphere was calm, as you were exchanging occasional remarks while watching something. You don't know what overcame you, but you just felt so safe and taken care of that you leaned in for a kiss. However, you quickly pulled away when you felt him stiffen up and not kiss you back.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. God, I'm so stupid. You probably hated that. Shit, please don't hate me-"

"No, please calm down, it's alright. It's not that I don't like this. It's just..."

"Just what?"

"You're in a very fragile state right now. I don't want you to do something you might regret."

"But I'm sure, I really want this-"

"Sleep it over. Just one night and if you still feel like it tomorrow I'm down. I'm here for you. We can cuddle all you want, though. I just don't want to take advantage of you."

You shot him your biggest pity pout and when that didn't work you gave in. "Alright, alright, I guessss.", you huffed and fell into his embrace. Both of you didn't talk much after that, there was a bit of tension, but you didn't act on it. When you finally drifted off to sleep it was enveloped in his warmth and smell.

You haven't slept this well in a long time. And you definitely haven't been woken up this nicely in a long time, either.

After such a good night's sleep you didn't expect to wake up to your best friend between your thighs, lapping away at your pussy.

"Hi, good morning", he rasped, morning voice heavy. "You just looked so cute wiggling around in my arms and when I checked you were already so wet down there. Sorry, I couldn't resist.", he said while softly kissing up your thigh.

"It's alright, let me wake up first, though ah-", you couldn't finish your sentence, because your head snapped back with a moan, as he dove back between your legs.

"Sorry, but I need this just as bad as you do. You taste so good. God, I've been missing out on this this whole time? Just lay back and let me take care of you."

You couldn't say no. Not that you were able to say anything at all with his skillful tongue and fingers working your cunt open. He made you a whimpering and sensitive mess in a matter of a few seconds.

"Shit, how are you so good?", you let out a drawn-out moan, but didn't get an answer from him. His actions spoke instead of him, as he had you cumming on his tongue soon after. Once he licked you clean he slotted his body between your legs and kissed you nice and deep.

"Mmh", you moaned against his lips, tasting yourself on his tongue.

"Tastes good, right?", he grinned.

"Shut up", you playfully hit his chest, grinnig right back at him.

"Alright, my turn.", you smiled, trying to get him to lie down only to be pushed back, as he got on top of you again.

"Nope."

"Hey! Not fair, I wanna taste you, too.", you pouted at him.

"Maybe next time. Today's all about you, I don't want you to lift a single finger. As I said, lay back and let me take care of you."

That was an offer you definitely couldn't refuse. So you gave him a nod and waited for his next move. His next move was a very welcome one, as he finally rid him himself of his shirt. You always knew he was well built from years in the gym and other sports. But seeing him like that up close made you gush. His front was mouth watering, and his arms were to die for. He was huge. You would've rubbed your legs together to ease your pain if he wasn't keeping your legs open with his body between them. You didn't even notice you were staring until he spoke up.

"You're practically drooling."

"Fuck, sorry.", you shrieked looking away.

"Don't sweat it. Oogle me all you want, I dig it.", he smiled, pulling your face back in his direction.

"Can I touch you?"

"What kind of question is that? Go for it!"

His skin's so soft, but the ripples of his abs and chest are brick hard. He let you explore his body before grabbing your hand and giving it a gentle kiss.

"My turn.", he whispered against your fingers before pulling your shirt up and exposing your tits. Your nipples were already hard from all of the stimulation earlier.

"Fuck, they're so pretty.", he whispered, grabbing one in each hand and giving them a hard squeeze.

"Shit.", you moaned, back arching off the bed and pussy rubbing against his hard cock. To make matters worse, he leaned down, licking a thick stripe up your neck and pinching your aching nipples between his fingers.

"Off. Now.", he demanded, already helping you pull the shirt over your head. You were finally fully exposed and he ate it right up. He leaned back down, taking one of your nipples in his mouth and massaging your other breast. He made sure to pay equal attention to both. It felt really good, but you were getting impatient, already grinding against his hard crotch.

"Yuuji~~", you moaned at a particularly hard suck. "Don't tease. Pleasee, I need you.", you whined.

"Shit, sorry I got distracted. Wait here, I'm gonna go get the condoms."

Before he could leave you, you stopped him.

"No, wait, please don't. I want to feel you.", you said, already digging your nails in his arms at the mere thought of doing it raw.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive.", you smiled reassuringly.

"Fuck, alright. Got it.", he swore and rid himself of his boxers.

Once again you were staring. He was bigger than you thought. You definitely couldn't wait any longer. You needed him inside of you immediately.

He didn't make you wait long before he started to slowly bottom out. Your moans grew embarassingly louder with each inch that filled you up.

"Shit, you're so tight. Please loosen up, you're gonna kill me."

"Sorry, it just feels so good.", you mewled back arching and pressing your soft tits against his hard chest. "Kiss me, please~~" He immediately obliged, crashing his mouth against yours. It was so raw and messy when your tongues kept mashing together, but it just felt so right.

"I'm gonna start moving now. I'm gonna fuck you so good."

You nodded and pleaded. Your wish was his command, so he finally picked up his pace. And god, was he good with his hips. With each thrust and shift of your legs, he kept hitting you deeper and deeper until you practically saw stars. It's so cliché, but you felt like you were in heaven.

Your nails kept grazing his broad back and shoulders, but you didn't want to hurt him, so you held back. As if he had read your mind, he leaned down and whispered against your ear.

"Do it. Mark me up, it doesn't hurt. Please don't hold back."

So you didn't hold back anymore. You let your emotions run wild, exploring his body with your hands. Shyness long forgotten, as you left long red streaks all over his back, occasionally pulling him down for a kiss.

The world stood still. You never noticed before, but he has always been there for you. He was the only person that you ever felt loved by. How had you never noticed. Even if you two never said it out loud before, you loved each other. It had to be love. You felt overwhealmed as his fingers slipped between your bodies and started rubbing thick circles in your sensitive clit. Your breath hitched as the words you kept secret for far too long came tumbling out.

"I love you, Yuji. I love you so much, thank you for always taking care of me. I only have you in my life. Thank you, thank you, thank you so much. Please never leave me, I need you."

If he was taken aback by your words, he didn't show it. He just pressed his lips against yours and kept rubbing and moving his hips until you came undone. And as you were moaning and arching your back, he finally answered.

"I love you, too. So, so much. I always have. I promise I will never leave. No matter what happens, I got you. Forever.", that's when the dams broke down and tears were spilling from your eyes. You just hugged him close and thanked him.

Not long after, he was reaching his limit as well. So he hoisted your legs over his shoulders and pounded away until he filled you up to the brim. All the while he was kissing your tears away and saying how good you were for him and how well you did.

When his hips finally came to a halt, he gently put your legs down and kissed you again. He was gentle when he pulled out and you winced as you felt his cum drip out of you and onto his sheets.

Immediately after, he pulled you close, hugging you like he was about to lose you and you were able to calm down a bit. But the bad thoughts came back as you whispered against his skin.

"Today was so stressful and you must've been worried sick. What if I have another breakdown. I don't want to be a burden. I don't want to stress you out. I don't want to break your heart if anything happens to me."

"Y/N, look at me.", he begged, hands on your cheeks.

You finally looked back up at him, tears stinging your eyes.

"You're not a burden.", he whispered, giving your forehead a gentle kiss. "I will protect you forever. For as long as I live, I will always be here to catch you. No matter what happens. You're not alone anymore. You don't have to endure everything silently and on your own. I promise, things will get better. I will be here each step of the way. I love you so much, so please don't leave me."

You wanted to believe him, you wanted to get better. Maybe you finally could with his help. It's a big gamble, but you're gonna bet all of your cards on this relationship. After a long pause, you gave him a silent nod and burried your face in his chest, all while he was gently patting and kissing your head.

Life and everyone else might be shit, but at least you got him now. He was worth living for.

--------

If you read this far, thank you so much<3 I hope I can make some lighter and happier content soon, but I'm on a roll right now *sigh* Please stay healthy and look after yourselves, mwah

Hope to see you all very soon<3

[lovermyme]

Was thinking about merlin and listening to mitski today and

Post revel where arthur reacts very well at merlins magic, unbans magic and merlin cant actually process that

Yeah, thats about "its just that i fell in love with a war, nobody told me it ended", he suffered too much to allow it to be this easy. Can u imagine? What do u mean arthur and the knights are laughing amused by him magically lighting the fire? It is a big deal.

Merlins saw many many sorcerers be cremated alive to be normal. He heard the screams and smelled the burned skin, the toasted meat.

I havent watched the shows in years but like, i guess he have a "privileged view" of the pire from his room too....... He thinks if uther did that on purpose, by giving gaius (the only sorcerer uther allowed to stay, in his conditions of course) this place of all in the castle...... Like a warning...

The only "mentors" merlin had where a dragon, that had been imprisoned for morethan 20 years. And a old man, that had been walking on eggs for more than 20 years too. They were shit at giving advices, yeah but. Its understandable at some point.

He has blood in his hands. Non sorcerer and sorcerer. Friends and enemies. Civilians. He released kilgharra. Fuck, he lied at the morgouse trials, about arthurs mother! Why is arthur ok w that? He think he is a traitor, of both his kind........

Bonus point if good mordred. Like, mordred adapting very well at the shift laws, and excited about doing magic in frnt of arthur and arthur liking it???? Merlin cant understand. He debated about killing this child.

bONUS BONUS POINT If merlin is struggling at doing magic in front of arthur and the knights, and arthurs doesn't know he is emrys the most powerful sorcerer to walk on earth aND YET IS SO AMUSED. And like, *merlin shaking while firing the fire* arthur and evryone: THATS AMAZING MERLIN 👏👏👏👏 And mordred is so confused

I need a fic like this

Mordred becomes court sorcerer because arthur thinks merlin is not powerful and everything (in a worried way not in a disposed way). Merlin is not jealous, he doesn't care about titles, actually he do like his job, its just about the irony of the thing. Mordred is so so confused.

He does his job amazing, he uses magic and its okay at doing it. When no one is looking. If someone, thats not gaius, is looking, he hardly can do.

He cant do magic w arthurs watching.

Unless its a Arthur's life treating situation.

Its not that he is actually scared of arthur, its just that he simple cant. Theres even a tecnical term for this. Its like a emotional block, but w his magic. He cant control it. He has been under pressure for so long he cant just let go ya know.

Ok, its my post, i like mordred, im gonna put my thoughts here.

Au where mordred was the one who changes arthurs mind about magic. Like, arthur is watching mordred, the one he know has magic and is a druid and asks him if he stills do magic and mordred thinks and chooses honesty and says "to make a fire when noone is looking" or some non harmful thing. And Arthur is like "a sorcerer can be a Knight, im shifting the law". And he shift the law and Merlin is like, was is that easy? *Mental breakdown * meltdown *burnout*

The thing is: it wasn't just because of mordred, like, Arthur's kingdom has been kind w the sorcerers already, not having burned a lot and no one in mordred presence, because arthur is a kind king.

And th thing is how mordred and merlin lived different lifes while in camelot, ya know. Even through mordred has heard stories and lost friends and family to camelots fire, Merlin lived in it.

Merlin, he is extremely suspicious about mordred coming out as sorcerer to arthur (because he is suspicious of mordred), he thinks maybe its a trick, to bring evil sorcerers to kill arthur, something, he even debates w arthur if shifting thelaw is the right choice. He feels awful about his position, but he cant process that everything is alright, he is so suspicious about everything and so scared arthur might put himself in danger.

He tells arthur he has magic after he lift the ban. Arthur is so confused because of merlins position about the law, but he is fine w merlin. And merlin islike "im gonna to protect u i promise, im super powerful", of course he cant prove he is powerful because this whole post.

Im tired now im stoping, but im still thinking alot.

[emmcfrxst]

OKAY and what about a happy ending for reader, Logan and Laura??? Like in that one little drabble you wrote her mom!reader somehow resuscitated/healed Logan after he was ‘chest fucked?’ Nobody dies and Mom and Logan get to raise Laura together like normal parents!!!

Cue some happy mommy/daughter headcanons with Logan loving his girls 🩷🩷🩷🩷

the term “chest fucked” made me laugh out loud so thank you for that

one thing you come to learn about laura is that she absolutely LOVES to be the little spoon. she’d never felt particularly cared for (or safe) in her life before she met you and logan, so when you hand her affection on a silver platter she just becomes quite honestly a little obsessed with it. she loves everything about the concept of spooning because it’s easy affection— you can be watching tv or reading in bed with her curled up into your arms, cradling her, and it both makes her feel loved and makes her feel safe because she’s come to associate your touch with pure, unconditional love and support. like i’ve mentioned before, you’ve quite literally began to carry out with the purpose of being her mother, her protector; she knows that no matter what happens, you’ll always, always have her back and that comforts her to no end. she’s very physically affectionate with you, to the point where she feels comfortable initiating physical contact on her own— she knows you won’t refuse or judge her, and she’s been deprived of love for most of her life so having a parent who is willing to hand out love and care like this honestly has made her a little greedy (in a funny, endearing, child-like way. she absolutely adores you and she does not have the words to properly express how much you’ve impacted her life).

affection is a little less easy between logan and laura; they’re both a little awkward with each other— logan because he’s unsure of just how to initiate any kind of physical affection to anyone that isn’t you, and laura because she’s unsure whether or not he would reject her (he wouldn’t. ever. he might grumble about it but it’s just for show. he would never ever dare to reject laura’s affections because he knows just how badly this could affect her; he’s the human embodiment of touch starvation from years of abuse and pain and he’s come to learn just how truly impactful a little love and care can be, that’s something he’s learned from loving you and being loved by you) so the only kind of affection they really partake in at first is through play fighting/bickering. i’ve mentioned this before but laura really brings out the child in logan; he loves to tease her and be playful during their interactions, even if she sometimes gets annoyed with it (it’s the Howlett Poor Anger Management Starter Kit) so he shows his affection through little acts like pinching her cheeks, ruffling her hair or pushing her aside with his hip while they’re helping you out in the kitchen. the playfulness is fully reciprocated, because laura can and will jump on him and basically force him to carry her around the house like a little baby monkey (which is one of the reasons why he affectionately calls her his little monkey, i’ve talked about this specific nickname and the whole carrying thing in the two posts linked in this reply) and the whole frenemies thing they have going on at first really helps them bond and like i’ve said before, also helps two very traumatized people associate touch with something that’s fun, light, and positive. their interactions do end up growing from play fighting/wrestling as a way to express affection to actual, genuine (although tentative) affection in the “usual” way; laura will often rest her head on logan’s arm/shoulder if they’re sitting side by side, and it’s not uncommon for you to see laura’s head resting in logan’s lap while he reads or vice versa— they slowly find something that they’re both comfortable with, and it always makes you a little emotional when you think of how far they’ve come in not only their personal journeys, but also in their shared one. it’s not over-the-top physical displays of affection, but it’s simple and it’s genuine and that’s really what makes this so beautiful to you. logan probably won’t admit it out loud because he’s not particularly good at voicing his feelings (although he’s been actively trying to be better at it for your and laura’s sake), but there’s nothing in the world that he loves more than having you and laura by his side, both literally and figuratively.

[judes-hoe]

Tough Love ~ JB5

Parrings ~ Jude Bellingham x oc

Summary ~ Emilia is 21 and has signed up for Love Island. She’s seen and watched their previous seasons, and she’s tried of not being able to find and good stable relationship. So she signed up for Love Island to find real love, but it’s gonna be tough to get this love. Maybe possibly win also.

Warnings ~ none atm

A/N ~ this is gonna be in 2024 but with the season 5 people:)

A/N pt.2 ~ Emilia is gonna be considered different from the other girls!!! She’s gonna have a bit more stomach(like a little pudge) and thick thighs and curves.(am not body shaming or anything I want my oc to look like that!!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emilia arrived at the villa alone, she looked around and couldn’t believe she had been picked to come on love island. She was wearing this light brown bikini that fit her natural tan skin.

Emilia was about 5’6, she was born and raised in the UK but had Italian in her. She’s got a bit of a pudge stomach and thick thighs with some curves. She does work out so she’s a bit strong.

As she’s walking into the villa she sees three girls standing and talking with champagne in their hands. “Hiii girls!” Emilia said as she walks over towards them. “Oh you are stunning!” One said. “Oh look at that body.” Another said. “Oh man I want you over the boys.” The last said.

She smiles and walks over to them. “Hi, I’m Emilia.” She said standing next to them and giving each a hug. “I’m Amy.” The blond said. “I’m Amber.” The curly hair said. “I’m Anna.” The tall girl with blackish brown hair said.

“So tell us about yourself?” Amy said pouring Emilia some champagne. “Okay well, I’m 21, I’m from Stourbridge, and I’m a painter and drawer.” Emilia said taking a sip of her champagne. “What’s your type?” Anna asked. “I’m honestly not picky at all, I just need a guy with a good personality, kind, loving, trustworthy, and caring.” Emilia said with a smile. “I think that’s what we all want.” Amber said taking a sip of her champagne.

They all chat and the girls tell Emilia about their selves. They moved over to the sofa drinking their champagne. They were all chilling when they heard noise coming from the hall where they entered. This pretty black girl with wavy hair walked in. “Hiiii girl you’re so pretty!” They all said complementing her.

She sits down and introduces herself. “Hi I’m Yewande.” She said and sat down tell us about herself. After she introduced herself another girl walks in. “Heyyy girls!” She said and walked over to the sofa. “I’m lucie.” She said and sat down.

They all chat for a bit, and go quiet when they hear walking again. The hostess, Caroline, walks in with a jean dress on. She comes over to them and sits in the middle of all six of them. “So ladies let’s talk love.” She said. “Anna, why are you here?” She asked. “Well I got my heart broken and I’m here to find love.” She explained.

Caroline asked everyone why there were here and what there type was. “Alright ladies let’s get you coupled up.” She said and walked us over to the six dots on the grass. “Okay so one boy will come out, they introduce themselves. I then ask if you fancy and then you’ll step forward and he’ll get to choose who he wants.” She explained.

All the girls nod and wait for the first guy to come out. This muscular, white, brown hair guy comes out and he has a Scottish accent. He greets Caroline and stands, she explains the way it works to him. “Girls this is Anton.” Caroline said, “so please step forward if you fancy Anton.”

It was a few moments and Amy steps forward. The next guy was a black guy named Sherif. Caroline introduced Sherif and nobody stepped up for him but he ended up picking Amber. The next guy to come out was a light toned, curly hair, and tattoos. His name was Michael, he was cute and had a scouser accent. Emilia and Lucie both step forward for him.

“Oh wow, Michael, you have two lovely girls, lucie and Emilia.” Caroline said. “You can pick any of the girls even the ones coupled up.” She said. “I think I’ll go with lucie, she seems lovely.” Michael said.

Emilia just nods and steps back. “Emilia, who do you feel for not getting pick.” Caroline asked. “I mean it’s whatever yeah, he picks what he wants.” She said and shrugged. Next up was a white guy, wavy hair, and blue eyes. His name was Joe. Lucie stepped up saying sorry to Michael, and Yewande stepped up.

Joe ended up picking Lucie and Michael went and sat on one of the chairs to the side. The next guy was a little more toned than Micheal but he was about 6ft, his hair was a little curly. His name was Jude. Emilia, and Anna stepped forward. Jude ended up picking Anna.

“Emilia, second time you’ve not been picked after stepping forward how do you feel?” Caroline asked. “Hey I mean, they guys want what they want and I can’t change that.” Emilia said just being honest.

The last guy came out and he was white with a little tan, he hair kinda went to the side. His name was Callum. Amber was the only one who stepped up and left Sherif behind. Callum picked Amber and Sherif sat next to Michael on the side.

Emilia and Yewande have not coupled up. “So Michael and Sherif, you can each pick one girl to couple up with.” Caroline said. “I’ll pick Emilia, she stepped up for me and she’s really pretty.” Michael said. “I’ll do with Yewande then, I mean she’s pretty she looks nice.” Sherif said.

“Now that we’ve got all six couples, you’ll be facing challenges, getting to know each other, living together, making’s decisions together, and even sharing a bed together.” Caroline said and they all cheer. “In the next 8 weeks the people will be voting for their favorite couple, that couple will be granded £50,000 and the winners of 2024 love island.” Caroline added.

Caroline left and they all started chatting. “Michael would you wanna go get to chat alone over there?” Emilia asked the scouser pointing towards the couches. “Sure let’s go.” He said taking her hand and leading her to the couches.

“So tell me a bit about yourself Emilia?” He asked getting comfortable. “Well I’m a painter, I’m 21, I’m a bit of an animal lover, and I’m just a normal girl.” Emilia said with a small laugh. “Oh you’re a painter?” He said. “Yeah so people will sometimes send me pictures and stuff to paint, I’ve gone to a few weddings and done like first kiss and painted while the wedding happened.” Emilia explained. “Sounds like you must be a good painter.” Michael said.

Everyone chats a bit together, before they head to get dressed more appropriately. All the girls were getting ready in their room while the boys were looking around the villa.

“So Amy how do you like your Scottish guy.” Amber asked. “Oh he’s so lovely and I already know what I’m wearing to bed tonight.” Amy said holding up a sexy pj. “Ooooo.” All the girls hoot.

As they get ready Emilia is the first one done. “Girl your already done?” Anna asked doing her makeup like the other girls. “Yeah I am, I uh don’t wear makeup.” Emilia said smoothing the front of the silky red dress she was wearing.

Everyone gets a class of champagne and they dance for a little and drink. They then all settle down on one of the beds and just chat together. But then Anton ask Lucie to talk.

They all keep chatting before the boys do their thing and the girls all talk and Lucie comes back. “Yeah so Anton just talked to me, and basically just said he fancy’s me, but that like he respects me and Joe but he just wanted to let me know he fancy’s me.” Lucie said in a hushed voice so the boys didn’t overhear.

Emilia seemed to not being able to keep taking glances at Jude, she just wish he picked her, but he picked what he picked and she can’t change that and she’s not wanting to start drama.

Another hour past by and they all move to the long couch. They start to play never have I ever. “Okay never have I ever had sex in a night club.” Callum said. Emilia looks around before taking a small sip of her drink. “Hey hey hey, Emilia drank!” Jude said notice the movement. “Girl what!” Yewande said. “I got a little drunk after my favorite football team won and I was at a club…one thing led to another and I was in the bathroom.” Emilia emitted with a little smile on her face.

It went silent and there was a sudden ding from a phone. “Oh?” Everyone said. Amber pulled her phone out. “I got a text.” She said. “Islanders, it’s time for the real games to begin, please welcome the new arrivals #double trouble, #box-fresh, #hot to foxtrot.” She read the message. “Two of them?” Yewande said. “Ohhh.” Was heard all around.

All the guys were not happy. The girls were confused a little scared as the guys were. Soon two guys come out and walk over. They introduce themselves as Tommy and Curtis.

They both tell them about themselves, Tommy was related to Tyson fury’s, and was a well known boxer in Manchester. Curtis was a Latin dancer.

They all chat and ask questions to Curtis and Tommy. Then Curtis got a text. “Islanders, in 24 hours, Curtis and Tommy will each couple up with a girl of their choice, leaving two boys single and vulnerable, #the gloves are off, #takes two to tango.” Curtis read.

Well this was interesting now. Now it’s up to Tommy and Curtis to choose…..

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A/N ~ wow this took forever to write…anyways enjoy pt.2 next week hopefully! And please comment or dm to be added to taglist!

Taglist: @adarkskinarchives @jungkookssheekscar @sinners-98-world @judesthighveins @inlikea-coolway @hananabelle @mrsaronnorrisbearman

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

The Arcana HCs: What M6 get from their parents

~ for the Vesuvia Weekly prompt, "I see where you got it from"! ~

Julian

For someone who's never claimed to be a sailor, he sure spends a lot of time at sea and dreaming about future boats

It's much less surprising when he starts talking about the few hazy memories he has of being the oldest son of merchant parents. His early childhood was spent playing above and below decks

Which explains his specific brand of wanderlust pretty well. Instead of it being a boredom with the mundane or a fear of commitment, it's this deep sense of himself as a global citizen

He's happiest in marketplaces and finding his family among odd groups of people from all over the world, what can he say??

Not to mention his "if I can't find what I need here, maybe I just need to try somewhere else" mentality when it comes to problem solving. Need more education? Time to visit a new country!

It would make sense for his natural aptitude with learning new languages, forming quick connections, and creating collaborations to have come from fairly successful merchant parents as well

Whether that's also where he got his godawful cooking skills from, or whether that's just a "him" thing, remains up for debate

Asra

You learned it pretty quickly after meeting them - you know exactly where that constant, almost insatiable curiosity comes from

That, and the tendency to have a new thought, forget the current conversation, and trail off into disjointed mumbles as said thought gets rapidly unpacked and explored from several angles

If Salim is who Asra gets his brain from, Aisha is where he got his spirit. That stubborn hope and determined dedication to care for who he loves? He got that from the women who looked the Devil dead in the eye and told him to leave her child alone or else

You can also see a lot of the way Asra relates to you in the way their parents relate to each other. It's that easy, intuitive comfort of shedding pretenses from the get go and embracing uniqueness

Why bother trying to show off what you're good at, when you could try something new together instead? Sure they could give you a tour of their gate - or Salim could give his experimental magic a test run now that you're around to help out!

Not to mention how all three of them seem to know healing magic

And they all love a good cup of tea

Nadia

She could spend hours telling you exactly how unlike her sisters and parents she is, but let's be real. Satrinava genes are strong and you could pick one out of a crowd any day

The intelligence levels she couldn't hide if she tried? Check

The absolute perfection of her fashion choices? Check

The habit she can't turn off of looking not just at you but through you with a kind of perceptive, piercing gaze that has no intention of telling you what she's figuring out about you? Also check

(Seriously, every member of her family does it nonstop and at this point you're wondering if you should just give up all your secrets)

The tendency to approach any problem or conflict by openly stating her own opinion/perspective first? Check

The down-to-earth openmindedness that you have to actually talk to her to discover? Check. Nazali seems to be the one exception, but you're pretty sure that's after years of traveling around

The immediate need to take responsibility for whatever's going on, or more accurately, going wrong? Check

Somehow always smells nice? Check

Muriel

There was a lot about Muriel that you thought was "just Muriel" until you made that trip South together and saw all the subtle ways he became more grounded in himself

Nobody's concerned about taking up too much space in vast tundra. No wonder he always seemed to feel cramped

It also seemed a bit counterintuitive for such a minimalist furnace of a man to own a veritable pile of furs until you walked into Khamgalai's hut. He might not remember it, but he probably spent his first few years wrapped and dressed in them

Not to mention his tendency to fill his space with earthy, herbal smells to the point of carrying pouches of it with him. There were dried foraged plants all over the rafters there

What eventually came to be one of his strongest ties, though, was his craftsmanship. How someone who disliked frivolous things did so much detail was beyond you, until you saw those tapestries

And, of course, the remnants of years of nomadic movement in his need to spend hours at a time outside every day, keeping a steady pace through the forest to assure himself that all is well

Portia

This didn't spring out at you from her the way it did from her brother, but Portia has a capacity for dramatics that she does a deviously excellent job of downplaying

Sure, she seems considerably better adjusted and grounded than he does, and sure, her tendency to compensate for the unique needs of her loved ones shows up in being hypercompetent

But you're certain at this point that at least one of her parents was a hell of an actor/dramatist. You've watched how easily she can put on whatever face she needs to accomplish what she wants

Not to mention the love of stories and art of storytelling. You know you're at a Devorak gathering when both you and half the other people in the area are totally drawn in to a fond memory retelling

You can also see the makings of traveling merchants in her job as Vesuvia's ambassador. It's almost scary how easily she makes herself at home spending months at sea, going place to place

And both scary and awe-inspiring when she finds herself locked in negotiations. Whether with a marketplace stall owner, or a stubborn noble with an import she wants, she's indomitable

Lucio

Honestly, beyond their physical similarities, it's pretty hard at first to see all the ways in which Lucio takes after his mother

They're both such strong products of their environment. Morga is stern, stonefaced, and (to put it bluntly) stingy, but she takes accountability beyond her means and always faces hard choices

Lucio is the opposite. Loud, expressive, flamboyant, unconcerned with discipline or rules, terrified of hard choices or accountability, and (when he's not under duress) generous to a fault

The first place you saw it? Their dismissiveness, unfortunately

As soon as it's not something they understand or relate to, they both lose interest in talking about it and tend to be quick to brush it aside, often without pausing to consider other's feelings first

Not to mention how quickly both of them jump to using aggression to express themselves. You can tell it's got a whole lot more to do with how intensely they feel things than any bad intentions

But the trait you learn they share most is what you take the longest to notice: quiet, unassuming protection as a subconscious love language. They'll always keep watch when you're vulnerable

[headkiss]

Hi!! could I request a story with Eddie where he goes to the drama room at school to set up for a Hellfire campaign, but finds a girl!reader in the drama room crying? And he gets all protective cause he recognizes her (the shy girl in his classes!), major fluff lol❤️

hi lovely!!! i hope u like it tysm for requesting :D | 0.6k fluff and a pinch of hurt/comfort

Eddie’s always buzzing to set up for Hellfire.

It’s funny, the only part of school he enjoys is the room that allows him to hold his campaigns, to be around the only people he feels somewhat normal around. His hands are full with his notebooks and supplies as he makes his way down the halls.

You were hiding in the first room you passed, your watery eyes blurring your vision. The last thing you wanted was for people to see you cry, to let them win. It was a stupid little comment after all, but it hit you the way they wanted; where it hurt.

The twist of the doorknob has you hastily wiping at your cheeks and eyes to try and lessen the traces of your tears. You shake your hands, breathe deep, and try to make it seem like you were okay.

Eddie’s shocked to see you when he walks in. He’s even more shocked to notice that you’ve been crying.

He doesn’t know you well, but he knows that you’re one of the only people outside of his friends who’s been kind to him, and that you’re quiet with most people. He sets his stuff down quickly.

“What’s wrong?” Is the first thing he says.

“Nothing,” you stand, ready to make your escape. “I’m fine, really.”

He catches you on your way out, blocking your path. Eddie has never really been one to get in people’s business, let alone care about it, but for some reason, he cares about this. He cares about whatever’s making someone as sweet as you cry.

“Woah, stop. I can tell you’re not,” he softens his voice for the next bit, “you’ve been crying.”

“It’s dumb.”

“It’s not if it’s making you upset. Come on, I’ve got time before Hellfire starts.”

“I really don’t want to bother you with it, Eddie.”

He leans on the table, making himself comfortable.

“You’re no bother, babe.”

You’ve never been inclined to talk to people, never wanted to share too much or speak for long, but Eddie makes you feel comfortable somehow. This boy, who you only know from a few classes, is easier to talk to than most people you know.

What’s up with that?

“Just some girls like to say stuff to me,” you shrug it off.

“That’s not dumb at all. You don’t deserve that, nobody does,” especially not you, he thinks. “Want me to go tell ‘em off?”

“Don’t do that.”

“I will, seriously,” he moves towards the door, but you stop him with two hands on his chest.

“I appreciate the thought, Eddie, but it’s fine, really. I’m used to it.”

“Nobody should be used to this stuff.”

“You are, too. I know how people treat you.”

“This isn’t about me, okay? Listen, you’re nice, and pretty, and the people that bug you are idiots. Complete idiots, because who picks on the shy people, huh? Only idiots, I think.”

You don’t know why his reassurance and comfort brings tears to your eyes all over again, but it does. He’s not at all what everyone says he is and it’s never been clearer.

He notices the shine of tears in your waterline, “aw, hey, I didn’t say all that to make you cry again. C’mere.”

He wraps you in a hug before you can even process it. His arms wrap around your shoulders, yours eventually go around his middle. He hugs you until you calm down again, and even then, you don’t feel ready to let go.

“Ever played D&D?” He asks.

You shake your head.

“Wanna stick around and learn?”

[octoberscigarettes]

soemtimes I wish someone who isnt a romantic partner would have cared for Ian enough. like ofc mickey cares immensely and I don't wanna discredit the good he does for Ian. But there are so many things in Ian's life where he needed care and love and reassurance from someone he is not romantically involved with.

being groomed from a young age, and nobody cared enough to see what's going on with kash, and when lip did, he did nothing. when Fiona and Jimmy Steve found out Ian was sleeping with Ned, nobody cared enough about Ian to help him. Instead it was all about Jimmy Steve and his man baby feelings about his dad being queer.

when Ian was crying about the aftermath of s3ep6 and s3ep9, Frank was heading a gay rights movement purely for his own gain, while Ian's siblings feasted on a gift basket sent to their house. Nobody wondered where Ian was, so he was sobbing in his bed, alone.

when Ian ran away to the army, his entire family just accepted it, the fucking Milkoviches were more worried about Ian than his own family.

when in s6 Ian doesnt know what to do with himself, nobody cares enough to show him that his life isnt over bc of his diagnosis. nobody cares enough to tell Ian that he still has options, that he can survive.

when Ian is heartbroken, nobody cares enough about it to tell him anything but "good riddance".

when Ian has a crisis of faith and loses himself in religion and mania, nobody cares about him enough to talk to him until its to late. nobody sees him enough to know if he is taking his meds.

In the Gallagher household Ian doesn't exist. Fiona and Lip are bonding and supporting each other (no matter how angry and misguided sometimes) in their role as the eldest. Debbie and Carl are looking out for each other, and Fiona and Lip always have an eye on them bc they're younger. Liam gets raised by everyone. But Ian just kind of floats around in the void, and while they all may love him, they don't notice him.

Lip and Ian are close, but they aren't caring for each other properly.

As long as Ian contributes to the squirrel fund and doesnt make a fuss, they dont see him.

And once his mental state gets bad they all sit around wondering why they didnt catch it sooner. But they never look.

I just wish that someone would see Ian Gallagher.

[scintillyyy]

anyways. cliff notes version of my "connecting leslie's story in war games to the evils of child soldiers & utter hatred of batman/bruce as the root of the problem and violence in gotham" doesn't understand her

i mean everyone knows the obvious of. leslie would never intentionally cause harm to prove a point, but that is the big one, yes

but even within that. i do think the point of the big one is that you need to understand that leslie is an absolute dogmatic nonviolent pacifist and would absolutely disagree with the use of any sort of violence to teach someone their violence is bad. retribution and personal revenge is off the table for her & is to be condemned in others.

leslie fundamentally disagrees with *all* of their choices to be vigilantes & use of violence to solve problems, not just bruce, but even the kids. she doesn't necessarily see them as hapless victims to bruce's ultimate will of violence. she wants them all to choose the better, nonviolent path & wants to teach any vigilante the option of nonviolence is there. she would hold bruce responsible for his choice of violence yes, but she would also hold them all responsible for their participation. she also has never shown a significant issue with children being vigilantes--she's might not love it, but she's been fine enough with working with several children as robin with little qualm about their age--her argument isn't that children in particular shouldn't be vigilantes or that children are in special danger here, it's that nobody should be vigilantes and problems should always be solved nonviolently.

which is my next point--there is absolutely cruelty within leslie's pacifism for those who can't meet her standard of nonviolence. she does think cruel things about bruce for his choice to be batman. she would absolutely think cruel things about all of them in her attempt to push them to be better. this doesn't means she hates them personally however

this is because a lot of the cruelty comes from leslie's loving disappointment in those she cares about. she is essentially bruce's mom after his parents die--her anger at him is not borne out of hate for what he chooses to do, but love & disappointment in her feeling he should be choosing a better way (her way) and does not. she dislikes his choices, but never him--she loves him. and she's always trying to save him. the point is never to punish those who haven't yet learned, it's to continue to try and teach them better. she might be frustrated and be angry at batman and the choice to be batman, but she cannot hate bruce. the point is that one day maybe bruce will finally learn that he can choose to be everything she knows he can be.

leslie & steph should frankly get along like oil & water because leslie would absolutely be judgmental of steph even in her desire to save and care for steph, just as she is judgmental of bruce even as she loves him. she would be kind, yes, but leslie's commitment to nonviolent resolution no matter the circumstance would absolutely clash with steph's feelings that personal retribution is justified under certain circumstances would absolutely clash & neither would be willing to budge. like. batman chronicles #18 where leslie does everything in her power to save zsasz at all costs vs detective comics #796 where steph went in for the kill on zsasz to protect herself and batman and questioned why not kill him. think about it.

anyways war games boiling her pacifism down into "batman commits violence and gets kids hurt ergo he's bad & i think he should be punished" completely loses the nuance that is that leslie loves despite her disagreement! the power of her is that no matter how angry and disappointed she might get in someone she is still dogmatically committed to saving them. she objects to the violence criminals commit and would still go out of her way to save them despite what they might go on to do. she saved zsasz. she would save the joker if he were dying in from of her. her devotion to her ideals is commendable, but can also be a flaw that hurts those she loves due to her strict adherence. batman is a part of the problem. batman deserves to be saved, just as all others who commit violence do.

[diamondwerewolf]

Tumblr essay nobody asked for

Geeta doesn’t dislike Larry, she’s just trying to curb his propensity to settle.

Some of this information I’m paraphrasing comes from the main Sar/Vi game, the DLC, and Pokemon Masters EX.

To start, a detail I don’t seen discussed is this:

Larry’s shoes and his briefcase are worn. See the scuffs and the rip. He uses the same items over again, probably until they can’t be used anymore. He prefers to use the same Pokémon type [normal] , and has noted himself that he seldom switches things up, and should probably keep up with talented people from time to time. Which implies he doesn’t believe himself to be talented, which I’ll get back to later.

Another note to make about Larry, is that he’s reasonably stubborn, which goes hand in hand with being ‘set in his ways’. He says in Masters that he enjoys being Average, and only searches for the extraordinary in foods, as long as the restaurant isn’t too busy. That’s another hint at his introversion, apart from not wanting to be highly recognizable, which I may discuss later. So in synopsis with some additional points Larry is:

-Resistant to change

-very independent

-quite firm in his opinions or beliefs

-somewhat introverted

-a workaholic despite his complaints

Let’s take a break and discuss Geeta.

[Here she is noticing that Larry is enjoying a change of scenery. ]

She initially comes across as overbearing as chairwoman of the Pokémon league, but her decisions come from a genuine place. She cares about -progression- , of not just Paldea, but of all of her employees. I think this is fair.

Geeta mentions in masters ex that she loves collecting rare gems, literally and metaphorically. She’s a recruiter but also a nurturer. I assume someone who works so closely with the school was probably a teacher at some point, too.

You’ll notice, primarily in masters and the PkmnSV DLC that Geeta gives Larry tasks that, I assume, are meant to rouse him out of his comfort zone. Why don’t you use flying instead of normal types all the time? Why don’t you go to this event and mingle? [ she’s the one who encouraged Larry to hang out with Kabu] Would you be willing to leave familiar territory, that well trodden path, if it was for your job??

She doesn’t have a close eye on Larry because she dislikes him. I actually think Geeta worries he doesn’t enjoy working for the league, or that he’s wasting some of his potential. Mind you, Larry was hand picked for his jobs. The elite 4 are her rare, sparkling gems. Pillars of strength for the region.

She’s attempting to nurture Larry, and like a scrunched shiba on a leash, he’s an older man who doesn’t want to budge. He’s a ‘free spirit’ in masters. There’s irony in him being very resistant to being told what to do. It’s funny. Of course he’s going to think she’s hawking on him. He’s that kind of guy. He wants to do what he wants, which may not always be the best.

I think out of all of her employees, Geeta may mention him the most across all materials. My shipping delusions aside, she does think he’s special. But she may not be fully aware of his introversion. Half of Larry’s resistance to striving is probably to avoid talking to more people than he needs to.

Classic case of miscommunication, because Larry doesn’t give her any direct feedback. I think he should. She would probably adjust her tasks for him.

Some last thoughts, cause I don’t know where to put this:

-Larry has excellent taste in food, while Geeta’s tastes are pretty bland [this is from masters] VERY FUNNY

-Larry thinks himself to be average, while being one of Pokémon’s more unusual characters. He’s perplexed if the player picks him as a favorite gym leader.

-Geeta often has to force larry to take breaks. I’m still wondering what else this may imply about him. He complains privately, but he does work hard