#and knowing that those traits are what he himself lacks and so he saw the value in appointing Kagha as his second in command

[bg3smash-or-pass]

[unequivocallyreid]

Why Didn’t You Tell Me?

it has been SO long... i was suffering from serious writers block but it think i'm finally out of it :)

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: Spencer Reid used to be your best friend, but things changed. How long can you pretend that you don't love him before it ruins you?

warnings: angst! (with a happy ending), smut (unprotected piv), character loss, mention of Maeve, very sad Spencer, mental health struggles, drinking/bar scene, light choking, fighting, slight praise kink

wc: 8.8k 🤗

i’m very proud of this one! i hope you love it!

Every morning when you wake up, you feel a familiar and creeping sort of dread in the pit of your stomach.

Don’t get the wrong idea; you love your job. You love helping people and stopping horrible people from ruining any more lives, but the creeping feeling and desire to get out is always in the corner of your mind. Anyone working in this field would tell you that. There’s no absolute separation between you and the victims and their families. You take all of them home with you, and you just have to learn how to deal with that and not let it eat at you.

It doesn’t help that it’s an isolating job as well. The last time you were in a serious relationship was in college. Now, every date you have ends in disappointment. Not only do you lack interest in most of the men and women, but it couldn’t go anywhere even if you did. 75% of your time is spent in the office, on a jet, or hundreds of miles away from your home.

All of this contributes to the feeling, but the worst part of your job is Dr. Spencer Reid.

He’s secretive and dismissive and just about the most attractive person you’d ever seen. You honestly don’t know what is worse: his constant physical presence in your life or the fact that you can’t stop thinking about him no matter what you do. You’ve tried to get over it; you’ve buried yourself in work, lamented to your friends, and gone out on dates (all with guys that looked vaguely similar), but nothing has worked. All his worst traits grate your nerves and light you up at the same time.

The worst part of it all is that it wasn’t always like this. When you first joined the BAU nearly two years ago, you and Spencer got along well. You were friends, he talked to you about his life, he understood you, and you really severely fell for him. He became your best friend.

Everything changed around six months ago. Spencer started to develop migraines, and as those developed, he started distancing himself from you. He became snippy and closed off, he started hiding things from you, and he stopped talking to you about life outside of Quantico. It was like overnight, you became nothing to him, and you really didn’t understand. Everyone else on the team got the same old Spencer, but you went from his right-hand man to someone he only spoke to when it was necessary.

Maybe he didn’t deserve to be vilified. You know, realistically, he can and should be able to decide who he wants to be close to, but working with a man who unknowingly broke your heart was close to the hardest thing you’d ever done. So, you decided hating him was easier. The real emotions you feel toward him sit somewhere inside you, but they have been covered by manufactured distaste. Addressing the actual feeling would hurt too bad, so you pretend to hate the things you used to love.

Nothing, however, could have prepared you for the last case you worked on: helping Spencer save a girl he met about six months ago, a girl he loved. You tried to stay collected, you said nothing when Spencer assisted when he shouldn’t have, and goddamn, did you do everything in your power to find that girl. Maeve. She was perfect for Spencer, and you saw that immediately. Everyone did. The sight of him sobbing in front of her body is one that will never leave your mind.

Now, two weeks later, no one has heard from Reid. The only indication that he hasn’t abandoned his life altogether is the absence of the gift baskets on his doorstep that Pen leaves daily.

Nearly everyone has been to his apartment, but they are met with a closed door and have yet to receive a response. Everyone but you.

Penelope is the first to bring up your lack of appearance at the end of a long day of paperwork.

“Y/n, please, you just have to try. No one is getting anything from him.”

“I really don’t think my presence would do any good,” you pause for a moment, trying to collect the thoughts running through your head like a freight train. “Me and him haven’t been close in a long time, Pen.”

Before you can continue, she cuts in, “Everyone has tried, Y/n. Hell, I’ve even considered tracking down Gideon, and I really, really do not want to do that.”

She pauses for a moment before looking up at you with a pout on her face, “Please, Y/n, for me. I can’t bear the thought of him in there all alone, just wasting away in grief.”

For someone who claims not to be a profiler, Penelope knew exactly what to say to get you to agree. She’s the only person in your life who you told about how you felt, though you’re sure everyone else (aside from Spencer) knew: you’re shit at keeping secrets.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try.”

She nearly bursts with excitement, “Thank God-“

You cut her off before she can finish, “But I’m telling you, I’m not the person he wants to hear from right now. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Yes, yes. I just want him to know we all want him to be okay.”

Before you can hurry out of the office to follow Pen’s instructions, she stops you and hands you a basket full of assorted snacks and fruits.

“Make sure he eats!”

The walk up to Spencer’s apartment is a hard one to take. The smell of his building hits you as soon as you step into the lobby. From there, everything rushes back at once. Memories of nights you spent watching reruns of Doctor Who or listening to him prattle off about whatever he last read assault you with every step. As you slowly make your way up, you start to question why you agreed to do this in the first place.

You feel a lot toward Reid. More than you should and less than you could. But all that care and feelings that are so close to love aren’t enough to make you forget why you’ve been trying to hate him for so long. He deserted you without an explanation and cut you off without a warning. You spent weeks (three months) crying over him like a love-struck teen. So, as much as you want to hold him and comfort him, you know it’ll hurt you to do so. Penelope sent you, with the whole team’s approval, you’re sure, to try to patch up a broken heart he got loving someone else. There’s a sickness in your gut, but it’s not enough to stop you from rapping your knuckles against his door.

“Spencer? It’s Y/n.”

There’s no response.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear from me right now, but I want to make sure you’re alright. Can you tell me you’re alright?”

Again, nothing.

You know he’s there. Despite your lack of communication, you know Spencer well enough to know that he would never leave his life behind entirely. That being said, your next few attempts at garnering a response are unsuccessful.

You decide to try one final time before just leaving the basket alone on his doorstep and texting Pen it was a bust.

“There’s a lot I don’t know about you now, and I won’t pretend to know what you’re feeling.”

You don’t exactly know where this is headed, but you continue on regardless.

“I know you’re in there, and I know you can hear me, and I know you’re hurting. You shouldn’t- I don’t want you to be alone right now, Spence. You can either unlock your door, or I can pick it, but I’m coming in one way or the other. You know I will.”

You wouldn’t, actually. It’s a last-ditch effort, and it’s met with the same silence you’ve heard on the other side for the past ten minutes. You’re about to turn to head back down the stairs when you hear the very faint sound of a deadbolt turning.

There’s no other sound or movement, and for a moment, you think you might’ve imagined the sound, but you try the handle anyway. It turns, and the door slides open. You take a step in.

“Spencer,” you call out to him.

You don’t see him at first in the mess of his apartment, but when you do, you feel a crack form in your heart.

Beyond the clutter of his entryway, you see his back on the couch. His frame looks smaller than you’ve ever seen it, and you can see his legs curled into his chest. You set down the gift basket by a collection of others on the entry table and walk over to him. Slowly, like you’re trying not to spook a lost dog, you creep in front of him.

His head is down, and his gaze stays trained on his knees.

You reach out your hand and lay it over his. He flinches but doesn’t pull away.

“Spence, I’m so glad you opened the door.”

You didn’t plan out what you would say, but ‘sorry’ feels redundant and useless.

You go on, “I’m here. I- I don’t know what to do or say, and I’m sorry that I don’t. I can get someone else for you. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”

You wait for him to say he wants Penelope or JJ, but it doesn’t come. Nothing comes. You start to move to get up, figuring you could clean up a bit and try to make him something to eat, then go, but he grasps your arm before you can.

He looks up at you, and his eyes hit you right in the gut. They’re bloodshot and sunken but still beautiful.

“Stay. Please. I just- I need to know I’m not dreaming. I keep thinking I’m dreaming.”

His voice is croaky from disuse and breaks at the end, but it’s so heartbreakingly earnest that you feel your breath catch. You move from your crouch and sit beside him on the couch; your hand is still in his.

You stay like that for a long time. His breathing is shakey and uneven, and every so often, his body shakes with what you can only assume are sobs. You stay pressed to his side the whole time, thumb rubbing back and forth over his hand.

Eventually, you speak again, “I’m gonna get you some food, Spence. You should eat.”

He says nothing back, but he does loosen his grip. You push yourself up from the coach with a promise you’ll be as fast as possible.

His kitchen is nearly empty, and you hope he’s been eating from the baskets. Still, you find enough to make noodles and butter, and you figure the carbs should help his energy some.

You return with the bowl. Spencer hasn’t moved, but his head follows you as you walk back over to him.

“It’s not fine dining.”

He studied you for a second, and you catch a glimpse of the old him in his eye.

“You did the same thing when I was sick on a case a year ago.”

You smile at his recollection.

“It helped you then.”

The rest of the night is spent mostly in silence. Occasionally, you tell him something to try to remind him that you’re there and that you won’t leave as long as he wants you there. Eventually, you get up from the couch again.

“Spencer, it’s too late to still be awake.”

He nods and still says nothing, but he is far more receptive than before. You reach your hand out to him to help him up from the couch, and he takes it.

He leads you to his room at a slow pace. His head stays down as you both take a seat on his bed, hands still interlocked. Being in his bedroom is odd for you. You’ve been to his apartment quite a few times before he disappeared from your life, but you never breached this space. It’s all very him. Almost surprisingly cozy, with books scattered around nearly everywhere there’s space.

You take in the moment for a beat before saying, “I’m gonna head home, Spencer, but please call me if you need anything at all. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

This makes his head snap up, and his eyes lock with yours.

“Please stay.”

That’s all he says, but every part of him is pleading with you. It’s not a good idea, and you know it. You’re the only person he’s seen in days, you aren’t close anymore, and you don’t particularly want to sleep on a couch tonight.

“Spencer, I don’t want to sleep in your living room tonight. I’ll come back.”

He pauses for a moment, “You can stay here with me. I don’t want to be alone.”

Your heart cracks again. There was a time when this was all you wanted. It’s still, deep down, all you want, just not like this. You know he doesn’t really want you there and he’s not himself. But you aren’t strong enough to say no, so you don’t.

He gets you clothes to wear, and you change in his bathroom. You come out and find him in his bed, laying with his back to you. You have no fucking idea what you’re doing, but you get into bed next to him anyways. There are a thousand thoughts racing through your head, but the prevailing one is how badly you want to touch him, to hold him, to make him forget, just for the night. You stay still, though, confined to the edge of the bed and start to count to drown out the noise.

Though, you can’t drown out his voice, saying, “Can- Could you hold me? I think that everything feels better when you touch me.”

Another crack. By the end of this, you know Spencer Reid is going to break your heart all over again.

~

When you wake up the next morning, Spencer is still asleep. You sneak out of his room and call Hotch. When he answers, you tell him Spencer has let you in, and you ask for time off to try to help. You can tell from his voice that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but he grants you it anyway.

Much of your day is spent like the night before. You stay next to Spencer, and you cook for him after leaving to pick up clothes and groceries. Then, you get him to shower and wash his hair. He sleeps with his head in your lap, and you feel like a fucking idiot at first, but as long as it’s helping him in some way, you let it happen.

That’s the thing: you don’t really know how to help him. You know he isn’t the type to talk about something until he is entirely ready, so all you can do is add something domestic and bright to his life while he grieves. It’s all you can think about in the moments of silence. Hell, you even read to him to try and get your mind off of it, but it barely helps.

The night is the same. You change in different rooms and slip into his bed at different times. You feel dirty for imagining what it would be like if the circumstances were different: if he wanted you like you have wanted him for the past two years. You hold him against you, and you pray for sign that you should be there.

The sign comes the following morning when Derek calls you.

“Y/n…”

You can hear his teasing tone over the phone.

“Hi, Derek.”

“What are you doing, mamas?”

You sigh, “What do you mean?”

You’re playing coy. You know he’s wondering why you’re at Spencer’s house, picking up the pieces, but you won’t be the one to bring it up.

“Why’d you ask Hotch for the week off, Y/n?”

Another sigh, “You know why, Derek. I just, I want to help him.”

“I know you do, Y/n, I know.”

He pauses for a moment, and you let the moment fill with silence.

“I know you care about him. We all care about him. But who is taking care of you?”

“I am. I can take care of him, and I can take care of me.”

“I know you can, but I don’t want you to get hurt, Y/n. Don’t let this be something that hurts you.”

“It won’t. I- You have to- Fuck, I’ll be fine. He’s not fine. I don’t care about me or any feelings that may get hurt right now. I’ll be fine.”

There’s another bear of silence, “Okay, Y/n. Just know you’re allowed to tap out.”

You try to think of anything else to say, but nothing comes, so you say your goodbyes.

You won’t need to tap out. You can take care of him and be good to him and ignore the other feelings you have. You can be good.

The call does make you think it’s time to push, to try harder, to help him get better. So, you approach him that day before bed, before he tucks himself into your arms and falls into a fretful sleep.

“Spencer?”

He takes a moment and then responds, “Yes?”

“You have to talk about it. I think that you need to talk about it. It doesn’t have to be to me but to someone.”

He’s quiet for a long time, and your breath is caught in your throat, waiting for him to say anything.

“I- I don’t want to,” his voice cracks while he says it.

“Spence, you can’t come back if you don’t. You can’t move forward if you don’t.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.”

A ringing echos in your ears.

“You don’t mean that. She- she would want you to keep going.”

Wrong thing to say.

“You don’t know anything about what she would want.”

He’s seething now, below the surface, but smoke has started to plume from his ears. Still, you don’t stop.

“Spencer, everyone knows that. No one would want you to put your life on hold.”

He speaks his next line through his teeth, “You don’t know anything, Y/n.”

You’ve never heard him sound so angry.

“Spencer-“

“No, just stop. You don’t know her. You don’t know me half as well as you think you do. You don’t know anything. I don’t even know why you’re here. I don’t want you here. You can't be what I need.”

The ringing in your ears is louder.

“Spencer, please. Just-“

“No!” His voice is raised now, bordering on a yell, “I don’t want you here. I want you out, Y/n.”

This has to be what shell shock feels like. The ringing, the tingle in your limbs, and the heat in your face. You don’t know how you are moving, but you are.

His voice is echoing in your head, or maybe he’s still talking, but you can’t tell either way. The only thing you can focus on is how Spencer sounded like he hates you and that Morgan was right about the hurt.

~

You spend the next day trying desperately to shut down the noise in your head. It doesn’t work. The day after is the same. And the days following that. You ignore calls when they come, you ignore the texts, but you can’t stop looking at your phone for a message from the man who fills your thoughts.

Spencer doesn’t call, obviously, and you have to sit with a pit in your stomach while you beg yourself to just get the fuck over it. Two years of reckoning with the severity of your love, months of watching him live happily without you, and it’s the three days you spent trying to help him feel incrementally better that floor you.

You feel like a dumb teenage girl with so much love and nothing to do with it. On top of everything, you feel selfish. Spencer lost the love of his life forever, and you’re nursing the worst heartbreak of your life because a boy will never want you and never has. Still, you send out prayers for him over and over. You hope you’ll see him in the BAU again, even if his eyes glaze over you. Hell, even if they look at you with hate the way they did two days ago. You just want him to function. You want him to be good and eventually be happy. You try to go to bed with soothing thoughts, but you end up with a mantra of his name.

You wake to your alarm and dress for work before you realize you aren’t actually supposed to go back yet. You never set a date to return. You wanted to be open as long as Spencer needed you. You’re supposed to be with him. You’re supposed to be helping and not tapping out. But you aren’t.

You have no reason not to return to the bullpen, so you do. You walk in and feel eyes on you. You wait for Morgan to call out to you, but he doesn’t, so you follow the feeling.

Your breath catches in your throat; it’s Spencer. He’s sitting at his desk, paperwork spread out, and he doesn’t look away from your gaze; he just holds it. His face is unreadable, and yours is definitely not, so you look away first. You don’t look up again until you reach Hotch’s office. You knock and hear him call out to come in.

“I’m back if that’s okay.”

He looks up at you, and you want to cry. You know he can read you. He has always been the best at it.

“Are you okay with that, Y/l/n?”

You lock eyes with him, “Yes, sir.”

It’s no use; he knows your tells and you aren’t being honest.

“Alright, conference room in five.”

Whatever he sees in your face, he ignores and takes you at your word, but there’s a warning in his tone. He knows when to let things go and when to push. More than that, though, he knows you’d never let something like this affect your work.

~

The first case back is in Maryland, and the one after is in Austin, and the next is in Philadelphia with The Replicator. The job takes you all over the country, and the cases blend together. You don’t speak to Spencer through all of it. You’re never partnered, never work together, you sit on opposite ends of the jet. You don’t even speak at Strauss’ funeral. It’s radio silent, and everyone notices it, but no one brings it up.

In that time, you allow yourself to slip away slightly. You don’t go out with the team, you see Pen at nearly half frequency, and basically, the only time you speak is on cases. It’s stupid and melodramatic, but you call it healing. Derek tries to reason with you, JJ sticks to you a bit more than usual, and Penelope calls you virtually whenever she can, but their efforts are mostly in vain. This is your way of protecting yourself. You feel like you have to isolate in order to improve, and you know, given time, you will come back to yourself.

Penelope’s insistence that you go to her Day of the Dead celebration breaks your distance.

“Y/n, please come. I know you aren’t going out, but you have to. I know you have people to honor, and I need you there.”

You sigh, “Whose going, Pen?”

“The team, which you are a part of, so you must be there.”

“I don’t think I can do that. I promise you I will celebrate with you. I’ll help you set up, just please don’t make me go.”

Penelope pauses, but the glint in her eye keys you into the fact that she is not interested in giving up.

“We miss you, Y/n. Everyone loves you and misses you. You’ve been living this stupid, isolated life, and it’s time for you to come back. You are not this person. I refuse to believe it. You’re coming, and that’s final.”

Maybe you don’t have the energy to argue, or maybe you know she’s right, but you agree to go.

~

The thought of seeing him makes your heart race, and the clock you keep glancing at makes it worse. Just a few more hours before you're trapped in a confined space (Pen’s beautiful home) with a man you haven’t spoken to in weeks.

You busy yourself with preparing. Lights are hung, food is made, and you make a trip to the store while Pen sets up her remembrance table. When everything is said and done, you can’t help but feel this is the most beautiful thing you’ve been a part of in a long time.

The first knock comes at 7:30 exactly, and it’s Hotch and Rossi. They are followed closely by Blake, then Derek and JJ. By 7:00, the atmosphere is light and loving, and you feel a bit of your anxiety let up as the minutes go by without Reid. But, eventually, the knock comes, of course it does, and you move into a corner as Spencer walks in. You feel a shift in energy, though you doubt it’s palpable for anyone else. Rossi is the first to make his way over to you, and his presence comforts you nearly immediately.

“How you doing, kid?” His voice is soft like he’s speaking to a scared rabbit.

“I’m better,” you say, and it’s about as honest as you can get. As much as you’d like to think he knows nothing about what’s gone on, you’re smarter than that. He’s the best profiler on the team, and he’s always known when someone was off with you. Even so, you are better than you were, even if you aren’t quite good, and you know he believes you.

There’s some idle conversation between you before he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not tonight. I don’t know when, but I will. Eventually, I will.”

It’s good enough for him, and you move on easily, which surprises you.

Right before Pen gathers you all to present your photos, he says, “Sometimes we think we’ve seen the whole picture, but we miss a big part. People do things because they don’t want to be hurt, but those things hurt them more. Just, be open.”

You don’t quite understand what he means, but you hope you will.

Penelope presents the first picture, which shows her parents. JJ honors her sister, Derek, his dad, Hotch Haley, and Rossi, Hernandez; then it’s your turn. You place down a photo of your best friend. You hadn’t talked much about her, but you think of her daily. She passed a few years before you joined the BAU.

“I was lucky to have someone that hurt that much to lose.”

That’s all you say, but it’s enough for you, and it would be enough for her.

Spencer is last. He places down a picture of Tesla and a picture of Maeve. Your heart is heavy for everyone.

The night dwindles from there. Hotch and Rossi say their goodbyes, and Rossi gives you a knowing look as he leaves. You just smile. You stay for a few minutes after, but eventually, you move to leave as well.

You make it down Garcia’s porch before you feel a hand grab your arm. You turn, and it’s Spencer’s face you see.

“Would you- Do you think you could come over? Do you think we could talk?”

~

The feeling you have walking up to Spencer's apartment is similar to what you felt the last time. You’re incredibly anxious, but at least you know you’ll be let in this time.

The drive over was silent. Spencer had taken the metro to Penelope’s, so he rode with you. It wasn’t necessarily awkward. There was just an understanding that the car wasn’t the place to begin your conversation.

Now, as Spencer unlocked his door, it’s one of those rare moments you felt starved for words, and you know it’s because you’re scared you’ll say the wrong thing and face the same reaction that you did the last time you were in his home.

He leads you to his living room and motions for you to sit, and you do. The two of you are on opposite ends of his couch while you wait for him to say something.

His first words are airy and light, “Thank you for letting me talk to you.”

You look at him but remain silent, waiting for him to go on. All you can think about is why he wants to speak to you at all. The last time you spoke, he made it incredibly clear he did not want you in his life or around him at all.

Before you can think about it more and let your anger and sadness build, he speaks again, “I feel really stupid right now. I kind of feel stupid whenever I’m around you recently.”

He pauses momentarily before going on, “I’m so, so sorry, Y/n. About the last time we spoke. I’ve been thinking about it pretty constantly for the past few weeks.”

You open your mouth, unsure of what exactly to say, but you can’t get there before he’s off again.

“I’m not sure how to talk to you anymore. I don’t think I’ve known how to for a long time. I just, I need you to know how sorry I am for speaking to you like that.”

He takes a shakey breath but keeps going, “That wasn’t me, and that isn’t how I feel. I’m just unbelievably sorry, Y/n.”

He stops there, and you work to collect your thoughts.

“I know. A part of me knows, at least, that you didn’t mean it. I just wanted to be there for you, and hearing that made me- I just- I think it made me hate myself for wanting to be there.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m unbelievably sorry.”

“You didn’t talk to me for months, Spencer. I just don’t understand. I don’t understand why you let me in in the first place. I thought you hated me.”

He’s silent for a long minute.

“I never hated you, Y/n. I just stopped knowing how to act around you, and then I met Maeve. I fell so deep into it that I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. I- And I just started to feel like you didn’t want me to speak to you, so I didn’t. But, when you came here, after everything, I guess I just felt like you were the only person who would get it. You never, no one on the team ever treated me or talked to me how you did. I just wanted that.”

Tears had begun to well in your eyes now. A part of you gets what he means, at least about letting you in, but the other part is so confused as to why he stopped being comfortable around you.

“I don’t understand, Spencer. Why did you stop knowing how to be around me?”

There’s desperation in your voice that makes you sound like a stranger to yourself. Maybe you’re a stranger to everyone right now.

“I uh, I don’t really know.”

“That's not fair, Spence.”

You’re crying now. Just a little bit, but you can feel the wetness on your cheeks. You can see that you are by the look on his face. He looks broken, and you know it's a reflection of your own image.

You wipe your face, “Thank you for apologizing, Spencer. I just, there are parts of this all that I don’t understand, and if you can't explain them to me, I don’t think I ever will.”

“Y/n-,” he calls out your name like a prayer.

“It’s okay, Spence. You don’t have to say anything more. We talked, and things will go back to how they were eventually.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

You smile sadly as you get up to leave.

“I am, too, for what it's worth. For whatever I did to make things change in the first place.”

You leave it at that, and it takes everything in you not to look back as you leave his apartment.

~

Things do get easier after that. Not completely. You still love him, and it hurts, but it helps to know he doesn’t hate you. He talks to you some, cordial things, and you do the same. You're sure your teammates still sense something is off, but this works for you. Right now, it works. Getting over him, not loving him anymore, is going to take work, but eventually, you know that you won’t hurt anymore.

Shortly after you and him talked, you started going back out with your friends. Spencer joined periodically, but that was normal. Bars were never really his scene.

Tonight, everyone gathers at your local pub. Your last case was particularly grueling, and you all need a way to blow off some steam. It's fun, and you feel good, even with Spencer sitting across from you. You feel proud of yourself for getting to this point.

JJ and Penelope feed you drinks to try and get you to dance, and you let them. Tonight feels as good of a night as any to ‘get back out there’ as Pen says. So, you do. You dance with them, and you ward off the other cops and agents around you who try to pull you away from your group. You aren’t interested in that. Right now, you're just having an appropriate amount of fun for a woman 15 feet from her boss.

Time goes by quickly, and by the time you get back to the table, you, Derek, Penelope, and JJ remain. He tells you that Hotch, Rossi, Reid, and Alex left a few minutes before. The conversation between you flows for a while, up until the drinks loosen Penelope up enough to bring up what you were pretty sure the team designated a no-no topic.

“Y/n, you have to talk about it.”

You’re still laughing as something Derek said when you reply, “What?”

“You know what. You and Boy-Genius. What on Earth happened? You went from ice-cold to semi-friendly. None of us saw it coming.”

“Babygirl-,” Derek tries to stop her, but you cut him off.

“No, it’s okay. I have to talk about it at some point, and I think right now is the only time I’ll be tipsy enough to let you get it out of me.”

You're still laughing slightly, but the pit that's lived in your stomach for the past few months starts to rear its head.

“After your Day of the Dead party, he asked to talk to me. I went to his place, and he apologized. I don’t really understand what he said or what he meant, but I can’t be sad about him forever.”

Pen perks up a bit at that, “I knew that party would bring good things!”

You giggle a bit at her outburst, but then JJ asks, “What did he say?”

The faces around you all tune in at that. You know they don’t see this as gossip. They care about you both too much to trivialize it like that.

“He just said that he stopped knowing how to act around me, and he didn’t know why, but then he met Maeve, and I guess it didn’t matter so much after that. He was my best friend, and then he was nothing.”

JJ shares a glance with Derek and then speaks, “Oh, Y/n.”

“What?”

After a beat, Derek says, “He didn’t just not know how to act around you.”

Now you're confused, “What do you mean? I talked to him, that's what he said. He didn’t know why. I mean, he knows everything and didn’t know why he didn’t want to be around me anymore. How fucking stupid is that.”

You laugh again, but it does come off as genuine in the slightest.

“Y/n, he probably doesn’t really know why. At least not fully. For someone as smart as he is, the kid can be really stupid.”

“Stop being cryptic.”

Derek sighs but goes on, “Pretty girl, pretty boy was in love with you. Probably still is. He just didn’t think you’d ever feel the same.”

“No. That's not true.”

You look at the others around you, but their faces are serious.

“He loved Maeve. He loves Maeve. That, that doesn’t make any sense.”

It's JJ’s turn to talk now.

“He definitely did love Maeve, no one is denying that, but we all saw how he was around you. His whole relationship with her was safe. He couldn’t be hurt by her rejection every day because he had no way of seeing her. With you, he could.”

Your mind is moving a mile a minute, “Did he tell you guys this?”

Penelope puts her hand over yours and says, “He didn’t have to, love. We all say the way he looked at you and acted around you. The way he talked about you. That boy was head over heels.”

“Guys, I appreciate whatever you’re trying to do, but this isn’t real. Spencer doesn’t- this is not real.”

“Y/n, pause. Think about the way he acted around you, the things he said. Think about how Reid is.”

You hear what Derek said, but it all sounds faint like someone stuffed your ears with cotton while you weren't paying attention. All you can focus on are the different scenes running through your head, the scenes of your life with Spencer in it. How he memorized your coffee order and brought it for you every day, how he never shied away from your touch despite his aversion to contact, how he consistently went out of his way to protect you on the field. At his house after everything, the way he clung to you and wanted to be held. How he said in his own words, “You can't be what I need”; not “you aren’t,” but “you can’t.”

Your whole world is crashing down in this bar, and you can’t do anything to stop it.

“Y/n?”

JJ’s voice snaps you out of your spiral.

“Just go talk to him.”

You nod mutely, and you get up.

~

Everything in the last ten months of your life has led you to the exact spot you were when everything blew up in the first place: Spencer’s door.

This time, you aren't too worried about him not letting you in. If anything, it's the opposite. Him opening this door could open a hundred others, and you don’t quite know if you are ready for any of them. You sit there and sit there and sit there, trying to work up the courage to knock, though you aren’t sure it's there to begin with. Right as you're about to walk away and decide you’ll come back another day, his door swings open.

“Y/n?”

His face is lit up with shock, and you notice his hand that is not on the door is holding his pistol.

“What are you doing here?”

You don’t answer, “Why did you open the door?”

He sets his piece down on the entry table before responding, “I heard footsteps in the hall and saw they stopped here. I was anxious. 50.3% of home invasions happen between 8:00 pm and 7:00 am.” He cuts himself off there, “Y/n, why are you here?”

You didn’t pay attention to anything he said. All you could think about was the way his lips were moving and the way his eyes locked onto yours as he talked.

“Do you love me?”

That is not what you wanted to say.

His lips fall open as he takes in a sharp breath, “What?”

“Or I guess did you love me? Before everything? Because Derek and JJ and Pen, they all said that you loved me, and now I can’t think about anything else, Spencer.”

He doesn’t speak, but you don't really give him a chance to.

“I just, I know I sound crazy right now, but I feel fucking crazy. I keep going over everything in my head, and I have been, for the past year I have been, but now it’s all different. It's all different because they said that you loved me, but you didn’t think I’d feel the same way.”

Here, you do pause, but he still doesn’t say anything, so you go on before you can stop yourself.

“Because if that's true, Spencer, it's just- I did. I do. And if it's not, then please just tell me so I can stop feeling this way.”

He sounds resigned when he says, “Y/n,” and you feel like you know what that means.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I'm doing this. You don’t have to say anything. Actually, please don’t say anything. I don't think I can hear it. Just pretend I never-”

He cuts off your ramble, “Y/n, stop.”

You draw your eyes from the floor, look up at him, and find something in his gaze you have never seen before. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you, and it takes everything you have not to look away. His hand raises to cup your jaw, and your skin lights on fire. Before you can process what he’s doing, you feel his lips press against yours, and something clicks. At first, his touch is light, like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. But, when he grasps that you won’t, he presses himself to you harder, and all you can think about is how nothing has ever felt so right.

His lips move against yours, and you don’t know how you're managing to reciprocate because it feels like everything in your body has gone fuzzy. The kiss is by no means long, but it feels like it lasts forever, and by the time he pulls away, you’re breathless.

His forehead stays connected to yours, and he whispers, “I do, Y/n, love you. I have.”

You don’t feel the tears on your cheeks until he’s wiping them away.

“Oh, Y/n.”

“Did you know? That you did? Is that why…”

You trail off, hoping he’ll pick up on what you're asking, and he does.

“I didn’t at first, or I didn’t realize I was falling in love with you until it happened. I got scared, so I ran. I just never thought that you could feel the same or that I was hurting you. I didn’t realize that. I just thought I was doing what was best for us. I felt guilty for being in love with my best friend.”

“And Maeve?”

“I loved Maeve. I’ll always have love for her. I was trying to move on, and I thought I could eventually be with her and be around you without it hurting. I wish I would have told you this before.”

“You’re telling me now. That's enough.”

This time, it's you who pushes your lips to meet his. Your arms snake around his neck, and his fall to your waist. You follow when he pulls you into his apartment and closes the door. There is still pain on both sides, but you can feel it dissipating as you cling to each other. You’re just two broken people who have finally found a way to each other.

This kiss is different, hungrier. Neither of you pulls away for longer than a few seconds as you navigate your way from his entryway to his couch. Every touch is desperate like you're searching for something you never knew existed until now. His hands pull you closer and closer until he's pulling you on top of him, and each of your legs rests on opposite sides of his hips.

Your lips break from his for a moment, “What do you want, Spence?”

His reply is instant, “You.”

From there, things move faster. Your hands unbutton his shirt and push it from his shoulders while he undoes your pants. There are moments of awkwardness that come with exploring another for the first time, but it feels good. His hands trace over your hips and push further until you're left on top of him in only your underwear and bra. He takes you in like you are something to be marveled at, and you know your eyes reflect the same adoration.

You raise yourself off of him and work to get him in the same state of undress as you, and when you position yourself on top of him, you feel his length press against your center. The two thin layers of fabric do little to hinder the intensity as you rock into him. He lets out quiet moans at the action as his lips trace down your neck and over your collarbone.

His breath ghosts over you and makes you shiver when he asks, “Can I touch you?”

“Please.”

His hand moves between the two of you, and his fingers find your clit easily, rubbing circles over the fabric of your panties. You pant his name against his lips at the action. You feel like your whole body is lit up, and under any other circumstance, you'd feel embarrassed at how worked up you are, but you can’t seem to care.

After a few moments, he lifts you up and carries you to his bedroom. From there, he positions you below him on the bed, removing your remaining clothes in the same motion. The new setup lets you grip him, and he feels big in your hand. His fingers resume their previous assault before dipping down into you. You cry out at the feeling of him inside you, slowly pushing in and out, finding a spot that makes your legs start to shake. He’s relentless in his pursuit and all you can muster up the energy to say is his name.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n.”

It's somewhere between a whimper and a whisper, but the sound of his voice causes you to clench around his fingers.

He picks up on this, of course he does, and quickens his pace as he coos at you.

“So pretty like this. I’m so lucky.”

You’re embarrassingly close already, so when he moves his thumb over your clit to rub circles as he fucks into you with his fingers, you come undone almost instantly with a warning and cry of his name. He works you through your orgasm, all while whispering praise in your ear. Once you come down from your high, you start to push his boxers down his legs, but he stops you before you can fully.

“We don’t have to do anything more, Y/n. I liked just making you feel good.”

“I want more. I want to feel you if you want that too.”

“Of course I do. I just don’t want you to regret anything.”

“I couldn’t regret this, Spencer. I love you. I want all of you.”

It's the first time you’ve actually said those three words to him, and it feels so fucking good to say.

“I love you, too. God, so much.”

With that, he positions himself back on top of you, running his fingers over your slit gently before gripping himself.

“Do you have a condom?”

“I might somewhere, but I have an IUD, and I’m clean. I can try to find one if you’re more comfortable with that?”

“IUDs have a failure rate of around .05% and are largely considered the most effective form of birth control, so uh, as long as you're okay with it, I am.”

You smile to yourself at his statistic but nod, “I want to feel you, Spencer.”

He returns your smile before rubbing his length over your entrance a few times and slowly pushing himself into you just slightly. He teases you, or maybe himself, for a moment before fully entering you. You push your hips up to meet his, and feeling him in his entirety makes your jaw fall open. He’s big, and you feel unbelievably full.

He waits a moment for you to adjust before he starts to develop a rhythm. His hands are everywhere, but his eyes are focused solely on your face like he doesn’t want to miss a moment of your reaction to him inside of you. To be fair, you are probably putting on a good show. Every movement he makes hits you in exactly the right spot, and you don’t think you could be louder if you tried. You can feel the leg he’s not holding up against his shoulder shake against the bed. Your first orgasm has made way for your second to be incredibly close.

“Spencer, please.”

You’re crying out, desperate for a little more to push you over the edge.

“What do you need, baby?” His voice is tight like he’s not far himself, and it sounds better than anything you’ve ever heard.

“Harder. Please, harder.”

He takes your direction immediately, rubbing circles on your clit with one hand while he thrusts into you with a bruising force. He’s fucking you like he wants you to remember the feeling long after he stops, and you know that you will. Everything about it is overwhelming: his smell, his pace, his eyes. You are covered in him, and he is covered in you.

After a moment, the hand he had on your stomach trails up to grasp lightly at your throat, and you fall into feeling. You can’t warn him that you're about to come before you do. The feeling is white hot. Bigger than your first, and the fact that you're coming on him sends you into overdrive. You can feel his hips falter for a moment, but you're lost in a daze, crying out his name.

He pumps into you a few more times before he follows suit. He pulls out, and you feel stripes of his come paint your cunt and lower stomach as he finishes with a moan of your name.

He falls next to you on the bed, and it takes you both a few moments to collect yourselves and catch your breath.

Once you do, the only thing you can think to say is, “I love you.”

It feels like those are the only words circling around in your head at the moment. Some mixture of his name and that declaration. While you know you each said it before, that your profession was the exigence of the sex you just had, it feels uniquely vulnerable to say now. It’s like the moment you just had together could have changed things or made him realize that he doesn’t actually love you after all.

That shoe doesn’t drop, though. Instead, you hear the three words echoed back to you by a man who, 6 hours ago, you thought would never, ever say them.

You turn to face him, and the love on his face feels like it could knock you out. He’s looking at you and smiling in a way you haven't seen in a long time.

“Will you let me clean you up?”

You know that part of the reason he’s asking has something to do with the likelihood of bacteria growth or something like that, but you think it's mainly that he wants to take care of you. Him wetting a rag and running it over you feels intimate in a different way, in an excruciatingly gentle way. Personal in a way that makes you feel like nothing between you could ever be wrong again, and maybe that's naive to think, but you feel hopeful regardless.

Once he finishes, he takes his space back next to you in the bed. This time, he pulls you into his arms, and it's different than it was all those months ago. This time, you know that he won’t push you away and that you won't hurt yourself by being next to him. This time, you just tuck yourself into him, and you let him whisper sweet nothings into your ear as you begin to drift off. This time, it feels like peace.

~

The following day, you wake up to Spencer still next to you, looking incredibly soft in the early morning light. You search for a moment to find your phone in the piles of clothes and are greeted with a text from Pen.

How did it go????

You smile before turning your phone off and climbing back into bed next to the man you love. It couldn’t have gone better.

-

all done! yay!!!

i hope you guys love it!! i’m not 100% happy with the ending but i’ve been writing this for so long and just needed to be done.

this is my first time writing angst on here and my longest fic, so PLEASE tell me what you think! all (nice) feedback is welcome and i love to hear from you guys!! :)

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 17: "I hate it" "No, you don't"

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Reblog if you liked it!

It was late when you received the call from your boyfriend. It wasn’t unusual for him to call and ask if he could spend the night at your place after work (when there wasn’t a case that took him to another state), and of course, you gladly accepted, eager to see him for a bit longer. Your relationship was relatively new, just past the six-month mark, but Spencer’s noble and chivalrous character had allowed you to trust him quickly enough to let him into your space.

You had met in a book club, and he had captivated you with his analysis of "Man's Search for Meaning" by Viktor Frankl. His eloquence, the way his hands moved, that whole vibe of an intelligent college student... it was inevitable that you would approach him to talk. That’s how you both started chatting occasionally, and as the months passed, what was meant to happen, happened.

“Good night,” you murmured softly as you saw him standing at your door. “Come in.”

He smiled widely when you took his hand to guide him inside, and he made sure to respond to your greeting. The first thing he did was take his briefcase off his shoulder and place it on one of your wooden chairs, accompanied by his checkered scarf.

“Were you already asleep?”

“No, I’m just finishing some things. You know, my thesis work and all that,” you exclaimed, lacking much enthusiasm.

Not everyone was a genius like him, so if Spencer wanted to hang out with people his age, he had to endure the academic struggles of a college student.

“Poor you.”

You enjoyed his compassion, and it was at that moment that you moved closer to hug him, a contact he reciprocated with great pleasure. You didn’t want to be rude enough to say it out loud, but from the very first moment you formalized your relationship, you realized how starved he was for touch. And not explicitly in a sexual sense, but simply to be caressed in any way. To someone from his usual circle, it would have seemed extremely strange that Dr. Reid, so well known for his aversion to germs, constantly sought out someone’s hand, asking for kisses on the lips or pleading for a warm hug.

When he told you, slightly embarrassed, that you were his first girlfriend, some things started to make sense in your mind. But it was sweet if you thought about it because it meant he was choosing you to teach him many things about love.

To be honest, you were willing to give him whatever he wanted. After all, he was a good-hearted guy who devoted himself to adoring you, a type you don’t find easily. And it had to be said that his intelligence wasn’t the only trait you had noticed, as his physical attributes were also quite (too) appealing.

Once you both felt satisfied with the contact, you separated, and then you looked at him with a smile.

“How was work?”

“Same old,” he expressed as you guided him to one of the dining chairs where you had been working. “Today we did reports and reviewed some cold cases, just in case we could still help in some way.”

“That must be so exhausting. I wouldn’t have the willpower.”

“For what?”

“To endure so many cases. To know how horrible humanity can be and keep going as if nothing’s wrong.”

“Everything leaves its mark, even if it doesn’t seem like it.”

There was a hint of pain hidden behind those words that made you feel compassion for his work. He tried to keep you at a distance from everything that was happening to him, and he still didn’t dare confess many of the things that troubled him at night. He didn’t want to scare you, of course; that’s why he thought it prudent to wait a little longer in the relationship.

After all, if you truly loved him, it would be with all those flaws and traumatic events that his life entailed.

“Well, I admire you for helping capture those despicable people.”

Your sincere tone was pleasant to your boyfriend’s ears, and he thanked you with a smile that spoke volumes.

Suddenly, your gaze drifted to the laptop on the table, and he hurried to murmur:

“Do you want to continue? I don’t mean to disturb your schedule.”

“Doesn’t bother you?”

“Not at all.”

“I have to submit a progress report this week, analyze some data, strengthen the theoretical part…” You sighed, letting yourself drop into the chair, ready to continue with the task. “Have you eaten yet? You can go to the kitchen and prepare whatever you like. The place is yours.”

Spencer took you up on your offer, and while you continued typing away on your laptop, he took the liberty of preparing something light for dinner and serving it on two separate plates.

When he finished, he brought them over to you, placing your plate beside you in silence. You murmured a small thank you, and he ate while seated in one of the adjacent spaces, watching you from time to time simply because he liked you so much.

At some point, he gathered your empty dishes and carried them to the sink, washing them himself. He was so sweet.

“Do you need help with anything? You know I don’t mind,” he offered.

At that, he stood behind you, able to embrace you since you were sitting in a rather unnatural position in your chair, and the wooden backrest wasn’t a hindrance.

“I need a new brain; this one’s dried out.”

Spencer laughed at the exaggeration, knowing that it was impossible, and shortly afterward, he left a kiss on your cheek. A small giggle escaped you as you felt his hands sliding toward your waist, knowing what was coming next.

“Spencer…”

“Yes?” he replied innocently, as if he didn’t know what he was doing.

Doing that had become a constant habit since he discovered that you were extremely ticklish. Literally, every time he placed his hands on you, you would burst into laughter.

“Spencer,” you repeated, more seriously this time.

But in the smile you wore, he saw that your threats didn’t really carry any weight. Carefully, the tips of his fingers began to drum against your waist, your belly, the area of your ribs. Simultaneously, his lips began to leave fleeting kisses on any skin they could reach: your cheeks, neck, jaw, shoulder.

The room filled with laughter from both of you as a sort of game ensued, where he tried his best to tickle you, and you desperately attempted to escape him. His face was buried in your neck, and you had lifted your legs onto the chair in a futile attempt to defend yourself.

It wasn’t until you gasped for air, complaining that you couldn’t breathe, that he finally showed you mercy and stopped. You inhaled heavily, trying to catch your breath, and even though he stopped touching you, he didn't move away.

“I hate it!”

“No, you don’t.”

It was obvious that you didn’t hate it. You both knew it, and it was a silent pact that this kind of playfulness was part of your love language as a couple. Every time Spencer held you in his arms, he felt he was holding the world —his world— because after so much time, he felt he had something to love and to be loved by. You were his treasure.

He kept hugging you from behind, exhaling warm air into the crook of your neck. When you were finally able to calm down, you turned slightly to ask for a kiss on the lips. He gladly obliged.

“You know? I think I’ll leave this for tomorrow. For now, I just want to rest…” you continued, closing your eyes and stealing another kiss. “Take a bath, spend time with you…”

“But you have to work on your research.”

“And how can I do that if you’re here? Everything about you distracts me,” you complained, raising one of your hands to hold his cheek and receiving a kiss as a reward.

“What if we do it together? It’ll be good for both of us; I want to distract my mind.”

“Only a brainiac relaxes with data analysis,” you huffed playfully, and he scattered another kiss before pulling away. “But I accept, with the condition that afterward we only focus on sleeping.”

“Deal.”

You didn’t know how lottery winners felt. But you assumed it was something similar to what you experienced every time you looked at Spencer.

[happy74827]

Love Me Like A Sailor

[Wade Wilson x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: It’s rare that dreams can turn into reality, but it isn’t impossible.

WC: 5537 (trust the process friends 🙏)

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends + Lovers, Wade POV, Mentions of the Past {TW: Self-Deprecation, Wade having insecurities, Not Proof Read}

Where are all the fics of this man? I can barely find some for him and it’s making me go crazy. Like, your honor, I love him. Gimme more.

Anyway, I figured I would write a Wade fic that’s around the same premise as my Wolverine one (since SO MANY OF YOU ate it up), so if anyone actually finds this… you’re welcome 🫶✨

『••✎••』

He was always in love with you. Always.

Wade Wilson had never been the smartest tool in the shed, the prettiest girl in the room, or even the tallest guy. In fact, he was a little bit of the opposite. He had a face only a mother could love, he was always cracking jokes at the wrong time, and his voice was too loud and too obnoxious for his own good. And while all of these traits might be endearing when it came from a handsome man with a voice as smooth as silk, the same qualities were irritating at best when it came to Wade.

He knew that. He wasn't blind. He knew he was annoying and ugly and too loud. However, there was one thing he was certain of: Wade Wilson was in love with his best friend.

Wade Wilson was not in love with just any best friend. He was in love with the only person who had been there since the beginning, the only one who had stuck with him through everything he had been through.

He was in love with you.

And you were in love with him, or so he hoped. He couldn’t tell because you were the most gorgeous, sweet, caring, thoughtful, and wonderful person on this planet, and he was none of those things.

He could barely bring himself to think of the words that could be on the tip of your tongue whenever he was around. He didn't deserve you. He was damaged.

But sometimes, he couldn’t help but hope—hope that you would return his feelings, hope that maybe you felt the same way, hope that you could be more than just best friends.

Every time the thought crossed his mind, his heart would pound in his chest. He was always so close to telling you, to confessing, but then he would stop himself. It was a constant back-and-forth.

One night, after a particularly long night of kicking names and taking asses, Wade decided to visit his gal pal, and by visit, he meant to break into your house and steal your food.

So, like Krampus, if Krampus had a thing for chimichangas instead of children, Wade climbed through your bedroom window as it had been left unlocked. You had told him a thousand times to use the front door, but Wade couldn’t do that. If he did that, he would feel too normal. And as much as Wade enjoyed breaking and entering, he would be damned if he made it boring for himself.

He only wished he could stick the landing.

In his defense, he had only fallen off the window ledge by an inch or two. However, the thud that his body made when he landed on the hardwood floor of your bedroom was louder than he had anticipated, and it sounded like an explosion.

A big one, too, like someone who had a little too much Taco Bell and took a nice walk through Barnes & Noble. Oh, yes, he knows exactly what you book nerds do when you’re approaching that infamous bathroom sign.

But, regardless of his loud entrance, he jumped back up to his feet and brushed the dust off his suit before making his way to the kitchen.

The smell of vanilla wafted through the air as Wade entered the kitchen and saw nothing but cleanliness and order. He opened the cupboards and frowned at the lack of food.

This was a problem.

A major problem.

There was nothing he could eat. No tacos. No chimichangas. No candy. Not even a damn Dorito.

What kind of animal would do this?

Wade had never been so offended. He was going to have to talk to you about this. You couldn’t have a guest over and not have snacks.

He decided to call you. Maybe you could talk some sense into yourself.

You answered after the second ring.

You didn't seem surprised at all to hear his voice on the other end of the line. Wade was used to your nonchalance when it came to him and his shenanigans. He loved it.

You always kept him on his toes, and the fact that you had become desensitized to his crazy was both amusing and infuriating.

And it really worked out to his benefit tonight.

Because when he started complaining about the lack of food in your apartment, instead of telling him to get his ass back to his place and stop breaking into yours, you told him to sit tight.

That you would be right over.

And that's how Wade found himself waiting for you on your couch, his leg bouncing with anticipation as he waited for you to get here.

His heart was pounding against his rib cage as his fingers drummed a nervous beat against his thighs. He so wanted to marry you the moment you walked through the door.

He would make sure that was the first thing out of his mouth.

And when you handed him his bag of Checkers, he couldn't stop himself from blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

"Wanna get married?"

He fully meant it, too—the whole shi-bang.

Till death do us part.

Till the cows come home.

Till the last dance.

And every single second after.

You played it off as one of his usual antics. One of the jokes that Wade always cracked whenever he was hungry or when you surprised him.

Of course, why would you think he was being serious? His life was a full-blown comedy, a slapstick routine that would have even the biggest comedian crying with laughter.

Wade knew that. But, for once, he wished his life became less of a joke and more of a fairy tale.

A happily ever after. If they even exist.

It seemed life always had an extra curveball for him. A twist. Something unexpected. Something that made him feel even less human.

He could never catch a break even if the closest thing he could imagine to heaven was standing in front of him.

So, with a heavy sigh, Wade took the bag of Checkers and plopped himself onto the couch, hoping to enjoy the sweet taste of victory in the form of sugar and carbs.

And then you did something that made him fall in love with you even more.

You sat next to him.

Wade didn't even try to hide the wide grin that spread across his lips as he watched you sit beside him, a smile of your own on your pretty face.

You were beautiful. So, so beautiful.

Wade had always known that. He could tell the moment he first met you. He could also see the panic, the fear, and the terror in your eyes when you saw him.

And he was hot then, too—supermodel level.

Fun fact: the reason why you two met was that Wade might have gotten the names mixed up on his gold card and had ended up at a very fancy restaurant, and, well, his idea of the target was the one serving him.

You.

It was a bit awkward.

But, after you realized he wasn’t going to murder you and that he had no idea how much a glass of water cost or how his steak was literally the size of the entire restaurant, you started talking.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

It was love at first sight. In his mind, at least. He couldn’t imagine life without you.

Wade was in deep.

And the way you were looking at him right now, a glimmer of happiness in your eyes, a soft smile of contentment on your face, and your body turned towards him, well, it made him melt.

Wade had always been a sucker for romantic movies and romance novels, and the way you looked right now was straight out of a Nicholas Sparks movie.

He wanted to kiss you.

No.

He needed to kiss you. To feel your lips against his. Your hands in his. The warmth of your body. Your heartbeat.Everything.

He needed it all.

Call him a horny bastard, but you looked absolutely beautiful sitting there, eating one of his favorite fries from the bag.

Wade had always loved the little things. He loved watching you eat. He loved seeing you play with your hair. He loved it when you babbled to yourself. And, right now, you were doing the cutest thing ever.

You were holding the bag out to him, a fry halfway to your mouth, your eyes wide, and a bright smile on your face. You looked so happy.

Wade was happy, too.

"Want some?"

Nuggets. He didn’t even know Checkers had nuggets.

He hadn’t seen these bad boys since high school. And even then, they were the cheap knockoff, frozen food nuggets.

These were the good shit.

"Oh, baby, I'd take you and all your chicken nuggets to prom," Wade said as he reached forward and plucked a chicken nugget out of the bag.

He popped it into his mouth and let out a satisfied hum.

You giggled and shook your head as you pulled the bag back towards yourself and set it on your lap.

"You're a dork, Wade."

"The dorkiest."

"That's true."

You took a sip from your soda and leaned back, letting out a content sigh as you did so.

"Thanks for coming over," Wade said as he grabbed his burger and began eating.

"Well, I do live here," you replied, your eyes darting toward the bag of nuggets. "I can't really go anywhere else."

Maybe you can’t, but he can go inside your—

"I was actually thinking we could spend the night together," you continued, oblivious to the naughty thoughts running through his mind. "We haven't done that in a while."

Wade nearly choked on his burger.

He swallowed quickly and let out a small cough before grabbing his soda and downing the entire thing. For once, the liquid soothed his parched throat.

"I mean, uh, yeah, sure, totally. It'll be just like the old days. You, me, Netflix, and chilling."

He couldn't help it, okay? Flirting was just one of the many things that Wade Wilson did naturally.

Just like his regular occurrence of having 207 bones in his body.

It wasn't his fault that his words came out suggestive. He fully meant it—every word.

Every single flirtatious word that tumbled out of his mouth. Every joke that came out as a compliment. Every compliment was more of a sexual innuendo than anything.

It was who he was.

It was the only way he knew how to talk to people. Especially the person with whom he was in love.

He couldn't just go up to you and tell you that you were the most amazing person he had ever met, or that your smile was so beautiful that it made his heart skip a beat, or that he loved the way you looked at him when you were happy, or the way your voice would turn into a squeal when you laughed, or the way you would blush when he flirted with you.

He couldn't say all those things because they were cheesy and cliche, and you would think he was lying.

So, he made jokes. He made innuendos. He made you blush and giggle and roll your eyes.

Because that was the best way to get through to you.

That was the only way.

Or, at least, that's what he had thought.

Now, the truth was a bit different. The truth was that Wade was scared. Scared that you wouldn't feel the same way. Scared that he would ruin everything. Scared that you would leave.

So, he flirted. And joked. And tried to act like everything was normal. Like he was still in his younger, good-looking, more handsome days. Like if he made himself delusional enough to believe he was still attractive, he could convince himself that he would always have a chance.

Because he wasn't, he was old, ugly, and damaged. And no one, not even someone as beautiful and kind and wonderful as you, would want someone who had gone through the things he had.

Who had done the things he had.

You didn’t show any signs of disgust or resentment when he showed up on your doorstep for the first time after his incident or even the next time. Or the times after that.

But Wade couldn’t help but feel like it would eventually happen, and you would eventually get tired of him that you would realize how damaged he was. How broken he was.

That he wasn’t worthy.

"Remember that party?" Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts. You had a fond smile on your face as you looked up at the ceiling. "When you snuck into my room and convinced me to sneak out and have fun with you?"

Yes, yes, he did. He remembered it far better than you. And he knew that, even though you hadn’t said it, he knew that this was a memory he treasured more because… ironically, it was the only time you had ever done something rebellious.

You had been so shy and timid and afraid to stand up for yourself. You had always been afraid of going against the grain, of doing what other people told you to do.

Wade had always wondered why. He had always wondered what was holding you back. So, when he was able to drag you out of your shell and make you experience a night, you would never forget, well, he was a happy man.

It was also the night he realized things that he had never been aware of before. Physically things.

There was a moment he remembered vividly. The two of you were about seconds away from getting a picture taken by some drunk dude with a Polaroid camera. Wade, being the good friend he was, had wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close.

In that moment, he happened to glance at you when the flash went off and, well, it was a picture perfect moment.

We’re talking slow-mo, people becoming blurred background characters, a spotlight shining down on you two, his heart pounding in his chest, and butterflies flying around in his stomach.

The only thing missing was a sappy love song playing in the background.

He had always assumed that the sudden fluttering feeling in his stomach and the way his heart was pounding was due to the fact that he hated his picture being taken.

Or that he had accidentally eaten the wrong thing at the buffet.

But, as he stared at you, he started noticing every single detail. How pretty your eyes became with the extra glint of the flash. How your smile was as bright as a baby’s bare ass. How you were so oblivious to everything else except for him.

How the world suddenly became a blur, and all he could focus on was you.

How the music faded away. How he forgot how to breathe. How his heart felt like it was about to explode.

It was at that moment Wade realized, for the first time, what love was.

Wade had never been the one for grand gestures. He didn't know how to express his emotions in ways other than jokes or sarcasm. So, when it came to romance, he always preferred to keep things simple.

Like now, break-ins and food were his version of a romantic dinner.

However, when it came to the actual feelings part, the emotional part, and the vulnerable part, Wade had a hard time with that.

This was why, when you turned your attention towards him, he couldn't stop the words from spilling out of his mouth.

"Why haven’t we ever dated?"

You blinked.

You stared at him for a moment, your expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, you responded, "You’re really affected by getting Checkers, aren't you?"

Wade could see the amusement in your eyes and he could hear the faint traces of humor in your tone, but, somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling that you were avoiding the question.

He couldn’t tell if it was because you didn't want to answer him or if it was because you didn't know what to say.

And, for a brief moment, Wade hesitated to push you. He didn't want to make things uncomfortable. He didn't want to put you on the spot. He didn't want to scare you away.

But, then again, if there was anything Wade Wilson was good at, it was pushing people to their absolute limit.

So, he pushed.

"Skip the foreplay," he said, his voice firm and steady but not unkind. "Seriously, why have we never dated?"

Wade kept his eyes on yours, his expression serious, his body tense. He waited for you to speak, his heart pounding in his chest and his stomach churning.

You were silent for a long moment, staring at him with wide, confused eyes.

"Because we're best friends," you answered finally, your tone matter-of-fact, almost as if you were stating a fact. "And, I… I just never thought about it.

Wade felt his heart sink. He knew that you weren’t lying. He could see it in the way your lips curled downwards, the way your eyebrows furrowed, and the way your shoulders slumped forward.

You were telling the truth.

It was a truth Wade didn’t want to hear.

He opened his mouth, prepared to apologize, to change the subject, to say something to make you laugh.

But, before he could utter a single word, you spoke again.

"Besides, it's not like you've ever been interested."

There was a hint of bitterness in your voice, a tinge of hurt in your tone.

It was a subtle reminder that Wade had a track record of being a player. A serial flirt who was never serious. A guy who flirted with every girl, who was constantly on the lookout for the next big thing.

He was the type of guy who would rather have fun than get attached. Or, at least, that's what everyone assumed.

At the tone of your voice, Wade immediately perked up, his eyes widening in surprise and his heart pounding.

The guttural laugh that escaped his lips caught you by surprise.

You flinched slightly and stared at him, your mouth agape, your eyes wide, and your expression bewildered.

"Sorry," Wade apologized quickly, his voice quiet and strained. He cleared his throat and shook his head. "But, goddamn, that’s… oh, man. You do not know how wrong you are."

"Oh, don’t even, Winston Wilson, this is not the time for your jokes," you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Oh, middle names, huh? Are we there already? Because I have to say, I didn't think you were the type of girl who'd use a guy's full name to show her disappointment, but I have to admit, it's kind of hot."

Wade smirked at the annoyed look that crossed your face, but it soon faded as he realized that you didn't find the comment amusing.

Instead, you seemed to grow even more frustrated.

"Wade," you started, your voice soft and low, your tone filled with frustration and sadness, "I don’t want to get into it right now, okay? Can we please just eat our food and watch a movie or something?"

You turned away from him, focusing your attention on the bag of Checkers.

He couldn’t let you avoid this.

"Look, I'm not trying to be a jerk," he began, his voice soft and gentle, "I'm just… did you seriously never think I would want to be with you?"

You paused and turned to look at him, a confused expression on your face.

"Of course not; why would I?"

The genuine shock in your voice and the innocent look on your face nearly broke his heart.

He thought he was being the most obvious motherfucker on the planet, but apparently, you had been as blind as a bat.

"I've been flirting with you for years," he reminded you. "I've been complimenting you, and asking you to hang out, and giving you gifts, and—"

"That's just what you do, Wade," you interrupted, shaking your head. "That's what you do to all girls. You flirt with them. You ask them out. You do the whole charming and funny routine. I’m sure if you knew their addresses, you would break in too."

Okay, ouch.

You weren't exactly wrong, but still, that kind of stung.

"That's not what I'm talking about," he insisted, his voice growing louder, his tone firm.

"What are you talking about, then?"

"I'm talking about you, okay? You’re like the Goldie Hawn to my Kurt Russell. Or, if I'm being completely honest, you're like chimichangas and tacos, and not just because they're both delicious, but because, let's face it, I'm addicted to you."

Your expression remained neutral, your eyes still boring into his.

"You're my best friend," he continued, his voice growing softer, his tone gentler, "and, yeah, maybe I used to flirt with other girls a lot, but I don't care about them. I don't even really know them. And, besides, none of them would be able to look me in the eyes right now, the way you are."

"Don’t start with that," you mumbled, averting your gaze and looking down at the floor.

"Start with what?"

"Being self-deprecating."

"It's not self-deprecating," he said, his tone growing defensive. His whole confession was momentarily forgotten. "It's true. I am a walking nightmare, and not just because I look like Freddy Krueger and Leatherface had a baby, but also because I've killed more people than I've seen naked."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I haven't seen you naked," you retorted, a playful smirk forming on your lips.

"Hey, don't tease me. I'm already emotionally vulnerable enough."

You snorted, but your grin was soft and warm.

"Okay, sorry," you said, your tone apologetic, your expression serious, "but, seriously, though, you’re not a nightmare. Not to me. I mean, sure, you look like a melted wax figurine, and your personality is like a mix between a hyperactive 10-year-old and a 70-year-old alcoholic, but, you know, I don't mind."

"Oh, you're too kind."

"My point is, it doesn't bother me, Wade," you assured him. "And it never will."

"Even if it does," he said, his voice quiet, his tone low, "it won't change the way I feel about you."

Your expression softened, the playfulness fading from your eyes. You looked about ready to let out some tears, but Wade had a feeling that they weren’t because you were sad.

"Did you really think that all this time?" you asked, the softness in your tone making his chest tighten. "You wanted to date me?"

He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.

"Yeah," he answered, his tone casual, "you’re hot, toots. Even hotter than me in my prime."

You rolled your eyes, a faint smile on your face. "I don’t know, Wade. The suit does you justice."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Is that your way of telling me that my ass looks good in this thing?"

"Oh, Wade, I don't need to tell you that," you replied, smirking. "You know how amazing your ass is."

You’re right. Captain America had nothing on him.

He let out a deep breath, his eyes fixed on yours. He was silent for a long moment, just taking in your appearance.

You didn’t change much from that day at the party. Maybe your facial features matured a little, and maybe your body grew a little more, but besides that, you looked the same.

The only difference was the look you gave him. The softness of your eyes. The affection in your expression. The gentleness of your smile.

It was the same look he constantly gave you when he thought you weren’t looking.

It was the look of someone who cared deeply for you. Someone who cherished you. Who wanted to make you happy. Who wanted to be by your side forever.

Someone who loved you.

"Do you ever wonder what would've happened if we kissed that night?"

He didn’t expect you to know exactly what he was talking about. Random question and all that. But, you surprised him once again.

"Why didn’t you?"

The question caught him off guard.

He was used to the playful banter, the light teasing, the random flirting. He wasn’t used to you being so forward. So blunt.

He was the blunt one. You were stealing his thunder.

"I was a cowardly bitch."

His honesty surprised both of you. He didn’t even plan on saying that. It was just the first thing that popped into his head.

It was true, though.

"Are you still a cowardly bitch?"

"I think so," he said slowly, "I think the main difference is, now I'm a cowardly bitch that knows what he wants."

He saw the way your cheeks reddened, the way you avoided his gaze, and the way you shifted your weight from side to side.

Wade Wilson may not be good at emotions, but he knew what those signs meant.

He was making you nervous.

He couldn’t help the small grin that spread across his face. He liked that. He liked that he made you nervous. That he made you blush. That he could make you flustered.

And, most of all, he liked that he was able to make you feel that way.

He couldn’t remember the last time a woman was that shy and timid around him. Most of the girls he met were bold, confident, and loud… just like him.

He preferred your type, though. Sometimes, he even needs a break from his own obnoxiousness.

"So," he started, his tone casual, his posture relaxed, "you chill with the idea of ruining a perfectly good friendship and getting in a relationship with me? A crazy, scarred, murderous man who doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut?"

He watched you take a deep breath, your eyes focused on his, a faint smile on your face.

"I'll consider it," you responded, your tone playful, a mischievous glint in your eyes, "but you have to answer one question first."

"Oh, a quiz? Can we have a prize for the winner?"

You chuckled.

"What's the question?"

You smiled.

"When you said that you've killed more people than you've seen naked, was that true?"

"Yes." He answered without hesitation. Something told him that lying was not an option here.

"And, when you said that the suit does me justice," he started, his tone casual, his eyes bright, and his smile mischievous, "was that your way of telling me that you want to see me naked?"

"You wish, Wilson."

"You're right. I do."

He didn't mean to sound so sincere, but, damn, the words just slipped out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Wade watched as you smiled and turned your attention toward the bag of Checkers momentarily, and, for a split second, Wade worried that he had taken things too far. That he had scared you away.

He shouldn't have been worried.

Because, when you moved the bag to the table and stood up, his eyes immediately focused on the way your lips were twisted into a smirk and the way your eyes were locked on his.

You didn’t say a word. You didn’t need to. He was already nodding along for whatever plan was formulating in that pretty little head of yours.

And, when you straddled him and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in close and leaning in close, it was like he was back at that party.

It was the same feeling.

The nervousness. The anticipation. The excitement. The anxiety. The giddiness. The rush.

Everything was the same, except this time, it was actually happening. And, he was sober.

As you pulled him in, he leaned forward and closed the distance between you, kissing you slowly, his eyes closed, his hands on your hips, and his lips pressed against yours. The mask that had been halfway covering his face was now tossed aside by him to indulge in the kiss fully.

It was better than he could have ever imagined.

You were better than he could have ever imagined.

But then, his insecurities kicked in, and the reality of the situation hit him. In his mind, he had imagined this moment with his younger, healthier self. The buffed-out arms, the clear skin, the perfect jawline. He still had that scruff of a beard in his mind, and the outlines of his eyebrows did not melt completely.

But, when he felt your lips against his, and the softness of your touch, the warmth of your body, the taste of your tongue, he was reminded that you didn’t picture him as he once was.

You were seeing him as he was now. Hairless, deformed, scarred, a hot mess, and a complete disaster. And you were still kissing him. You were still touching him. You were still here.

It was better than anything his imagination could conjure up.

Because, for once, reality was better than fantasy. For once, he realized that maybe his face wasn’t a face only a mother could love and that maybe his looks weren't a dealbreaker for a certain somebody.

You broke the kiss and pulled away, staring at him, your face inches away from his. He stared at you, his eyes meeting yours.

He was searching, trying to read you, trying to figure out what was going through your mind. See if you had those second thoughts. If you regret this.

All he found, though, was that pretty little smile of yours. The one that made his heart skip a beat. The one that made him smile back.

"Well," you started, your eyes sparkling with mischief, "if it's any consolation, Wade, I think our friendship was pretty fucked the minute I decided to give you my number."

He raised an eyebrow, a grin forming on his lips.

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhm," you nodded, biting your lip and leaning in close. Your hand reached up and cupped his cheek, stroking the skin softly. He shuddered. "I should've known the minute I decided to become friends with a guy who would willingly call himself Deadpool that it was a done deal."

He smirked, his fingers dancing across the small of your back.

"I'll try not to feel too offended by that."

"Trust me, you shouldn't," you murmured, your hand sliding down from his face to his shoulder, resting there. "It's not a bad thing, really. I mean, it's pretty awesome to have a friend who can take a bullet for you."

He smiled.

"Damn right, baby girl."

Your hand slid down from his shoulder, slowly moving down his arm, until you were grabbing his hand, lacing your fingers with his.

"But, Wade," you continued, squeezing his hand lightly, your eyes focused on his, a frown on your face, "you have to promise me something."

"Anything," he replied instantly.

You hesitated.

"Promise me," you started, your voice firm, your expression serious, "you’ll start to see yourself as I do."

Wade blinked, surprised.

That was not what he was expecting.

"You have a crush on my scars?"

He couldn't resist. He had to crack a joke. He was nervous. When wasn’t he cracking a joke?

He was also confused, but, hey, the joke was funnier.

"No," you replied, rolling your eyes, a faint smile on your face, "but I see past the scars."

"And, the crazy?"

"That too."

"And, the murderous tendencies?"

"Yes, Wade, everything," you answered, grinning, your eyes bright. "I see all of it, and it’s about damn time you do too."

"Yeah," he breathed out, "well, it's not as easy as you make it seem."

"Nothing is, Wilson."

You stared at him, the softness in your eyes, the gentleness in your smile, the affection in your voice.

He couldn't believe it.

But he couldn’t help the grin that appeared on his face, the warmth that filled his chest, or the butterflies in his stomach.

"I'll try."

For one of the rarest times in his life, Wade’s tone was completely sincere. Not a hint of humor or sarcasm. Just pure honesty.

And, judging by the way your face lit up and the way you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in close, hugging him tightly, you appreciated his sincerity.

You rested your chin on his shoulder, your eyes closing.

"Good," you whispered. "That's all I ask."

His arms wrapped around you and held you close, his fingers running through your hair, his nose buried in your neck. He took in your scent, letting it fill his nostrils, his senses.

And, for once, everything was quiet. Everything was calm. Everything was perfect.

He didn't feel the need to crack a joke. To make a comment. To ruin the moment. He didn't want to. He just wanted to sit there and hold you, listening to the sound of your heartbeat.

He was content.

And he was happy.

Happy that you were with him.

And, most of all, he was grateful that he broke into your apartment and made himself comfortable on your couch.

[crustyfloor]

Ivan's hopelessness and introspection / Nowhere

TL by whatafruit

What mainly sets Ivan apart from characters like Mizi, for example, is his upbringing, he initially lived in the slums, a dangerous, harsh environment, and had to learn how to navigate that at a young age without anybody by his side. Ivan didn’t grow up in bliss and innocence or as a generally happy person, and after nearly dying in the slums, it left him with a first impression of life that was unforgiving and cruel. That aspect of his backstory deeply scarred his subconscious and impacted his perspective, which molded his nihilistic approach to life.

Even after being adopted by Unsha, Ivan never left that side of him behind but adapted those traits to his new environment. Ivan obediently conformed to whatever the aliens expected of him to ensure his survival while he lived, perfecting his expressions, maintaining the alien's favor, becoming well-admired by the other children in Anakt Garden and well-liked by the aliens, and a lot more things. All this to say, Ivan was the perfect pet; despite that, he still had a hollow interior. Complying with the aliens without a real sense of identity, nor any will to develop one could've been what led to his self-perceived unusual ‘otherness’ compared to others. To say his life was ‘stained’ from the beginning means he saw his existence as inherently corrupted, irreparably so; that's the way Ivan always regards his existence, as something sad and flawed.

It highlights how miserable Ivan was, even after being given everything that he needed because of his guardian, simple necessities that didn't come easily when he was still living in the slums. Despite being surrounded by kids, that's the thing. From watching how they interact and play, Ivan knows how different he is from them; he simply lacks life. He doesn’t feel like he truly belongs anywhere, in Anakt Garden, where he can only wear a mask to blend in, or in an alien society where he is simply a product that was on a very clear time limit. The reality of that keeps him in his own head, dissociated and alienated. He's already twisted, and his fate was written from the beginning. So whatever happens, happens.

Despite how aware Ivan was of the desolation of his reality that didn't leave any room for hope when he saw Till for the first time standing up for himself, it brought something out of Ivan, that urge to (study like a bug) understand a part of Till that had courage and rebelliousness that Ivan himself didn't possess. Ivan grew a fascination with Till akin to the way he felt when he saw a meteor shower for the first time, through Till, and through expressing himself by pulling on Till's metaphorical pigtails, bringing out Till's emotions. Ivan could feel deep emotions again; he could feel alive again. Those feelings even encouraged Ivan to do something that would essentially be him rebelling even though he had no prior incentive to escape his monotonous life. Before Till, Ivan showed no genuine interest in changing anything; he didn't fight it, just accepted things as they were. But because he saw that Till fought because he wanted freedom, I think Ivan naturally dislikes his own conformity. It is only an efficient and beneficial way to live, and it kept him alive for the most part. Escaping would probably be one of his less well-thought-out plans in retrospect; they were only children. Wouldn't going out there mean certain death? but I think he wanted to indulge for once and see what Till saw in being free, and he wanted them to be free together.

When the lyrics refer to “A rigid dream and hope seeped in rose tint,” it could be relating to the common saying “rose-tinted glasses,” for something to seep is like a leak, a rigid and stiff ‘dream’ that has a rose tint leaking through, the meaning behind “dream and hope” is synonymous with looking on the bright side and seeing pleasantries, you intend to look at the bright side that distracts you from that unpleasant reality, but it is ultimately just a shallow hope, the kind that “it’s stained with blood” isn’t real with all of its undertones and conditions, it was naive, faulty, and cruel, In a world like this, they would be and were stomped on immediately. The sad thing about it is it's not like Ivan didn’t see it coming when Till turned back, but he only naively thought he had it all right, hopeful that he could change something in his own life and might be accepted by Till, wishing things would go his way and wanting more but knowing he can't ask for more than this. The rejection hurt, and remembering it hurts even more.

Ivan's motive for wanting to escape was because of that childishness. He had long since accepted his situation for what it was before then. He deals with life as a whole with detachment, and more specifically, his emotions. he is so used to downplaying his feelings and hurt that, at some point, he becomes 'numb' to them; his apathy leaves his complicated feelings buried, and forgotten from time, but never healed.

Ivan’s identity as an idol is carefully curated; everything down to the way he smiles ties into that image, But that identity separate from himself is not something Ivan particularly likes. His smile is significant to his image, it makes him ‘special.’ When asked about his charm point in an interview, he replies that it’s his snaggletooth. Ivan's obedience and perfect behavior are what rank him up so high among human pets, which is probably why he’s so critical when referring to his most notable features. Of course, his face gets him places, but because it is directly tied to his identity as a product and, by extension, the system that he sees with contempt, he's disgusted by it to a degree.

&

Ivan emulates what the aliens want of him, he's always forced into submission by the very system that he resents. To his detriment, the benefits he had received from being perfect only exacerbated the negative image he has of himself that he is ultimately powerless and the feeling that his real self will always be unwanted, and it leaves him feeling a loneliness only he understands beneath the persona.

He does as he’s told and doesn’t do anything about confronting his feelings because there's no point in trying the way he sees it. Nobody cares about him, so it’s not a big deal if he feels bad, it's not a big deal if he hurts himself because he can just keep going because there’s nothing else he can do, Ivan treats himself like a waste of time all the same, his whole character is repressing the emotions he feels, and leaving them to fix themselves at some point, it is what he wants to think, that “if I just ignore it, it will fade in time.” Ivan wants to pose as a mature and nonchalant person who can persevere and let go of things that hurt him, even just for the sake of making it to the next day, but he is very emotionally immature.

Even though he wants to subdue his emotions, it’s ironic how, no matter what, he can't escape his humanity and the part of him that craves to be seen and understood by someone. This is best seen in confession-- Ivan tried relating to others. Sua, who he thought was like him, the 'connection' and the feeling that he wasn't alone brought him a twisted sense of comfort, he didn't even seem to realize or know how to put into words why he was so upset when he realized that wasn't the case the whole time--because he's so out of touch with his emotions.

This cycle, when it comes to Ivan allowing some semblance of vulnerability with someone or something and then being exposed to hurt ultimately leads him to close off with no outlet for these intense feelings of hurt and bitterness that are just left to build up. 

Hysterie often refers to the state of extreme and controllable emotions, I find this interesting when Ivan uses it because of his quiet personality, only in brief moments does a part of him that is emotional and smiles freely come out as he grew up and learned to mellow out that side of him and stifle his true self, “a hysterie festering” like feelings of emotion that have built up over time into something Ivan can’t manage and stifle so easily anymore and that's what it ultimately amounts to when Ivan is in his most emotionally intense moments, during Black sorrow when he was singing about his melancholy and devotion to staying by Till's side, singing the song exactly as he learned it until he lost control of his emotions for a moment, and in Cure when he recklessly expressed the strongest of his heart to Till, even if Till couldn't understand, to be seen by someone, and someone that he cared so deeply about before forfeiting his life override the part of him that wanted to keep these feelings tucked away, to die with them before burdening someone else with the weight of it all.

Cure and Black Sorrow can't be sidelined for just how vulnerable they are. But Nowhere is so intense and honest in an intriguing way, given how evasive and deceptive Ivan is when it comes to his feelings. Especially considering that this song was likely specifically made to never be used on stage or even found in the first place, it's a song purely from his point of view filled with emotions he always kept hidden; it is essentially Ivan's soul. His apathy, his loneliness, his beliefs, and his sorrows, such as the way the affectionate lyrics at the very start of the song are cut off at random and distorted into meaningless background noise that lingers until the end of the song, reads like Ivan's bitterness towards his haphazard feelings, his way of love, and by extension his resentment, mixing with his self-loathing into something intangible that only he could really understand.

Ending this off with the same words, “This always happens to me,” “That's just how it is,” is a reflection of Ivan’s view of life (even though the narrative disproves his flawed perspective on several occasions). He’s very secure in his nihilistic view of the world. And his inability to change anything about it, the fact that he's incapable of being loved and understood, or the idea that he was cared for at all. His pragmatism regarding that is because he’s witnessed firsthand how life contradicts and snuffs out hope, so Ivan decided to never subject himself to that kind of naivety again, living with such deep-seated feelings until it came back to bite him, and died thinking that this is just how things go, his emotions, shallow and meaningless always gets the better of him

[edlucavalden]

Mithrun and non-visible disability

Yk, I've never seen people talk about this, but Mithrun is a very accurate depiction of having a non visible illness

I'd like to interpret mithrun's bastard origin to be an allegory for an invisible disability (I'd argue its neurodivergance, but it could be anything); An aspect of yourself that you are born with (in this case; born from) that is seen as inferior but it is not obvious.

He's even lucky—since that part of him is that of benefit. His infidelity gave him silver eyes and sharp ears after all (if you can catch the metaphor). from the outside, He's just a normal person, a person worth respecting because he's fits the standard.

However, he knows he does not fit the standard. it's just a lie. He hates himself—so, so much bc of that. It causes him to over-compensate through complete perfectionism and a high sense of self pride. He has to keep a big image in order to protect himself. it's the only thing that can get him loved.

However, that superficial ego gives him terrible imposter syndrome. He knows he doesn't deserve it, but he wants to. like everyone, he craves love and safety. So, he looks down at everyone, hyperfocused at their flaws (he can't be inferior if everyone is worse, right?) whatever it takes to prove himself that he deserves love.

He knows he's weak, but he has to show to everyone that he's strong because any slight sight of weakness would be detrimental since he knows that his humanity is conditional.

He knows that if he shows the truth and how he doesn't actually fit the status quo, he will be ostracized and rejected.

He knows—because his brother is proof of that.

Obrin's disability is obviously visible; Shown through his physical characteristics (his frailness and the lack of family traits). However, his discrimination may be due to this visible disability. he isn't nessesarily ostracized for those traits. His features aren't the (main) reason why he's perceived as inferior in the social hierarchy. it's instead because he's rumored to be a bastard child. This is why he hates his brother so much.

Obrins physical characteristics are just "symptoms" that perpetuate their prejudice towards infidelity (if were going by the disability allegory, think; this person is too sensitive, it must be bc of the autism...). By doing so, his brother indirectly taught him to hide that part of himself.

He hates Obrin because he is the physical manifestation of what will happen to him if his infidelity (disability) is revealed. He is the same plane as his brother after all, The only difference is that he's fortunate enough to be able to hide it.

It's very interesting how his hatred to Obrin isn't because he's genuinely bigoted and ignorant towards him, but because of his own personal internalized ablelism just projected. (It's ironic how contrary it is; he hates his brother because he sees him as equal) very much paralleling visible and nonvisible disability in intimate familial relationships.

The fact mithrun is the bastard child, not him. Imagine the burdening guilt and shame that comes with the knowledge that he could (or should) be one in his place.

He's constantly paranoid of thoughts that he's not good enough. That's why he was so upset when he was sent to the canaries or when he saw Obrin and Sultha together.

Because those are signs that Obrin is better than him and he could not forgive that (how can someone like him, completely ostracized from society, and be so content...?). And that sign proves his paranoia of not being good enough are correct.

mithrun's insecurities, fears, and behavior very much parallel that of being a high masking disabled person.

Hes is a flawed disabled character, but one you can also sympathize with.

He isn't a perfect victim. He delves on how a disabiled person who's so intrenched in a heavily ableist and bigoted society can be a victim to its bigotry and be taken advantage of (The demon. I didn't touch on that topic, as much as i would love an essay about how the demon preyed on mithruns vulnerability regarding his own disability but unfortunately, that might be too triggering for me lawl!) while also actively participating in it and perpetuate said beliefs

And that means so much to me

[emmg]

I just saw a post where someone said they were surprised so many people romanced Emmrich with a female Rook because he’s so “clearly gay-coded,” and…….. my verbose ass has thoughts

Let’s unpack this, because I’ve seen this type of thing before. I worked as a model for 11 years. I’ve been around the block: North America, Europe, East Asia, you name it. And let me tell you, I’ve met plenty of men like Emmrich in this industry. What do I mean by “men like Emmrich”? I mean the kind who are metrosexual, a little vain, a little fruity, a little petty, but at the end of the day, genuinely kind. You know, the ones who care about their hair but will also hold your purse without complaint.

So where exactly are we pulling this “gay-coded” thing from? Because he peppers his speech with dears and darlings? Because he’s got a certain lilt to his voice and wears enough jewelry to make a magpie jealous? Sure, those things could be seen as stereotypically “gay,” but let’s dig deeper here.

First of all, he canonically swings both ways, so let’s just celebrate the man living his bisexual best life. Secondly, and more importantly, can we stop acting like sexuality is a one-size-fits-all package of traits? It’s a spectrum. Emmrich being soft-spoken, stylish, and emotionally open doesn’t automatically place him in one category. Hyper-masculinity (or the lack thereof) is not the defining feature of someone’s sexuality, nor is it the sole determinant of how they’re “coded.”

Honestly, I feel like this says more about how we’ve been conditioned to interpret certain traits than it does about Emmrich himself. Maybe he just likes his damn jewelry. Maybe he just calls people dear because he’s polite and it makes him feel good. And maybe, just maybe, that has nothing to do with his attraction to men, women, or anyone else.

Let him have the best of both worlds, folks. He’s out here thriving. Let’s not box him in.

[bonelyheartsclub]

for the swap versions of eachother (undertale/underswap and underfell/fellswap) what was it like seeing themselves essentially swapped with their own brother? and do you think the swapped versions of themselves get along for being like minded or are opposed to each other for it (at least when they first met i know they get along now lol)

Stretch: Was definitely…… overwhelmed when he met Papyrus and Boss. Imagining himself running around, doing everything like that every hour of every day made him feel tired just thinking it. More power to those guys. And he gets along with them as easy as his “lazy” counterparts, just conversation naturally oozes out with them.

Blue: Was absolutely astounded to see Sans and Red, how could he ever be that lazy in any universe? Though given he also shares their trait of lacking motivation in some things, he supposes he can relate. Papyrus was a great make-up gift, though, and the two became quick friends! Boss not so much, but that was for other reasons. Mainly dissimilar wavelengths. If anything came from it, though, it was nice to see that no matter the universe, his brother still kept his sweet tooth.

Red: Felt right at home with Blue and Nox. Even with the switching, he just saw it as more people to playfully antagonize with puns and pranks a plenty. He knows himself, he'd enjoy some April fooling, even if they were a bit more uppity. Stretch and Rus were a bit odd; he never thought he'd see his brother be so lackadaisical about anything. It took a bit of adjustment, but he considers them good buddies now. Though he does try to tone things down a little bit for them, moreso than he does for Sans; the part of him that still sees his little brother deems it so.

Boss: The swap siblings were a bit of a surprise to Boss, initially. Though over time, he realized Stretch still had ambition in his own way. Maybe not for the same things HE did, but nonetheless. Blue was a bit more difficult to understand, but gradually he noticed more similarities with Red. Particularly in their need to mess with each other; something he was glad to not be a part of. He was most perplexed by Rus. Knowing he came from such a harsh universe, he was initially surprised someone so clumsy could make it out of there. Though seeing Nox, he supposed it wasn't too much of a surprise: his brother would look out for him in any universe.

Papyrus: For Papyrus, seeing other versions of himself was a little earth-shattering, since before he had assumed it was just he and his brother. At first, he's ecstatic that there's more skeletons!! More friends who understand, especially with Blue!! He does realize later on that not all of his alternates have had the best life, but he wants to make sure they're comfortable from now on.

Sans: Was initially a bit surprised by the swapped siblings (and he for sure had some thoughts about multiverse theory when he met them), but once he got over the moment of shock, he found it easy enough to get along with all of them. Both Stretch and Blue remind him of Papyrus at times, just in different ways. Nox and Rus don't exactly have that same odd familiarity, though he likes them enough to be a general nuisance to them.

Nox: Was defensive and confused at first; seeing different versions of himself and his brother disheartened and enlightened him a bit. Seeing that others had better lives than them had him disappointed, but knowing Boss and Red having similar experiences of the underground had him feeling a sort of comradery- especially with Boss, even if they don't see eye to eye all the time.

Rus: Was a bit overwhelmed in general by the different versions, but he finds them all to be good company now. Papyrus was the oddest version of himself to see, but he admires Paps' energy. Boss reminded him a little of his brother and Rus admires him for his drive and ability to get things done. Stretch is the easiest to get along with for him, and Blue is a bit perplexing to him at times. Sans and Red are odd and definitely different from Nox, but he likes them both well enough (as long as Red keeps any big pranks to himself.)

Via @/Buttergriffin332 (Stretch), @/DuskySkye (Blue, Red, Boss), @/Creative-poptart (Papyrus), @/Lost-immortality (Sans), @/ChrysanStarset (Nox), & @/Goatdadjaxx (Rus).

[epickiya722]

The more time passes, the more I came to realize that some people in this fandom really have mischaracterized Midoriya and not understand that he has many, many layers.

Flawed writing or not, I feel like there are some parts of the manga that are easy to understand what kind of person he is and yet...

It's not that people lack reading comprehension skills. I just think some people choose not to use them because Midoriya isn't a character that they care for or the canon version of him isn't the fanon version they cooked up in their head.

Like, a while back like a couple of days ago I saw someone say that Midoriya is "too forgiving" towards Bakugou and that's something I have seen before.

(I touched on this in a previous post.)

I disagree. I disagree so much.

I feel like the fandom sees that Midoriya is a "nice guy" and immediately equals that to being "too forgiving".

It does not.

Just because Midoriya isn't an asshole, or vindictive or cursing out Katsuki or anybody every ten minutes that doesn't mean he's "too forgiving".

He never gave excuses to Bakugou's behavior. In fact, when they have their first fight he straight up tells him he won't be his punching bag anymore.

For that first half of the series, despite do caring about Bakugou, Midoriya does go as far as to keeping his distance. At best, he makes comments but that don't really come off as him validating Bakugou's behavior. Watch the earlier episodes, you'll see sometimes that Midoriya expresses shock. That's because they're now surrounded by other students who aren't brushing off Bakugou's earlier behavior.

Note that though, during times like that when we do get inner dialogue from Midoriya it is very, very brief.

It's something that continues on. Despite him being our MC, Midoriya doesn't really have a lot of inner thoughts revealed. Most of the time, he narrates the story.

That would also include his feelings towards Bakugou. We actually don't know exactly when Midoriya forgave him because we don't get that thought from him. Let alone, I don't think he really expressed it verbally.

Now, I do believe he did forgive Bakugou. Just not as early as some people think.

To me, it's what sticks out and why I say he has layers.

He's an unreliable narrator in his own story. He doesn't share his thoughts with the audience a lot. A lot of what is interpreted about Midoriya within the story comes from other characters and how they interact with him.

Again, Midoriya has those layers.

We see that he is nice and kind, but he's not above it all. People (annoyingly) call him a crybaby, but Midoriya has a range of emotions that sometimes put other characters to shame. While Midoriya may not go around yelling at people, he is also an angry person.

He is indeed quick to anger and we see this plenty of times.

While he's strategic, Midoriya is also impulsive and reckless. Like, he can be a crashout.

While he's caring, he can also be cold.

While Midoriya may want to connect and understand people, he doesn't allow people to understand him because he isn't open about himself.

Midoriya is a lot of things and then some.

Just because he inhabits one trait, doesn't mean he can't inhabit its counterpart. And just because he doesn't express his inner thoughts, doesn't mean he has or hasn't had a specific thought.

Thinking about it, and I would say it's a stretch, because it's so often we do see this with Midoriya... maybe, just maybe... Horikoshi had the intentions for the audience to theorize on what Midoriya may be thinking and try to see that through his actions. To understand him without knowing what he's thinking, but observe what he is saying and doing.

Because, sometimes to know a person may be thinking, you have to try to figure it out through their behavior. That's a real life skill that Horikoshi maybe, again maybe now, wanted us as the audience to apply here.

[randomthefox]

Let's pay special focus on the way Dante is talking to Urizen at the beginning here. "That day mother saved me and left you behind." Why would Dante think that that's the way Vergil saw it? Why would he think he has to tell Vergil the revelation that Eva died trying to save him, a memory that has to be horrifically painful for Dante to recount?

VERGIL HAD TO HAVE TOLD DANTE THAT THAT'S WHAT HE THOUGHT HAPPENED AT SOME POINT. There is no other explanation. We know from DMC3 that Dante and Vergil met up from time to time, Dante alludes to them meeting one year before the events of that game. AT SOME POINT, Vergil HAD to have told Dante that he thought that their mother left him to die because she wanted to save Dante. And Dante, being so young and immature and coping with that pain in his own way, didn't tell him the truth.

Listen to the way Reuben Langdon delivers the "the thing you don't know is" line. Maybe I'm reading too much into that little spit at the beginning, but it sounds like he's forcing himself to say it. Not only does he not want to relive that memory, but it also sounds, to me, like he feels guilty for keeping this bottled up until now. How differently things might have gone if he'd simply told Vergil this truth about their mothers death decades ago.

And the sad part is, he's only admitting it now when revealing that information won't do any good. Urizen is all of Vergil's pride and greed and selfish demonic obsession with power. He doesn't even remember their mother, weak worthless human who never loved him anyway that she was. He doesn't remember their childhood, when he was too weak to be able to protect himself on the day of the attack. He doesn't remember the pain that drove him to his obsession with power in the first place. The only thing he does remember, the only thing he has in common with V, and the one defining personality trait that makes him Vergil: is that he fucking hates Dante.

The way he complains that he doesn't understand why Dante is so powerful when he "never lost anything." Sad, considering Dante lost everything that Vergil did. But he's also speaking from the standpoint that Vergil surrendered everything, his humanity, in the pursuit of power. And yet Dante is STILL stronger than him. It isn't FAIR. It doesn't make SENSE. But of course, as Dante explains, the fact Dante is willing to cling to those he loves and wants to protect even to his own determent is what MAKES him strong. Someone like Vergil, who always wanted to be loved and protected himself, can't understand that.

Even with the blood of countless humans empowering him, he still loses. Because he lacks the one thing that truly made him human.

This fight definitely calls back to the Mundus fight from DMC1. A big punch up with a huge monstermash man. The arena being their childhood home that slowly shatters and falls to ruin over the course of the fight if tragically beautiful. The memories of their safe happy loving family life is being destroyed by their sibling rivalry.

=C

[jeonscatalyst]

it’s always been interesting to me the difference between how two major ‘fights’ within BTS are told, or three if you include Koobis banana incident 😆

The dumpling fight, and the rainy day fight TM.

I thought about it since hearing Jimin talking about how it took a while for him and Tae to get closer in AYS, and said they did after that big fight. That he shook with rage at the time. The fight never really made sense to me, the dumpling one, as Jimin said it was over petty things, that they often fought over silly things.

Then you’ve got the rainy day fight, and the way they spoke about it at Festa 2020, and in lives in 2023. Both pretty much recounting it exactly the same as the other. I saw a video edit mash up of it but couldn’t find it, where the stories interwove and it’s amazing to see it. But at Festa dinner, with the others reactions, the giggling from Jin and Joon, that it sounds like a k drama, that it sounds like something a couple would do. And it does, it sounds exactly like a k drama, the dramatic pause when JK is lost, the make up in the rain, the hug. It’s so cute, and so endearing to hear them talk about it. How their relationship is essentially so important to them, they made up that night, unlike the dumpling fight, which lasted.

It shows how they really do have a good way of communicating with each other, even back then. And for JK to feel sorry to Jimin for that, and it’s something they can talk about and look back on with fondness almost, is testament to their bond.

Hey anon,

I think the Vmin fight(s) is relatively easy to piece together and understand if you have a solid understanding of their relationship….something many people unfortunately lack.

Jimin and Taehyung were among the members who got close almost immediately after meeting in my opinion. Looking at content from their rookie days, it’s clear that even the other members often pointed to them as the two who were closest. However, while they were friends and close, their relationship at the time seemed more surface-level. They didn’t fully understand, accept, or relate to each other yet. It reminds me of those teenage friendships where you genuinely like each other and have fun together, but the connection lacks a deeper level of understanding. That’s what I believe Vmin’s relationship was like in the beginning.

When Jimin says it took time for him and Tae to become as close as they are now, it doesn’t mean they weren’t friends or weren’t close before. It simply means that, over time, their bond deepened as they grew to better understand and accept each other despite their differences.

In the BTS book, Tae shared that when he first met Jimin, he struggled to understand him. He couldn’t grasp why Jimin pushed himself so hard, why he seemed so passionate, or why he was impatient about achieving his goals. Tae also described Jimin as intense….traits he found hard to relate to at the time. If you know anything about Tae and Jimin, it’s clear they’re fundamentally different people who approach life in very distinct ways. Add to that the fact that they’re the same age, and it’s easy to see how misunderstandings would arise.

I believe their many petty fights and arguments stemmed from these different approaches to life. The dumpling incident, while often highlighted, was more of a boiling point than the root cause of their conflicts. It forced them to address unresolved tensions and misunderstandings. This is why, after that fight, both admitted they’d gained a deeper understanding of each other, which ultimately strengthened their bond and brought them closer to where they are today. The way this fight is often described says a lot about their dynamic and the depth of their relationship.

On the other hand, Jikook’s “rainy day” story perfectly illustrates the foundation of Jimin and Jungkook’s relationship. Their bond is built on trust, support, and a profound emotional connection. While this wasn’t always apparent during their rookie days, anyone paying close attention could sense the nature of their bond and what it was rooted in.

The other members’ reactions to the rainy day story….rubbing goosebumps away, cringing, or making remarks like “That’s what a couple would do”, reveal how they themselves perceived the story. Even their singing of that angsty romantic taxi driver song adds to this perception. People might try to downplay it, but to me, it’s significant.

This story highlights the depth of Jimin and Jungkook’s emotional connection and how much Jungkook values Jimin’s presence and opinions in his life. It shows how their relationship has always been characterized by healthy communication and an innate ability to reach and support each other. Jungkook feeling bad about it years later underscores just how meaningful that moment was to him.

[tohruies]

haico voicelines ... 🌱🫧

about al haitham: old friends i find that he hasn’t changed much from the young boy i remember. the same mannerisms, the same little quirks—even his hair is still styled the same way! though, back then, he did roll his eyes at me far more often... and, well, i’m not taller than him anymore. i used to wonder whether he saw me as a friend or just found me to be a nuisance. no matter—he was always a dear friend to me! he’d let me practice my recitals in front of him to ease my performance anxiety, and in return, i’d provide music for him to read and study by. these days, whenever i’m on stage, i can’t help but let my thoughts drift back to those precious memories.

about al haitham: more than meets the eye he’s a bit like the quiet drone of the cello beneath a melody that holds the orchestra steady! still, everyone is quick to think of it as distant‚ nor appreciate it for what it does. most people call him coldhearted or unfeeling‚ but‚ in my mind‚ it seems he masks his acts of kindness under the pretence of logic and reason. it bothers me hearing other people talk poorly of al haitham, even though he himself doesn’t pay any thought to it... but is it so wrong for me to be upset on his behalf? i just hope that one day, those same people might give him a chance‚ and be patient enough to see that his aloof nature is but a shell to protect his heart.

about coco: doormat it’s... frustrating, watching her constantly yield to others, to circumstances, to burdens that are not her responsibility to bear. kindness without boundaries is a double-edged sword, and if she keeps going at this rate, she’ll bleed herself dry. i know she’s observant enough to recognise when people take advantage of her—however, she lacks the self-respect to do anything but simply smile and take it in stride. her shortcomings boil down to her mindset that she needs to prove her worth and be of value to someone in order for them to cherish her.

about coco: sincerity and simplicity the day of her departure from sumeru to fontaine was certainly eventful. i’d never seen her cry as much as when she was saying her farewells to me, getting tears and snot over the new stuffed toy she clung to and claimed she would hug whenever she missed me. i didn’t know what to say to her at the time. her simple way of speaking was rather disarming to me, as a child; it made any attempt at platitudes appear hollow. she’s back, now, and it’s rather… reassuring to find that she’s held onto her sincerity all this time, still wearing her heart on her sleeve. perhaps it’s a trait worth protecting.

[moonshynecybin]

I was thinking about vale, and bone structure, and gender perception, and then I saw your post about cross dressing! (disclaimer not a comprehensive analysis) I associate young vale with a particular kind of 90's androgyny that relies on the omission of certain masculine coded traits and visual markers, rather than the inclusion of feminine coded ones. On a skinny teenager still growing into his face, that lack of overt gender signaling could read as 'young girl', particularly in an environment (motorcycle racing) where the baseline gender presentation among boys/men might skew more consciously masculine than the general public. There's a sort of light/half opting out the gender binary where it's 'okay' to read as gender ambiguous but not okay to read feminine (yay patriarchy) and I think he's still very conscious and careful of that as an adult.

Meanwhile, marc is out here eroticising the gender binary with his big eyes, big mouth, big hands and big dick.

i think this is a REALLY smart analysis and i agree completely. it’s a marked rejection of all of those traditional john wayne-esque trappings of masculinity that were popular in motorcycle racing at the time, but you’re right it’s also not really feminine at all… so we pick up on the way he’s tooling his gender presentation and how it’s different from those ideas of what a racer should be (which. it didn’t help that his little elf ass was standing next to max biaggi (older, goatee)) for a few of those years and it opens up this space for him to play and make the entire thing less self-important and serious. the ways he breaks from gender norms are like: little earring, general pretty girl face, long or dyed hair, and his tattoo which is a cartoon turtle. he’s carving out a space for himself to become Valentino Rossi, in a lot of ways

meanwhile the way MARC plays with gender seems to be more of an embracing of extraordinarily high standards of grooming for a guy (vale. does not do this.), even if there isn’t a lot that’s feminine about his style really at all. and he knows that shaving and multi step skin care routines are something that “girls do” (he kind of alludes to this in his GQ 10 things video but also like. he’s still there w his favorite cologne and one million skin creams) BUT he doesn’t really care about transgressing that boundary because he likes feeling hot. like this might be controversial but i think for marc, crossdressing would be similar: he would focus LESS on typifying what it means to have a feminine aesthetic (frills, bows, delicate things), and more on just being as sexy as possible. and if there’s overlap that’s fun but mostly he just wants to be beautiful. THATS what’s fun for him.

actually lmao, it’s funny bc for both of em i think it feeds into quite a few of their general goals wrt to perception (gender is a project !): playing with it opens up vale to being unique, being a rebel, being himself, and going against the grain— and it opens up marc to being like. so sexy he wants people to walk into walls when they look at him. like he’s winning some sort of competition where being sexy is the goal. it’s very them lmao

[licncourt]

What do you think it was that made Lestat fall for Louis to the point of changing him so soon? Especially after everything that happened in Paris with Nicki and Armand. Do you think it was rushed by AR or was it case of lestat being a bit reckless and lonely, turning Louis just to see what would happen. Because for so long Louis doesn’t understand it himself, he never really sees Lestat the way Lestat sees him and I’m not just talking sexually/romantically. Like the whole he gained a hold over me etc I know we can’t pin point love and Lestat isn’t someone who leaves peoples easily, he’s either asked to leave or they leave him.

Idk what I’m trying to ask but as we readers we not only see how terrible they are together we understand how beautiful and suited they are too. And so I’m trying to figure when it was they saw that too. Did someone get there sooner. Did they have to escape and “break up” in New Orleans to finally see a clearer picture

I think the things that happened with Nicki and Armand (and Gabrielle and even Marius) are in themselves the main reason why Lestat did choose to turn Louis so quickly! I don’t find that it feels rushed because the emotional state that both of them were in is exactly what leads to their situation and choices. Lestat was reeling and desperate and kind of losing his mind over the accumulation of trauma, with the series of abandonments being the center of the issue. Louis embodied a traits of so many people he’d lost, maybe all of them in some ways, so he was the perfect target for Lestat to say “you’re going to be EVERYTHING for me and you’re not getting away like the others did”.

Louis had a ton of baggage himself that made him susceptible to Lestat’s offer and the whirlwind itself, but the difference imo is that Louis’ trauma isn’t abandonment-based in the way Lestat’s is. The central focus of Lestat’s life being to find and keep love/people he loves makes it easier for him to see his feelings upfront. Even if he’s terrible at showing it, he knows how he feels because those feelings rule his life in incredibly pathological ways. In contrast, a lot of Louis’ pain is internal and based on how he feels about himself, so acknowledging his love and desire for Lestat is maybe the hardest thing for him to face because of it. Clinging to Lestat isn’t self-preservation for Louis, it’s a liability and something that hurts him because of what it forces him to give space to in himself. For Lestat, it’s the opposite, but his fear and anger prevent him from being able to actually love instead of Possess.

I absolutely think their relationship as it started was pretty untenable, there was going to have to be a reckoning of some sort to get them aligned and pull their heads out of their asses. The time apart put Louis in a situation where he was truly experiencing the depths of loneliness in a way that pushed him over the hump of his mental blocks. After so much loss and so much time with literally no one and nothing, I think it kind of forced him to accept his feelings and seek out love and companionship. He seems to know that the other option was just losing himself entirely and living like that forever. I’m sure after over a century of isolation, the choice was much easier to make, even if it came was really difficult emotions.

Lestat didn’t need the time and distance to understand his love for Louis, but he did need it to kind of reboot his brain. He was in such an unhinged frenzy when he met Louis, a total crisis of all kinds, and their relationship wasn’t even really a bandaid, it exacerbated everything that was wrong in his brain basically on a daily basis. Being apart didn’t reveal some secret love for Louis, but it did force him to see that his methods were completely unsustainable and helped him release some of that mania and anger that was sabotaging him. Without their (for lack of a better word) divorce, he would have had no reason to break any of his bad habits or abusive patterns of behavior that he felt kept him safe. They both got the perspective they needed when suddenly the security blanket of their codependency got ripped away, but it was different kinds of perspective.

[fordtato]

I just finished watching your Ford video, I loved it ! I usually don't take so long to watch videos like that but uni has been kicking my ass and I wanted to make sure I could really listen to what you were saying instead of just putting it on in the background. I went in a little apprehensive because of the "NPD?" in the thumbnail, and was mentally preparing myself for some weapons-grade oof-dom, but I think you handled it well. (1/4)

Personally, as someone who has BPD and is close to many ppw/NPD, I think Ford is good NPD representation. His reliance on outside validation, ego compensating for massive insecurity, massively idolizing those he looks up to and that idolization vanishing in an *instant* when they don't match his beliefs about them (this can be an NPD thing!), fantasies of fame and fortune, identity disturbance (defining himself as one thing and one thing only), (2/?)

all that coupled with his history of a rocky relationship with self-definition and conditional praise from authority figures screams NPD to me. This isn't all in the DSM, but it's def part of living with NPD. And I think it's a good thing! Like you mentioned, the fact he has these traits and still gets a happy ending is wonderful. To me, such an NPD-coded character still being shown to love his family, to do what's right, to make amends, shows that these disorders don't make us monsters. (3/?)

The fact that his NPD traits have a clear origin shows how so often cluster B personality disorders are born of fear, trauma, and regrets (not always, but a lot of the time). People think cluster Bs are just born "evil," so the fact we can essentially see the evolution of Ford's traumagenic NPD is something I rather like. (4/?)

You don't have to agree with the headcanon. I just wanted to share something from the perspective of someone with a cluster B disorder who also knows many ppw/NPD, since in the video you mentioned a lack of those voices. It's not just egotypicals making these headcanons, we like them too ! (5/5, sorry abt all the asks!)

----------------

Thanks for weighing in! No problem about all the asks, it's an interesting read (and sorry about the late response!)

I will say that (also speaking as someone with BPD), I still don't quite think the headcanon is one of mine, but I am glad that other ppl with cluster B disorders resonate with it (though, of course, I do know that there are a couple of ppl with NPD that I know who dislike the way the headcanon is discussed or who disagree with it - yada yada no community is a monolith and all that).

That part of my video was very difficult to write, but I am glad that I did alright with the subject matter.

To reiterate for people who might not have seen the video, my issue with the NPD headcanon is not so much the headcanon itself and whether or not it applies to Ford, but the ways that some people discuss how and if it applies. There are so many posts and comments by people (who may or may not have cluster B disorders - no way to know), saying things like "Ford doesn't care about others and acts selfishly and only uses others as tools - I headcanon him as having NPD and lacking empathy for this reason" and it veers into ableism really quickly. In the video, I compare it to 2015-era headcanons that Ford would be abusive to Dipper and Mabel because he is "paranoid" and thinks they're working with Bill, a headcanon that also veers into considering those with mental illness as being inherently dangerous. I think headcanoning Ford as having any mental illness or condition is fine, but people need to be careful in the ways they talk about it, because (in the context of the Stan Wars we saw in 2015-16), it can quickly veer into the territory of leveraging the symptoms of mental illness to win fandom wars or to characterize our blorbos, and we often don't consider where that leaves REAL people with these conditions.

I explain this all better in the video then I am here, in an off-the-cuff response to an ask, but hopefully that summarizes my feelings clearly.

[cryptictongues]

Purrfect Medicine

pairing: Joshua Rosfield x Fem!Reader rating: G word count: 4.2k summary: You find a stray cat and Joshua doesn't know how to feel. warnings: This is straight up fluff!

Author’s Notes: Remember when I posted a poll a while back and this and that Clive smut won? Well, here is this one LOL sorry for the wait!

Please read my pinned post before following me! Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked as this blog’s content is NSFW.

[AO3 Link]

The deadlands near the Northern Territories were dreary and dark, something that the realm has become far too familiar with in recent years. Its void of life has created an eerie stain on the map of Valisthea; a tell-tale sign to people that nothing good survives there with its lack of resources. Joshua knew this, yet you had somehow convinced him to set up camp for the night right in the heart of them.

It wasn’t something the both of you had planned for, being that he wanted to get to Prince Dion sooner rather than later. However, you had insisted on stopping for the night when he started to cough non-stop, wheezing more and more with each stretch of travel. He knew you wouldn’t take no for an answer, the stubborn being that you are, and he wasn’t in any mood to argue. The last thing he remembers was you setting up the tent around him as he went in and out of consciousness, sleep taking over his brain until he was no longer present mentally. Now, as his mind starts to wake up, his first instinct is to locate your figure. He didn't sense any movement and the sounds of the deadlands were silent. Sitting up quickly, fast enough to make him dizzy, he pulls back the flap of the tent to see everything has been set up for the night, except you were nowhere to be seen. 

Joshua groans. He can’t believe you ran off alone again. After telling you numerous times to not leave his sight, you still don’t listen. While marching to the beat of your own drum is a trait he admires greatly, it drives him absolutely insane at the same time. It is times like these where he wishes his body didn’t fail him so greatly; to have the energy to take care of himself better. It would save him a lot of trouble for himself, but for you especially.

Joshua has known you since the two of you were kids. You were kept in the medicine houses, learning how to heal Rosarian soldiers as the time for war was upon them. He recalls being there a lot as a kid, being as sick as he was. He would always watch you as you watched one of the healers work on him, concentrating on what to do and use for certain ailments. He was charmed the moment he saw you, his chest fluttering in ways he didn’t quite understand at the time. 

Those were the only times he saw you. The two of you hadn’t spoken any words to each other unless needed for assessing, and that was that. It wasn’t until after the events of Phoenix Gate, where he remembers vague images of someone pulling him out of the rumble and loaded onto a carriage, where the girl who made his heart flare worked on him all the way until they went into hiding under the protection of the Undying. Long story short, being the only two children in isolation from the rest of the world made it very easy to become fast companions and the Undying declared you his guardian for his travel due to such a bond. Not that he would have accepted any other answer, for you knew him like the back of your hand. 

Which means he knew that you knew leaving with no warning would upset him, especially out in the deadlands.

Joshua walks out into the open, starting to pace back and forth unknowingly. You have done this before and have turned up just fine. But the what ifs, the what ifs that fill his mind with dread, make him uneasy with the same questions. Does he go searching for you? Does he stay put? What would you do if he left with no sign? It is the same cycle over and over again.

“If you keep pacing like that, this stop will have been for not.”

Joshua whips his head around to see you standing a few feet away, smiling at him like you weren’t just gone for who knows how long. He takes a long, good look at you, examining to make sure nothing is out of place. But you looked just as you did when he passed out; clean and unscathed. 

“I wouldn’t pace if you would just listen to me for once.” He grimaces. 

All you did was smile at him, eyes turning into crescents as you walked towards him. “I apologize, Your Grace. I was out finding some herbs for your well-being, but I am sure you can assume how that went.”

“Well, my darling, this is the deadlands. One can assume that means everything is dead.” He feels his lip wanting to curve into a smirk, but he represses it. He can’t let you keep getting away with this: scaring him and shifting his mood back the minute he sees you. He wants to say more, but the second he starts to move his lips, he hears a chirp come from your satchel. 

You laughed amusingly, from what Joshua can assume is his reaction to the noise. He watches you reach for the latch, opening it slowly. “If everything is dead, care to explain this?”

He watches the satchel move slightly, and then sees two black ears pop up. A moment later, he sees piercing green eyes, and not a moment too soon he sees a pink nose and whiskers. He is at a loss for words as he stares at a black cat. A bloody black cat.

“Isn’t he cute?” You exclaimed, removing the satchel from your body and setting it on the ground, revealing the cats full form. “I found him hurdled in a crevice off the outer cliff. I didn’t see any other cats, so I guess he is all alone.” 

Joshua looks at the cat closely. “How do you know it is a boy?”

You smirked at him. “I can show you if you want.” You go to pick the cat up and immediately it clicks what you were about to do.

“No need!” Joshua rushes out, his face heating up from the embarrassment of his outburst, causing you to burst out laughing. 

“You should see the look on your face!” You laughed, sitting down in the process and letting the cat crawl into your lap. “I was thinking of what we should name him. Lance short for Lancelot? Crow? Maybe something more common like Bernard?”

Joshua’s eyes go wide. “Don’t tell me we are keeping him.”

“Well, why not?” You shrugged. “He could be the best healer in the group, especially if I train him.”

“My love, he is a cat.” Joshua states the obvious. He doesn’t even know the first thing about taking care of a cat. Sure, he knew how to take care of a Chocobo and even a frost wolf, but a cat? That was out of his range. 

“Cats can be wonderful companions, if you let them.” You smiled, slowly cradling the black ball of fur in your arms as you stood up. You walked over to him, holding the cat up by your face to give the most puppiest of eyes. “Come on, Joshua. Can we please take him with us? I’ll take care of him just like I take care of you. Besides, just you wait! I will make him the best healer you’ve ever seen!”

Joshua doesn’t want to give in, but the more he looks at you, the more his willpower crumbles. He hates how easily he folds for you, and as he continues to stare at you and the cat, he knows he has lost this battle. With a long sigh, Joshua nods in defeat. “Fine, but please, for the love of Greagor Herself, don’t run off again by yourself.”

In an instant, he feels your plush lips kiss his cheek. He watches as you buzzed with excitement, holding the cat close to you. “Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, Joshua! You will not regret this!” 

He is going to regret this.

-

It had been a week since Crow, the name you decided to give your furry friend, was found. Like you had promised, you’ve been very good at taking care of both him and Joshua. Joshua was impressed with your ability to multitask between two beings. However, what was starting to crawl over him like a green second skin was all the fault of the little feline.

Joshua admits that Crow is very well-behaved. He doesn’t run off anywhere he isn’t supposed to. He is relatively quiet, letting out a meow or a chirp if he is hungry or wants some attention. He doesn’t get upset being carried in the satchel you carry, quite the opposite really. Joshua has noticed that Crow is quite keen on keeping his head perched over the bag to watch the surroundings during travel. There is nothing to complain about, except for one major thing: how much he got your attention. 

The first night, you had been curled up into Joshua’s side, per usual, with Crow settled at your feet. It wasn’t until he woke up the next morning that he noticed your warmth seemed further away and saw you lying flat on your back with Crow curled on top of your chest. Joshua remembers a glimmer of jealousy in his heart but set it aside quickly. It is just one night. This will not be common practice.

Until it did. It always started the same and ended the same. Joshua started to loathe the damn cat, and he felt silly for it. “It’s a bloody cat!” He thought. He should not feel such negative feelings towards it, but every time he pushes the jealousy out, it rolls back ten-fold.

Joshua is walking side by side with you, the two of you trailing the Crystal Road, getting closer to where the two of you need to be. Joshua is deep in thought, negative swirls of green dancing around his head, when he feels a small bump against his leg. He ignores it, thinking he got too close to your bag, when he feels it again.

He looks down to see Crow looking up at him, eyes wide and mouth curled. Joshua watches him bump his head against his leg, only to look back up at him with his big green eyes. 

Joshua is stumped. Is he hungry? Can he feel the negative energy enclosing in his brain? Can cats do that? 

“Um… dearest…” Joshua says softly, not wanting to disturb the peaceful walk. 

“Hmm?”

“Crow wants something.”

Joshua and you stop in the middle of the road, and you spread the bag apart. “What’s up, little guy?” 

You scratched his head, and Crow started to purr. You chuckled, looking at Joshua who was standing there feeling lost. 

“You are so knowledgeable, yet so clueless.” You smirked. “He wants attention. He wants you to pet him.”

“Me?” Joshua asks, seriously questioning how that could be true. Crow hadn’t been craving his attention; it had been yours.

“He wants you to scratch his head. He loooooves that.” You drawled out. “Go on. Just like this.”

You scratched his head around his ears, demonstrating to Joshua how to proceed. He hesitantly lets his fingers run across the back of Crow’s head, just petting him at first to get a feel for how he will react. Crow pushes his head into Joshua’s fingers, which encourages him to start moving his fingers back and forth quickly. 

Joshua couldn’t believe his luck. Crow was purring at the attention he was getting, and it made Joshua grow bolder. He starts to scratch down under Crow’s neck, making him lift his neck further for more room. In a way, this felt very therapeutic to him. It’s as if the twangs of jealousy that filled his head left within seconds, putting a smile on his face.

He hears a small chuckle, and he looks up to see you smiling behind your hand. He perks up, still scratching Crow in the process. “What’s so funny?”

“It just seems like the sun has decided to come back out.” You dropped your hand, letting it reach for his free one. “You seemed rather gloomy as of late. I’m just happy to see you smile genuinely."

“I apologize,” Joshua followed up with. “I have so much on my mind.” It wasn’t a lie, of course. He did have a lot on his mind, but he doesn’t have the courage to admit that the main thing getting to him was jealousy due to a damn cat.

“I know, but that’s why you have me. You know I’m always here for you.” You swayed, pulling him in a little closer.

Joshua hums and brings his hand to your face. With a gentle grasp, he pulls you in for a soft kiss, reminding himself that you are indeed here for him. He knows you wouldn’t put yourself in such a dangerous position if you didn’t feel strongly for him. 

The kiss is interrupted by another head bump, causing Joshua to pull away. He hears you laugh and next thing he knows the satchel strap is over his shoulder, the cat in the bag right by his right leg. 

“I’ll let you carry him for a while. He seems to want your affection.” You grin. He laughs softly and takes your right hand to press on the long, winding road with his right hand in the cat bag.

-

Joshua and you made camp, and for once he thought it best to stop for the night. It wouldn’t be long before the two, well three of you, reach the Crystal Belt, so some time to gather himself in preparation for his meeting with Dion sounded best. 

Joshua was settling into the tent, waiting for you to come join him. He had started to help clean for an early start tomorrow, but you insisted he go ahead. While he usually would insist right back to keep his gentleman roots intact, he could feel the long day weighing on his eyelids and chose to let your stubbornness flourish for the night. 

His eyes were starting to flutter shut, until he heard the soft patter of paws near him. He opens his eyes to see Crow staring at him, or at least what he can see of him. His black coat completely camouflages him into the shadows of the night, but his green eyes glimmer in the dark.

Joshua sits up on his elbows, hesitant to move. He watches Crow observe him, the cat's head tilting by the way the eyes become diagonal from one another. Petting Crow in a bag, where he is secure, is one thing. To engage with him where he can make any move he wishes is another. While Crow has been friendly, it has been when you were around. This is the first time he has been alone with the feline, and he doesn’t know how to act. 

Crow had gotten noticeably closer and was now at the crevice of Joshua’s left arm. He stiffed when he felt Crow sniffing him, goosebumps rolling over his body in anticipation. Great Greagor, he is going to jump me. However, not only did that not happen, but the next thing Joshua sees is Crow let out a yawn, stretching his whole body in the process, before falling on his side with his head laying in between Joshua’s elbow. Small breaths can be heard as Crow starts to relax further, causing Joshua to relax with him. He lays back down, getting more on his side so he is in a comfortable position that allows room for Crow to stay undisturbed from his slumber. Carefully, he pulls Crow closer to him, making him snuggle more into his arm. 

“This isn’t so bad.” Joshua thinks, a small smile forming on his lips. His mom never allowed Torgal to sleep with him as a child, her excuse being the wolf dander would deplete his immune system more than it already was. To have an animal so close to him is comforting. It makes him feel oddly safe, even when he feels safe in your company. 

He hears the tent flaps open, and the moonlight shines into the tent. He sees your expression as you look at him and Crow, and his heart melts at how your eyes lit up. He watches you tie the flap so it is slightly ajar, and then watches you crawl in. You sit criss-crossed beside him, very obviously admiring the scene occurring. 

“Well, isn’t this a sweet surprise?” You said smugly, arms crossed.

“Yeah,” Joshua lightly laughs. “I guess I can understand why you would want to sleep with him and not me.”

“Awe, was My Lord jealous of the little pussy cat?” You pouted jokingly, and all Joshua can do is groan. He knows it is silly, but he can’t deny it.

“I won’t deny my feelings, though rather immature.” He huffs lightly, looking down at the sleeping ball of fur. He moves his hand to stroke the black fur of Crow’s side, his mood lighting up even further. “This is strangely healing, however. I don’t blame you.”

“Well, you can now have a turn with him. He is a great sleepmate.” You moved to set up a side for yourself, but Joshua carefully reached for your arm causing you to turn to him quizzically. 

“I have a proposition, being that you join us instead of sleeping alone tonight.”

The warmth in your eyes at his statement makes his heart leap, knowing your answer before it slips your lips. He watches you undress to the undergarments that lie beneath your outer clothes, and lifts the covers when you go to lie beside him. He intertwined his legs with yours, both of your bodies getting as close as possible without crushing Crow. His forehead touches yours, inhaling with an ease he hadn’t felt in a while.

“What is it?” You asked, concern in your tone.

“Nothing,” Joshua mumbles, his left arm cradling Crow to his chest and his right hand settling on your waist. “This is just nice.”

You both fall asleep to the soft hum of Crow’s breathing.

-

Joshua’s perception of Crow has changed gradually as you all traveled. When he feels his mood sour, it’s like Crow knows and works to get his attention, and suddenly Joshua feels 100 times better. Crow was therapeutic, in a way, so traveling with him wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. If he was being honest with himself, he felt rather happy when Crow begged for his attention. 

There had been a change of plans in the journey to Prince Dion’s camp. On the belt of the Crystal Road, Joshua had started to feel worse for wear. His coughing had grown rougher and more painful, more blood coming out of his lungs. His chest wound was growing bigger by the day. He knows he is running out of time, so he had insisted that the journey must continue. Once again, however, you did not listen. Which is why he is now laying in a bed at the Dalimil Inn. 

“We really need to get a move on, dearest. We need to get to Dion.” He tries to sound healthy, but even he isn’t dumb enough to think he sounds convincing. He starts to move, wanting to sit up, before another round of coughing rushes out of his lungs.

“Yeah, and you struggling to stay up right is going to help us get there faster.” You snarked, still light hearted nonetheless.

Joshua wishes to retort, but he doesn’t have it in him. He falls back with a groan, his brain pounding and chest tight. He knew keeping Ultima locked away would be hard, but the agony that comes with it is more than he could have realized. Being naturally ill doesn’t provide any immunity to pain, and Joshua was learning the hard way.

You come into his vision, and like the angel you were, you pull the covers over him. Tucking him in like you were his baby, you pressed a kiss to his forehead, which Joshua relished in. He won’t admit it to you, but he has always loved being taken care of. 

“I’m going to run out to the market and find some minerals and herbs for your medicine. I’ll also get you some food as you should eat something.” You twirled a piece of his hair, only to drop it to brush your fingertips against the baby hairs that meet his forehead. “Crow will be here to keep watch.”

Joshua turns his head slightly to see Crow sleeping in the desk chair beside the bed, curled up into the seat. He knew he had to be tired, and a weird sense of envy seeped into Joshua’s bones. He wishes he could sleep with such ease. 

Fingertips graze his chin, rotating it until he meets your eyes again. The way you are looking at him makes his chest feel lighter, even with the chaos and muck that stirs within. Your skin on his soothes him, and he can’t help but to lean into your touch. His eyes flutter shut, and he hears you hum softly. “Try to get some rest. I shall return to you soon.” 

Light pressure sets against his lips, lasting for a few seconds, before releasing. He listens to your steps, and continues to listen after the door shuts. The faintness of your steps disappear, but Joshua still hears them in his mind. The soft pitter-patter of your light feet tap away, and slowly pulls him into a deep sleep.

-

Even in the few moments before Joshua’s slumber ends, he can sense a difference within himself. He feels as if his chest is heavier than before, but not as it was before. The angry flourishes of pain have settled to a dull ache, something he isn’t accustomed to these days. There is a peacefulness that has taken homage, and it is the most calm he has felt in the last few days. The heaviness on his chest is comforting. It felt like the times he would wake up with your head on his chest, with deep breathing that vibrated his being. 

In the early stages of being awake, he reaches for his chest expecting to feel your hair against his skin. His fingers brush against what he believes to be hair, until his brain reminds him that it isn’t coarse and surely doesn’t rise and fall. His eyes snap open, sleepy delirium resolved as he comes face to face with black fur. The light in the room had dimmed slightly, meaning it had been approximately two hours since his slumber. Sometime during the duration, Crow had taken it upon himself to rest on Joshua’s chest.

Crow was purring insistently loud, his eyes crescented as he rests with his body curled. Joshua couldn’t explain it, but the vibrations soothed the violent thumping that would make him stumble with each step. His whole body felt as if he had found an oasis; like he had discovered something that quenched his relief. Or more so, Crow had discovered how to help him. 

Joshua scratched Crow’s head, getting behind the ears, making the black feline purr louder and lean into his hand. He could feel a lump in his throat, for somehow, a cat had come to his aid. A cat took one look at him and knew how to help him. Who knew such a remedy would treat him so diligently and work so well. He presumes Greagor knew what She was doing when you had come across the ball of fur; a healer with a healer cat. 

Joshua was so immersed with Crow’s abilities, that the sound of the door opening and closing hadn’t caught his attention. It isn’t until he feels movement at the end of the bed that his head shoots up to see you with the biggest grin on your face.

“What did I tell you?”

“Regarding?” Joshua asks, confused as to why you are looking at him with such glee.

“I told you I’d make him a great healer!” You cheered enthusiastically. “Look at you! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look as comfortable as you do right now.”

“You’ve trained him well.” He continues to pet Crow, moving his fingers down to scratch under his neck. “However, I do believe you said he’d be the best healer I’d ever seen. I’ll admit I stand corrected, for he may even be a better healer than you.” He jests, knowing it’ll rile you up.

You gawked at him, “If he wasn’t lying on your chest right now, I’d make you take that back.”

“You can remove him if you’d like. I’d like to see what you’d do.” He draws out lewdly, loving how you are reacting to his quips. 

“Whatever, you perv.” You laughed, moving to crawl beside him. You had gently wrapped an arm across him, right behind where Crow lays. Your head is now beside his and he can’t help himself as he leans in to kiss you. The two of you stay like that for a while, enjoying the tranquility of the moment before the three of you prepare to experience the rough world out there. 

Him, his lady, and their cat.