#but they’re trying to reconcile

[arsoniiii]

PART 2 IS JUST REKIS POV OF PART 1 MWAHAHAHAA

PART 1:

[quillkiller]

thinking about my favorite mortal enemies regulus and remus

[j0ypatron]

[rosy-crow]

Ahaha, we really are having the Arcane debate all over again. This is gold. I knew it would happen djfhfh. I can’t believe I’m re-living it in a much smaller way xD

[the-eldritch-it-gay]

Wanted to write smth spicy with Majexatli and it ended up spiraling instead into analyzing Majexatli’s insecurities and traumas and fears.

[arihi]

On my bullshit again but I still maintain the (once again very bastardized and westernized) idea of ‘healing’ a la “you don’t owe anything to anyone” and “cutting people off is maintaining healthy boundaries” is a brain rot and people are so caught up in their moral superiority of [have had a single thought of introspection at least once] they don’t realize how black and white and inconsistent these ideals are

[hazelcallahan]

ok “all vi needed to do was call caitlyn cupcake to make her turn on ambessa” is a fun little bit that i will participate in but i really feel like it’s contributing to two major misconceptions/complaints:

1. that caitlyn’s heel turn was sudden, and

2. that vi and caitlyn have reconciled

so let’s break that down, shall we

1. every single hint was there that caitlyn was chafing against ambessa’s regime and doing every little thing in her power to resist without putting herself and her loved ones at great risk. from the first scene with maddie - hell, the opening montage - you can tell cait is fucking EXHAUSTED. weary. that’s a woman who has spent months suffocating, doing desperate damage mitigation when put into an impossible situation. she didn’t want the mantle of leadership, and what was she going to do, say no and let someone worse take it? so she’ll take it. she’ll ban the use of solitary confinement cells. she’ll argue against ambessa’s soldiers attacking civilians. she’s in too deep to really do much else.

additionally, there are hints that she’s been planning on ways to take down ambessa for months. that one scene with dialogue over them sparring is literally there to symbolize how every single conversation between them is a battle, both of them looking for openings, and no matter how hard caitlyn tries ambessa always seems to come out on top. you also don’t just come up with the plan she did entirely on the fly - tracking things like guard rotations is something only a schemer does.

2. sure, “cupcake” is a fun little pet name, but it’s so much more than that. the most obvious is an olive branch. vi doesn’t want to hurt caitlyn. there’s so much affection still there.

the bigger thing, though, and the thing i believe caitlyn is reacting to there, is it’s a sign of distance. vi used “cupcake” as a way to needle at caitlyn when they first met, when she didn’t quite trust her even though she’d broken her out of prison. after that, we hear her use it twice more in s1: on the bridge during their parting hug, and after the council meeting as she’s trying to leave. both instances where she, in that moment, believes they’re never going to see each other again, and so she has a vested interest in creating that distance. on the other hand, we hear her use caitlyn’s name after she hears the gunshot on the bridge, in a moment of genuine fear and affection.

come s2, vi doesn’t use “cupcake” at all in act 1. she used “cait” a lot. still a nickname, but also caitlyn’s actual name - i know you, i see you, i care about you. caitlyn’s observant enough to notice this, even passively, even if she didn’t realize it until she heard “cupcake” months later, but i can’t help but feel like she takes that nickname as a sign of how they’ve drifted. she feels like she has to start over again with this woman she clearly loves. the meaning is clear to her: i won’t hurt you unless you give me a reason to, i’ll work with you if that’s what you need, but i’m not going to let myself get close to you just yet.

[benbamboozled]

@jasontoddenthusiastt

Hell yeah.

I think fans want Jason to be a good person or be becoming one. To have a character that is well meaning and compassionate but decided murder is ok and to stand against main heroes who’s beliefs and actions go against the people he cares about and wants in his life. It’s confusing for people. People want their fav characters to be happy. But Jason can’t have his family’s support and follow his moral code. He’s cares about people and Gotham, and he’s an asshole who kills. It’s messy. It’s not black and white. I don’t even think Jason cares about being a good person or in the right anymore. I think he cares about what will save the most people instead.

Oh my goodness gracious I’ve been bamboozled

Batman’s definition of Good is not synonymous with absolute good/right no matter how much dc insists it is. Torture, battery/assault, surveillance, those are all condemnable actions too. I won’t get into the exhausting and frankly dumb debate of comic book morality wrt killing because I’ve already reblogged plenty of posts from other people who explained my thoughts on the matter far better than I ever have the patience to sit down and articulate. I also just think the notion that there’s something to be done about fictional characters who kill nazis and senseless murderers is stupid. Jason’s point is that the “main” heroes’ sanitized definition of right has its unaddressed holes and flaws which ultimately result in more preventable fatalities, and that he’ll work to correct those missing spots.

He doesn’t not care about doing what’s right. What he doesn’t care about (at least during his Winick characterization) is whether Batman thinks he’s right or wrong, because he sees the flaws in Batman’s methodology (and since he has a mind of his own). Batman’s methods alone cannot address Arkham’s revolving door and the rogues that come and go through those doors who have no intention (or capability from the doylist pov) of ever changing or undergoing redemption. Jason knows that he’s minimizing the number of preventable deaths by killing his targets, typically Characters Who Simply Do Fucked Up Shit Just Because, Why The Fuck Not?

Secondly, Jason is compassionate … to a fault. That was his fatal flaw. If he wasn’t so hell-bent on saving his potential birth mother he just met from that bomb despite everything she did to him prior, he could have protected himself instead, however slim his odds of survival were. What about his relationship with his other parents? He was a caregiver during his early childhood years for Catherine, until her death. Even mature adults who are financially stable find being a caregiver to a dying parent to be extremely burdensome on their bodies and minds, but he never complained about it or resented Catherine for being unable to care for him. Despite how none of his parents have really been what he needed them to be, he doesn’t blame them for their failings, and even continues to think highly of them (Bruce included).

And post-death? Enter Lost Days. Despite being dead set on plotting his revenge on Bruce, he constantly sidelines this in order to save other victims who are helpless like he once was. His own anger, trauma, and mission don’t remain his priority. (Sound familiar? Something something my own trauma above my son’s, mission above all else, etc.). Why would he waste precious time and risk his own life to do this if he wasn’t empathetic towards these victims or didn’t care about doing the right thing. He is simultaneously horribly traumatized and full of rage, and also incapable of ignoring what’s happening to victims around him (even as he claims that it’s indeed not his priority). And in that same vein, the entire premise of his rebirth outlaws run was that he doesn’t care if the public views him as a villain, an outlaw, so long as he can protect Gotham. And anyway where is this portrayal of him not caring about being in the right anymore. Almost every modern Jason story is about him grappling with where he stands with Bruce/Batman. During the early 2000s was probably the last time he did not care (hello, tentatodd??).

Jason has very evidently been portrayed as a kind and compassionate character. He is also simultaneously a calculated killer who doesn’t hesitate to kill when he deems necessary, and does so without remorse. It’s called being a Complex Character With An Edge™ that as you said, people so often claim to love. However when he fulfills that latter part, that seems to upset people because “killing bad”, and they then try to shave off and round out all his edges and claim he shouldn’t be that angry. In that case I guess you should just stick to liking traditional one-dimensional characters instead of claiming to like Jason but then encouraging his character assassination attempt by dc. Lol.

Lastly, who said anything about the batfam making Jason happy? Just because he’s written nowadays to want acceptance from Bruce (a shoddy attempt at forcing a non-existent nuclear batfamily), doesn’t mean that it’s a sound decision or that it does his character justice. I certainly don’t empathize with the idea that Jason needs the family’s approval or acceptance to be happy. (And anyway he has enough outlets for angst and pain aside from the batfam hello explore his other sources of trauma and do more deep dives into how he thinks when he’s alone). I don’t want them to magically make up and become one big happy family. This is not disney Lol. Besides, there are plenty of stories from dc that have that type of “wholesome” (hate that word utilization) characterization for Jason (Li’l Gotham, Tiny Titans, wfa, and even new stuff like the brave and the bold mini) and that is sufficient imo. Jason fans who are invested in the character deserve accurate, nuanced characterization and well-written stories, whether they be from his robin days (e.g., Batman: The Cult) or as red hood.

[sammygender]

when people get on with their parents really well i go crazy. like when they say they love their parents and when they know their parents will support them always and they don’t feel resentment towards their parents or feel like their parents prioritised their own version of love which really meant being unwilling to tolerate distress or hardship and constant fervent belief they knew what was right over their kids own genuine happiness i go crazy. not sure what this says about me though

[reiding-writing]

ECHOES OF SILENCE — SPENCER REID!

digging too deep into something you’re not directly involved in can have consequences.

s1!spencer x fem!reader | mystery | 3.3k | event masterlist.

| part one. | part two. | part three. |

main masterlist.

a/n — part two babyyyy, with a few cameos for my babes, iykyk

You sit in the back of the lecture hall, but you’ve stopped listening.

The words from the professor dissolve into the noise of your own thoughts, thoughts that loop in a quiet, panicked hum.

It’s been weeks since you first brought up your theory—missing college girls, all within a radius too tight to be coincidence—and still, no one’s taken you seriously. A joke, they said. A distraction from exams, group projects, and campus parties.

The friends who once nodded when you talked now roll their eyes, turning their backs on you with easy laughter when you bring it up. Even your roommate, who had seemed concerned at first, has started to shut the door a little too firmly when you try to explain the latest detail you’ve uncovered.

Outside, the October air bites, but you hardly notice. You move through campus like a ghost, just as unnoticed as the girls who disappeared.

There's something wrong here, you can feel it—but nobody else seems to care. The administration deflected your concerns with vague reassurances about “young adults finding their own path.” The words were polished, as if they’d been spoken a hundred times before.

When you left their office, you couldn’t help but wonder if they had a protocol for when girls like that vanished.

You’re walking back to your dorm when your phone buzzes, Spencer’s voice echoing through the receiver. The relief is immediate; at least he believes you. You answer, and his voice, calm but strained, fills the silence.

“I’ve been looking into the disappearances,” he says without preamble. “It’s not just your local colleges.”

Your pulse quickens. You stop mid-step, scanning the quad as if something will jump out at you. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve connected similar cases in colleges further out in the city. Girls, vanishing from Maryland, Strayer—there’s a pattern. The BAU is looking at it now.”

You knew it. That cold knot in your stomach tightens further as he continues.

“We’re talking about a coordinated effort. Someone, or a group, is targeting them. It’s not random.”

The world feels sharper, the shadows darker, like something is lurking just out of sight. “Why hasn’t anyone said anything?”

Spencer sighs. “It’s under the radar. They know how to blend in, make it look like the girls left voluntarily, but the timeline doesn’t fit. Whoever this is, they’re careful. But they’re getting bolder. You were right to be worried.”

You swallow hard, but your throat is dry. This was more than you’d imagined. “So, what do we do?”

His voice lowers. “You need to be careful. We’re dealing with something bigger than just local authorities. The BAU is moving, but these people are professionals. If they know someone’s onto them…”

You don’t need him to finish the sentence. It hangs in the air between you, as heavy as the threat itself. You look around again, this time truly seeing the faces of the students passing by. Any one of them could be next. Or maybe it’s already too late for some.

—

The scent of stale coffee fills the local police department’s waiting area, mixing with the sharp tang of disinfectant. You sit across from Spencer, flipping through a stack of missing person reports he’s been able to pull.

The faces of the girls stare back at you from the pages—smiling in yearbook photos, carefree and young. It’s hard to reconcile the images with their fates, with the cold emptiness that follows their names and the faint, scribbled notes: last seen at a party, disappeared after a study group, no signs of forced entry.

You’re glad that Spencer agreed to let you in on the official investigation, unsure you’d be able to go about your daily life with that malingering thought in the back of your mind that any one of the girls you see on a day-to-day basis could be the next addition to your notebook, another number in the case. A statistic.

Spencer sets another file on the table between you, his brow furrowed in concentration. “We’ve got a disturbing amount of overlap here. Same age range, similar social circles. Most of them were last seen at crowded events.”

You nod, skimming through the details. You knew this was bad, but seeing it all laid out like this, in official reports, makes it more real. “They’re being targeted at parties,” you mutter, piecing it together aloud. “Whoever’s doing this knows exactly how to disappear them without raising any alarms.”

Just then, Detective Walker strides in. You recognise her as the officer you’d spoken to a few weeks ago when you first voiced your concerns. She was dismissive then, barely giving you five minutes before handing you off to a clerk. Now, her expression is more serious, though a hint of skepticism still lingers in her sharp eyes.

“So, you’re telling me these disappearances aren’t just coincidence?” Walker asks, dropping into the chair opposite you. She flips open one of the files but doesn’t really look at it. “I don’t know, kids come and go all the time. Some of them just don’t want to be found.”

Spencer, ever patient, sits up straight. “We’ve been tracking similar cases across multiple colleges across D.C. These girls didn’t just decide to leave. There are too many similarities. Someone is orchestrating this.”

Walker glances at you, then at Spencer. The silence stretches long enough for you to feel the doubt creeping in, but finally, she leans back, rubbing his jaw. “Alright. I’ll bite. Let’s say this is more than it looks. What exactly are we dealing with here?”

A flicker of relief passes between you and Spencer. Walker isn’t fully convinced yet, but at least she’s listening.

Over the next few days, you sit in on interviews with the families of the missing girls, listening as they recount the last time they saw their daughters.

Most of the stories are eerily similar: the girls were seen heading to a party or a study group, sometimes in crowded dorms, other times at social hangouts, but never alone.

No one ever saw them leave. No one noticed them slip away. One moment they were there, and the next, gone, like a shadow in the middle of a crowded room.

You start to notice something else too—the faint look of frustration in the families’ eyes. A few mothers mutter how the police didn’t take their worries seriously at first, how they’d been told their daughters were probably off with friends or boyfriends, that they’d come back eventually. But they never did.

And you sympathise, if you were frustrated by their negligence, you couldn’t even imagine how awful it felt for them.

Later that week, back at campus, you and Spencer sift through more data in the library’s back corner, out of sight of curious students. You’re exhausted, but you can’t stop, not now. The glow of your laptop screen reflects off your tired eyes as you comb through social media profiles and event listings. Then something clicks.

“There’s a circle,” you whisper, pulling up a list of campus groups, scanning for overlapping names and attendees. “They’re attending parties and groups in places that are all within an hour radius from each other.”

Spencer leans in, looking over your shoulder. “We need more data. There’s got to be something to lead us to a central location.”

Spencer rifles through his bag for a few seconds before pulling out his phone, failing in a number and letting it ring on speaker.

“Giver of all things pink and fluffy, how can I help you boy genius?”

You furrow your eyebrows at the response, but Spencer seems unfazed.

“Hey Garcia, we need access to everything connected to these campus events,” He explains, laying out your findings. “Emails, attendance lists, anything that could show us who’s been organising these things. There’s something bigger going on.”

The sound of keyboard taps comes over the phone, joined by a “Watch a true genius do her work,”

The line goes silent for a few second barr the keys, and then there’s a small tut from the woman on the other end. “Uh, there’s a student forum for D.C colleges, seems like they share addresses and dates for certain student events with each other, all of our linked events being mentioned at least once, seemingly by the same few individuals,”

There’s another small pause, and then an unhappy hum. “They just posted a new party listing today, I’ll send you the date and address,”

“Thanks Garcia,”

“No problem Wonder Boy, Penny G out!”

You glance at Spencer, a cold wave of dread hitting you as the phone goes dead. This is it, almost certainly proof that someone’s been hunting these girls. And worse, they’re not done.

Walker is going to have to believe you now.

—

The first message arrives late one night, just as you’re about to turn off your computer. It’s an email from handle that’s just a bunch of letters and numbers, but the subject line—STOP—is what catches your attention. You hesitate, thinking it might be spam, but something feels wrong. Against your better judgment, you click.

You don’t know what you’re getting into. Walk away, or you’ll end up like the others.

There’s no signature, no indication of who it’s from, but the message is clear. You stare at the words, your pulse suddenly racing, and glance around your darkened dorm room.

The blinds are drawn, but you feel exposed, as though someone’s watching you right now. Your hand hovers over the mouse, and instinctively, you delete the email, but the unease doesn’t go away. Instead, it festers, a growing knot in your gut.

You immediately call Spencer. His voice is groggy but sharpens when you tell him what happened. “I think they’re onto us,” You breathe out, voice heavy with concern.

You can hear the ruffle of what you assume to be his sheets as he sits up. “We need to be careful. You should stay somewhere else for a few days.”

You agree, but sleep doesn’t come easy. The next morning, you pack a small bag and move into a motel on the edge of town, one Spencer picked for its anonymity.

You don’t tell anyone where you’ve gone, not even your closest friends. It feels safer that way. Still, the tension clings to you like a second skin. You can’t help but check your surroundings every few minutes, scanning faces and cars, wondering if one of them belongs to the person who sent that message.

A few days later, you’re sitting across from Spencer in his car, watching the local diner where you’re set to meet Detective Walker. The message still lingers in your mind, but you push it aside as Walker arrives, sliding into the booth with a grim expression.

“We found something,” She says without any preamble, placing a thin file on the table between you and Spencer. “Her name’s Charlotte Francis. She went missing last year, same pattern—college student, disappeared after a party. Only, we found her. Alive.”

You and Spencer exchange a look. “Where is she now?” Spencer asks, leaning forward.

Walker sighs, rubbing the back of her neck. “She’s in a trauma center. We haven’t been able to get much out of her, but... what little she’s told us? It’s bad. Really bad.”

Your stomach turns. “What did she say?”

Walker hesitates before speaking. “She was taken by a group—an underground ring, we think it’s traffickers. They exploit them, sometimes for months, before they disappear completely. Charlotte’s one of the few we’ve ever recovered.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. Exploit. The word echoes in your mind, heavy with implications. “She’s... she’s still alive though, right? Can we talk to her?”

Walker nods, but there’s no relief in her expression. “She’s alive, but barely. She’s not the same girl who went missing. The trauma, the things they did to her... it broke her. She won’t even look people in the eye. Most of the time, she doesn’t speak.”

A chill runs down your spine. You’ve been chasing this story, desperate for answers, but now you wonder if you’re getting too close. The warning from the email comes rushing back—Walk away, or you’ll end up like the others.

Later that day, you and Spencer visit the trauma center where Charlotte is being kept. The place is sterile, too clean, and the soft hum of fluorescent lights only heightens your anxiety.

A nurse leads you to a small room where Charlotte sits on a bed, staring out the window, her face hollow and gaunt. Her eyes don’t flicker toward you when you enter, and she barely reacts when Spencer speaks to her in a gentle voice.

“Charlotte? My name’s Spencer Reid, I’m with the FBI, is it alright if I ask you some questions?”

She nods stuntedly, barely so much as a flicker of acknowledgment in her expression. “Charli,”

Spencer blinks. “Sorry?”

“Don’t— call me Charlotte, please,”

“Right,” Spencer nods softly, pulling up one of the plastic guest chairs and motioning for you to do the same. “Of course, that’s no problem,”

The conversation is slow, almost non-existent, and it’s only when you mention the parties that she turns her head slightly, just enough for you to see the pain etched deep into her expression.

“Don’t,” she whispers, her voice a fragile thread. “Don’t look for them. They’ll find you.”

The weight of her words settles over you like a suffocating blanket. You know now that this is bigger than you ever imagined—more dangerous, more personal. And suddenly, the fear isn’t just about finding out the truth. It’s about what happens when the truth finds you.

As you leave the trauma center, Spencer glances at you under his glasses, his face tense with unspoken worry. “We’re getting close, but this is going to get worse before it gets better. They’re watching us.”

You nod, but you can’t shake the feeling creeping over you. Charli’s warning plays over and over in your mind. How many girls have vanished without a trace? How many more are out there, waiting to be found—or worse, already gone?

And how long before you become one of them?

—

Garcia’s lead takes you to a club on the outskirts of the Georgetown campus, one of those places that’s just far enough from the city to feel unsafe but close enough to attract the usual crowd of college students.

The police, along with Spencer and his team from the BAU, have planned the sting carefully—too carefully, you hope. The club is being watched, plainclothes officers mixed into the crowd, waiting for the moment to strike.

You’re there too, disguised as just another student, your nerves stretched thin as you wait for the signal. The goal is simple: get enough evidence to take down the ring, and rescue anyone being held against their will.

Spencer parks a few blocks away, both of you agreeing it’s better to approach on foot. The night air is thick with humidity, and a nervous energy buzzes between you as you walk toward the pulsing neon sign that marks the entrance.

The club is loud, chaotic. Inside, bodies move in time with the beat of the music, students laughing and drinking without a care in the world. But your focus isn’t on the crowd. It’s on the VIP section in the back, cordoned off by a velvet rope and guarded by two burly men. Spencer’s sharp eyes catch it too.

“That’ll be where it’s happening,” he mutters, nodding toward the area. “It’s the only place private enough to be able to make someone disappear without being noticed.”

You and Spencer inch closer, blending in with the throng of students. You act casual, pretending to sip a drink you grabbed from the bar. Your heart pounds in your chest as you try to look everywhere at once, scanning faces, trying to recognize anyone who fits the descriptions from the missing girls’ reports.

Then you see it.

A girl—too young, too innocent-looking—escorted by one of the guards through the VIP entrance. She glances around, clearly out of place, and you see the flicker of hesitance in her eyes just before she disappears behind the curtain. You nudge Spencer, your throat tightening.

“Spencer,” you say, voice barely a whisper.

He nods, tense. “Let’s get closer, but keep your head down. We can’t risk getting caught.”

You push forward, slipping through the crowd until you’re just a few feet from the VIP area. Spencer’s already pulling out his phone, discreetly trying to snap photos for evidence.

But as you lean in to catch a glimpse beyond the curtain, your foot catches on something, and you stumble forward—just enough to attract the attention of the guard.

“Hey!” the guard shouts, immediately stepping toward you.

Panic surges through you. Spencer grabs your arm, pulling you back, and you both make a quick retreat, weaving through the crowd. The music swells around you, but it does nothing to drown out the sound of the guards following close behind.

Your heart races as you dart through the narrow hallway toward the back exit, Spencer right on your heels.

“We need to get out of here—now,” he hisses, eyes darting toward the door.

You don’t need to be told twice. Together, you shove through the exit, spilling into the dark alleyway. The door slams behind you, and you take the opportunity to breathe.

“Oh thank god,” You slap a hand over your chest as you look over your shoulder towards Spencer behind you.

Except he isn’t there.

“Spencer?” you question, voice echoing empty in the alleyway.

A cold wave of dread washes over you. You spin in place, the sounds of shouting fading into the background. “Spencer!” you call again, louder this time, but it’s no use.

The realisation hits you like a punch to the gut. He’s not here. And you’re alone.

“Okay, okay breathe,” You exhale heavily, motioning downwards with your hand to calm yourself down. “Just go back to the car, yeah,”

You nod to yourself as you walk back towards the main street, taking routine breaths in through your nose and out through your mouth.

“Everything’s good, we’re fine,” You’re not exactly sure you’re convincing yourself, but you don’t deny the relief you feel when you spot the light spilling from a street lamp around the corner.

And then someone grabs you from behind, yanking you backwards. A hand clamps over your mouth, and you struggle, kicking and thrashing, but it’s no use. A van door slams shut, and everything goes dark.

— part three !!

[sickgraymeat]

Do you ever think about how when BMO plays pretend, they favor nomadic/loner roles like a cowboy, a hard-boiled detective, a traveling salesperson, etc., which is pretty in line with their directive from Mo. But when they really are on their own (eg in BMO Lost) they immediately, desperately establish a family from their surroundings.

And how one of those universal struggles of people, especially in the context of growing up (including but not limited to childhood) is dependence vs. independence. Wanting a hand to hold and wanting to be able to drop it at will. And how some people need to hold that hand less often than others, and how some people really don’t want to even when they really need to.

Finn and Jake get frustrated with each other and try to solve a dungeon separately, only to be met at every turn with a challenge that they can’t face without the other. Marceline travels for a thousand years and settles down here and there and picks back up because the people around her aren’t constant so she doesn’t want to be either. PB and IK each create an entire kingdom because they’re lonely, and neither of them feel whole because, just like the quarters of Ooo in Elements, living in those kingdoms is too much like living inside their own heads.

Every episode of Distant Lands is about characters who both resent and long for the versions of themselves they used to be— the versions who needed other people, the versions who could still insist they didn’t — and have to reconcile with the fact that they never really stopped being those people, but also that they can never really be those people again.

Every major character in the series is building connections and love and safety using whatever tools they have, and distancing themselves with equal effort. So they’re all kind of just alternating between playing cowboy and playing house, figuring out how to balance both and where they fit in between.

[poppy-metal]

after the whole patrick lending you to art for forgiveness ordeal…… you are so unbelievably embarrassed. it’s bad enough patrick knows what you’re like, what you really want from a man, but now art knows? art, who you’ve spoken to maybe 5 times, knows the lows, knows how far you would degrade yourself to make the man you love happy. art, a mere stranger, knows that when you’re used your pussy gets soaking wet. when you’re disrespected you squeeze like you’re afraid he’ll leave. and being the kind warm person he is, he smiles at you, he waves at you like you’re friends. like you know anything about the other except for what they feel like on the inside. and god, he hadn’t even used protection. he came inside you in front of your boyfriend, and now he was free to roam the halls and smile and wave and come up to patrick and hang out and you got so quiet and so flushed it was like you were the third wheel. what really got you was how much you liked it. you liked being used. you wanted art to fuck you as hard as he needed to forgive patrick, you wanted him to hurt you. but something about it left a craving, a lingering desire. he didn’t like you like you liked him. you wanted him, him, but the only reason he did it that night was to get back at patrick, to set things right. you understood why he was so mean, but the docile and nagging part of yourself wanted to be so good he had to be nice. nice, kind, warm art. the art patrick got. you wanted that.

patrick, ever observant, knows exactly how you feel. knows you want more, but don’t know how to ask. knows art wants more, because once they’re reconciled, best friends talk. started off as a joke over beer, asking would it be so bad if it happened again? decided it wouldn’t be bad. it would be really really good. and maybe it would be even better if it happened again and again and again.

so they pull you into arts bedroom, saying they wanna “talk”, but they mainly talk to each other about you. you sit between them, cheeks burning, as patrick palms the squashed fat of your ass, as he’s allowed to do, while art gently pushes your hair away from your neck and breathes there, as you didn’t know he was allowed to do.

“patrick told me you’re embarrassed about what we did. is that true, baby?”

baby. you shudder and look to patrick, panicked, but he only smiles. he raised his eye brows and on command you answer.

“yes.”

“i’m really sorry about that. aren’t i, pat?”

“mhm. he wants to make it up to you. you don’t have to be embarrassed you know.”

their hands and mouths moved like magnets closer to your skin, patrick pawing at your thigh and ass as arts nose brushes your throat as he kisses your collarbone.

“ok,” you say, barely over a whisper.

“ok? ok what?”

“ok. make it up to me.”

such a brave command in such a weak voice. they both laugh, and the air tickles your neck.

they are going to take good care of you. their good little girl

im gonna bite you like im really gonna do it im gonna bite you im gonna sink my teeth in you

brain short circuiting actually head empty just patrick holding your thighs to your chest so art can eat slowly at your cunt like the slut he is - flashing those blue eyes at you. like hes cataloging your expressions, finding what places he has to tongue at to make your thighs twitch, your toes curl.

patricks not a bystander either. he bands one thick arm beneath your knees to keep you in place, his other hand reaching up to cup your jaw - turn your head to his so he can see you too. "you like my friends tongue on your pussy?" when your chest heaves and your eyes dart away he grins and leans in, "you dont have to lie. i think it's fucking hot."

then his tongue is in your mouth and you're opening for him, splitting your lips to let him inside at the same time arts tongue parts your lower lips to lap across your entrance. you cant help how your cunt squeezes, trying to drag him inside. he pulls back.

"can i eat her ass?"

you gasp when patrick lets you go. chin wet with spit from his thorough tongue fuck of your mouth. it isn't lost on you how art didn't bother to ask you, he asks patrick. that makes you squirm. arch back into patricks hard body which rumbles with a low laugh.

"you're gonna make her fall in love with you if you do that. she loves having her ass played with. think she'd be happy if i just fucked that hole and didn't touch her pussy at all."

art is gripping his cock through his boxers. squeezing the head. "fuck." his eyes finally meet yours and he licks his lips. "you want me to?"

as much as you do love it, its still embarrassing to admit. its such an intimate place. even now you can feel your rim clenching like its shy. shy but eager for the attention.

"o-okay." you tell him. and patrick reaches down, thick hands spreading your cheeks till all of you is exposed. wet cunt still open from the work art put in with his mouth, the seam between your asscheeks spread to reveal your little twitching hole. it winks repeatedly at arts stare. "please," you whine, the humiliation making you run hot, burning burning burning between them. you cover your face with your hands when art starts to lean in, pink lips parted, face flushed, blonde locks wild around his head like a halo.

his cherubic beauty is what makes the act so fucking lewd. and when the touch of his tongue flutters against your tight hole you cry out, high and whiney.

"aw," patrick says in faux sympathy. you know he doesn't actually feel bad. you can feel the hard length of his dick at your back. he loves when you're embarrassed. thinks its cute. "you're gonna make her cry, art."

you hear art moan, feel the vibration of it between your cheeks that patrick is keeping spread wide - his tongue is lapping at your rim steadily, soft coaxing licks that has the furled muscle relaxing for him. hes evil, theres nothing cherubic about him at all, you decide. hes the devil.

"little babies gonna cry cause her ass is getting tonguefucked -" lips press against the side of your head. gentle. "all your secrets are out now, baby. we both know what a fucking pervert you are. open your eyes and watch art lick your hole, c'mon."

and like the puppet on strings you are, you listen.

[whalesforhands]

You think you’ve met with the biggest worry of your life yet. Well… Kind of? Certainly, it was a blessing to think that this was your biggest worry thus far.

But something that has been making you lose sleep nonetheless.

That being that your cute, adorable and quiet son— Was being so much colder than usual.

“Mama. Megumi’s just cranky all the time.”

“Gumi’s been sulking in his room and listening to a lot of radio songs, too. Nana and I saw.”

Your twins have been just fine— As sweet as they could possibly be, as they cuddle up to you and follow you around the kitchen to make dinner or chasing their poor Papa and Daddy out the door so that they won’t bother your little bonding session.

But it seems Fushiguro Megumi has been a lot more distant than usual, his eyes squinted at you everytime he spoke, narrowed blue eyes and almost— Like a glare.

Maybe you’ve done something wrong? Did you not sew his favourite shirt up right? Ah, maybe you shouldn’t have asked Suguru to help you season the vegetables in the stew today— Was it because Satoru bought the wrong brand of pork?

Just what has been on your son’s mind?

“Megumi… Is something wrong? Are you okay? Do you feel sick?” And he’s gripping onto your hand, eyes squinted at you as he glares.

“I-I’m fine! Quit trying to take my temperature…!”

Your plans for reconciling don’t seem to be doing well either.

“…thanks.”

One direct strike to your heart that has you clutching at your chest in stark worry. It’s almost like he was getting colder and colder until hell could actually freeze over…!

“Welcome home! Did you like your lunch? I made your favourite today, oh! And added the carrots that you were talking about.” Your hand pats his head as he stares up at you with an almost blank expression on his face, coupled with that squinty look in his eye.

“It was okay.”

Another direct plunge of the knife into your heart as you cough and try to recover from this excruciating worry and panic from within.

There has got to be something wrong… Right?

“It’s gotta be puberty or something!” Satoru’s arm is around you, patting your back as you almost sob, your head resting upon your husband’s chest as you voice your concerns about your poor son.

“Satoru,” You sniffle lightly as he threads his fingers through your hair, letting you stare into his eyes as he hums in acknowledgment. “Were you like this at his age too?”

“Nope! I did have like, a giant target painted on my back cause I was powerful and stuff though.”

Oh my god. Was Megumi being targetted by dangerous organizations—

“And I think you’re scaring her, Satoru.” A gentle voice is heard as the bathroom door opens, Geto Suguru with a towel around his neck and his freshly dried hair being pushed back by a palm.

“Darling,” He’s kneeling by the side of the bed to be eye level with you as he takes yours hand in his. “Megumi and the girls are safe no matter where they go. Trust us.”

You do, you really do.

“B-But Suguru…! Megumi doesn’t even ask me for hugs anymore…!”

That was what was making you go on the brink of tears, actually. Your once sweet, quiet and slightly chubby but soft Megumi used to shyly plop his head onto your lap, used to stare at you until you would bend down and tightly squeeze him in your arms.

But now he won’t even call you ‘Mama’…

“Ah, that last part. He doesn’t even call me Papa anymore either. They’re at the age where it feels awkward to call their parents that, after all.”

But your girls—

“The twins and Tsumiki are better at endearing themselves, sweetheart.” The bed dips as he gets on, letting you flip the blanket up so that he could join you as he fluffs up and pillow and sits himself up. “Plus, you know how much better they are at expressing themselves than Gumi is.”

Your husband is right, but—

“You look so stressed, honey,” Your snowy-haired sorcerer of a husband hums so dismissively, as if he doesn’t understand the weight of the situation as Suguru continues to comfort you.

“Wanna kiss?”

Not at all being helpful.

(“I’m taking away all your kissing privileges,” A pout as you turn your head away from the puckered lips of one of your husbands.

“W-Wha? I didn’t even do anything! Suguru, convince her to give me back my rights, pleaseeeeee?!”

“Nope.” Your husband adjusts his reading glasses as his book settles on his lap and your head was now on his broader shoulder. “I’m mad at you too.”

Gojo Satoru feels very wronged right now.)

It seems the only one who seems to understand your worry is your eldest daughter.

“Mm! Megumi’s been acting really, really awkward lately, Mama!” Her plastic cup slams down onto the coaster with much more force than usual, the strawberry milk swirling about from the vibration of the force.

“I saw him putting his face super, super close to this magazine too!” She angrily takes a bite of her riceball, making sure to chew thoroughly as well as swallow before speaking once more. “And Mimiko says Megumi was asking her for her notes a lot more now!”

“And everytime I ask him what’s wrong, he flinches and tells me that it was nothing. Then he tells me that he wants to eat more carrots!”Fushiguro Tsumiki has a hand on her cheek as her shoulders slump and her head rolls onto your lap.

“Boys are so hard to read…”

And you’re contemplating. Just a little bit as you lightly pinch your daughter’s cheek and think just that little bit more.

The squinting, odd glare when talking, the pressing of his face against magazines, the asking of notes from his sister in the same grade as him, the carrots, the refusal to admit that anything was wrong with him—

Does your Megumi… Have eyesight problems?

It would make sense, honestly. For him to keep such a problem to himself thinking that he could fix it with time all on his own—

Oh, that silly boy.

Notes:

“Megumi? You should’ve told me sooner.” You’re holding his hand as you both take a trip to the optometrist, his face in a blank, almost angry pout as he’s lead forward.

“It’s my own problem anyway. I made my eyes like this so—“

“Megumi.” And he shuts up at your stern tone, at your hardened expression and your disapproving gaze.

You crouch down beside him, meeting his height as you lightly squeeze his held hand. His gaze was now downcast, shifted awkwardly to be looking at the floor as he nervously gulps and avoids meeting your eyes.

He’s definitely guilty.

“You know that you would never bother me.” Your hand is in his hair and ruffling those stuck-up strands of black. “And you’ll never trouble me, no matter how bad of a problem you’ve run into.”

“And if you feel like you can’t approach your fathers,” You have to take a deep breath in as his hair falls over his eyes and obscures his gaze. “There’s always me you can turn to. Your sisters would be more than happy to listen as well.”

“So don’t go thinking that you’re alone, okay?”

He’s still your son, no matter what he thinks, after all.

masterlist

[redphlox]

Shouto's ruined character arc in the epilogue

The epilogue’s toxicity-positivity message about smiling ruined Shouto’s characterization and undoes the growth and purpose of his arc because he’s not allowed to mourn the imminent death of his brother Touya.

Shouto partaking in these tone-deaf, festive activities with his friends in chapter 429 feels out of character, feels cheap and shallow, and is a slap in the face to his family. In the past Shouto declined school-related activities and prioritized spending time with his mom at the hospital. Now the narrative is trying to sell the idea that he would NOT spend every remaining minute alongside his family with his dying brother, who he has always wanted to know, the brother he practically begged to confront and said, "Our paths will cross whether you want them to or not" to. Shouto spent all this manga reconciling his feelings about his family and reconnecting to them to just... not be with them when they’re about to experience loss AGAIN? 

I'm not saying I want Shouto to be miserable, but realistically (since readers are so obsessed with realism in this superhero manga), he wouldn’t be wasting the limited time he has left with his brother by going to a farewell party, or any party. Damn, can the author let him mourn? Despite all the celebration the kids are doing, Shouto didn’t get a happy ending. While the rest of their community is rebuilding and making sense of what happened, the Todoroki family is still going through their crisis. It’s not over for them. At least let them cry.

This is a regression for Shouto’s character because the concept of allowing heroes to cry was first presented through Shouto, literally through his own words. The narrative then picks up this concept again during Ochako's speech at the UA shelter civilians, and then... Shouto isn't allowed to cry in the epilogue, and is forced to fake a smile so his friends don’t worry about him.

It’s not like Shouto has cried in this manga. He cried during the sports festival, during the Dabi reveal, and after Dabi escaped to Gunga to go after Endeavor because he knew this meant he had failed to reach his brother -- so no, it doesn’t make sense that he wouldn’t cry now. Instead, he's the one fake smiling, and only Ochako is allowed to be shown crying and being comforted. The double standard and retcon is astounding.

You can literally see the light not reaching his eyes in this panel from 425 when Deku asks if he’s okay. And yes, Shouto is prioritizing his family in this panel, but like I said, Touya doesn't have much time left... why waste it?

Shouto doesn’t want anyone to worry about him, so he’s putting on a brave face. And yet Deku and the other classmates reaching out to Ochako in 429 is selling the opposite message - don’t cry alone, let us be here for you, etc. Why isn’t Shouto granted the same support, especially from these classmates he claims are there for him?

If Horikoshi was aiming for a happy ending where people smile, then Touya’s grimdark, cruel, second and final death doesn't fit because Shouto has to mourn. You can't have both fake smiling and off-screen assumed mourning… it makes no sense for Shouto’s arc, or for the epilogue’s message about reaching out for help or to help. It doesn’t make sense in any context.

Shouto's characterization feels so off in this epilogue. He’s a shell of the person he was becoming. The story starts out by saying that this character is supposed to process the trauma of childhood and a dysfunctional family that he always wished was different, but now he has his found family in his classmates instead. And I'm not saying he can't have both - I'd say the support from his friends is imperative - but, it doesn't make sense that he has seemingly moved on because the fact is, his family situation was his entire start. 

It's not just Shouto that feels off, but his family too. Their once-considered-dead brother/son is alive, but now is dying in front of their eyes for real this time and they just… don’t try to spend as much time with him as possible? Even the sentiment that Shouto gave the family more time to talk falls empty because Touya can only endure a few minutes of conversation at a time, and it’s not like he’s slowly improving and that time will increase. It will only decrease. And yet, the family doesn’t seem too concerned or heartbroken that they’re witnessing someone they love die a second time, this time slowly. He can’t even communicate with them, and he’ll most likely have many things left unsaid when he dies.

The Todoroki family plot was set up to be about reconciliation, but they’re not reconnecting even with Touya’s upcoming death. This scene of Touya and the other siblings kicking a ball while Shoto looked on from the second story of the house begging his father to allow him to play with his siblings has been addressed like four times, and yet in the end he doesn’t get to spend happy moments with his siblings. His reward for his heroism is Touya’s slow march toward death and the knowledge that he has the same favorite food as the brother who his father neglected to death twice. 

Instead of being shown mourning or connecting, the family is acting cold and distant - only Natsuo is acting with a semblance of his normal self. I know some readers attribute the family’s aloofness to Japanese culture not being very affectionate or open with their emotions, but that doesn’t mean Japanese people are devoid of feelings. That’s so fucking racist. We’ve seen parents express love and concern for their children in this manga, and yet the Todoroki family continues to say “we’ll talk, we’ll talk” but we’ve never seen any follow-up. It’s ironic because Shouto’s whole mentality is “actions speak louder than words”.

For a family that became unstable because of misunderstandings about feeling loved and wanted, the family continues to feel devoid of caring. No one comforts Shouto, no one talks about how they feel except for Endeavor. Shouto isn’t allowed to grieve in front of his friends because Ochako takes priority because the narrative is pushing this toxic positivity message about smiling that works on the surface but fails to address any systemic changes. 

This ending doesn't fit the hopeful tone of Shouto's arc.

RIP Shouto’s arc. We loved you. 

[reverie-starlight]

{need you now- hawks}

y’all remember need you now by lady antebellum?

gn!reader, no physical descriptions. angst-ish? kinda fluffy. I’ll be doing a part two of this from keigo’s perspective eventually.

you can’t sleep.

this has been happening more and more lately, and you wonder how much more you can take without starting to hallucinate.

he’s back home from a mission now, which you only found out because of one of his fan accounts. well- “home”. he’s been staying in the luxurious house the commission kept aside for him. nothing homely about it according to keigo, but it’s not like he has much of a choice.

not after you got caught up in the argument and told him you wanted nothing to do with him.

you had shrugged it off when you saw the post, not knowing if it’s been too long to try and reconcile, but now you’re going down memory lane, holding back tears as you flip through the photo album he made you.

you fight yourself to stay off your phone, but you get to a photo of him kissing your cheek and you can’t stop yourself any longer. the loneliness you’ve been feeling all this time finally wins out.

the clock reads 1:15 AM.

is he even awake right now?

it’s been a month… and he’s always so busy, do you even cross his mind anymore? he always seems to be on yours.

you call anyway, against your better judgement and your heart lurches into your throat when he actually answers.

after two rings, at that.

“hello?” his voice both soothes you and chills you to your bones at the same time.

“hi keigo,” you whisper.

“hi, ba-“ you think he’s about to call you baby out of habit and you wish he hadn’t stopped himself. “did you need something?”

he sounds… somber. solemn. sad.

not at all like the keigo you love.

guilt pools in your stomach at the mere idea of you hurting him this badly.

“I…” you bite your lip. “I miss you.”

you hear his breath hitch. “really?”

you wish you could see his expression and figure out what he’s feeling. he’s always been so good at keeping his voice free of emotion.

granted, he always tried to turn that skill off around you, so you gather that he must be feeling guarded.

you keep going. “I’m so sorry for that night, keigo. I said things that I didn’t mean and I regret it so much… I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

he’s quiet on the line for a few beats and then and exhaled “I’m sorry too, baby. we both said some pretty awful things, didn’t we?”

you laugh, but it sounds a bit more like a sob to you. “yeah,” your voice breaks. “keigo, I… I need you here with me. can you please come over so we can talk about this?”

he clears his throat, likely working overtime to continue to keep the growing emotion out of his voice, but it sounds thick when it breaks anyway. “y-eah. yeah, I can come over. I need you too. I’ll be there soon, okay? unlock the window for me, sweetheart.”

he hangs up and you quickly move to do as he asked.

five minutes later, he’s on your balcony, sliding the glass and slipping into your room.

he immediately wraps you in his arms and your body, once cold and empty, fills with a warmth only he could provide.

he’s whispering words into your scalp. “I love you, y’know that? I love you too much to ever want to break up.”

you nod against his chest, letting the tears flow freely. “I love you too. I’m sorry,” these words are repeated between the two of you- they shoot out of your mouth and hit his chest, sinking into his skin and bubbling up his throat only for them to hit your scalp and absorb into your brain, then fall out of your mouth again like a well oiled machine working overtime.

but there’s nothing habitual about these phrases- as is the case for any time you say them, they’re promises.

promises that will never be broken again.

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

I’ve had this idea for a while and I finally wrote it :3

AND I’m gonna work on this from his POV, which I’m almost more excited abt than this one 👀

@emmyrosee sum angst (ish)

[sarafangirlart]

Debunking some misinformation about Hephaestus and Aphrodite’s Marriage

I’m so sick and tired so I’m making a thread, enjoy. I’ll break it down into several points.

1. Hephaestus demanded Aphrodite’s hand in marriage in exchange for Hera’s freedom and Aphrodite was forced into the marriage

You’d be surprised by how this isn’t even attested in ancient sources, rather it’s just a theory made by modern scholars bc of how spotty and limited our knowledge about this marriage is, let’s look at the actual sources:

Notice how Aphrodite isn’t even mentioned mentioned as the “prize”? Hephaestus does ask for a goddess in exchange for freeing Hera, but it’s not Aphrodite, it’s Athena. The usual course of events is this:

Hephaestus is angry at Hera for her mistreatment and sends a golden throne that traps her

The other gods try to persuade him to free her but he refuses

Dionysus convinces him by getting him drunk

Again the theory that Aphrodite was the prize for whoever gets Hephaestus to Olympus is just that, a theory. Not a really good one either bc wouldn’t Aphrodite be married to Dionysus instead? It’s a really shallow portrayal of all figures involved tbh, why would Ares only be interested in freeing his mother if it meant he gets to marry Aphrodite? Why would anyone on Olympus not be worried about their queen being chained up? Believe it or not but Hera isn’t as disliked as one would think lol

Now even if Aphrodite wasn’t a prize how did she end up marrying Hephaestus? And was she forced into doing it? No actually (Lucian’s Dialogue of the gods):

That’s not to say this wasn’t an arranged marriage (it most likely was) but arranged marriage and forced marriage are not the same thing. If you think this is a forced marriage then what about Cadmus and Harmonia? Heracles and Hebe? Both these marriages were arranged by Zeus but no one would claim they’re forced marriages.

2. Aphrodite hated Hephaestus

Now this is more open to interpretation, after all love is subjective, but to say they outright hated each other would be incorrect, there is this myth that Aphrodite cursed Lemnos to have the men abandon their wives and female family members, usually bc they neglected on worshipping her (tho a late Latin source says it’s revenge for exposing her affair).

Apollonius of Rhodes' Argonautica:

However this bit seems to be rather… genuine? Almost as if she might have truly felt bad for what she did and wanted to reconcile, sounds like someone with a deeply messy and complicated relationship with their partner, but not outright hate.

Also there is this moment in Lucian’s Dialogue of the Gods which is pretty funny:

3. Hephaestus only saw Aphrodite as property

Ok I don’t like using the “it was a different time” card but like… it really does apply here lol

Now we’ve already established that Aphrodite was never a prize for Hephaestus to begin with so what about the betrothal gifts he gave to Zeus? Obviously that means he was buying Aphrodite right?

Well, no actually this is a normal part of Ancient Greek marriage (obviously it varied between cities and time periods but it usually goes something like this), the father of the bride and the groom exchange gifts with each other to establish a bond between the two, the bride herself wasn’t the “gift” Zeus’s gift to Hephaestus was most likely his place on Olympus.

To say that Hephaestus bought Aphrodite would mean that Odysseus bought Penelope, or Hector bought Andromache, both are ludicrous claims.

4. Hephaestus is an incel and Ares is this big feminist icon

No, just… no.

Ares was never considered “the protector of women” in Ancient Greece that’s tumblr fanfiction and plenty of other ppl have made posts debunking this (including me) so I won’t repeat that here. Now about Hephaestus being an “incel” all the male Olympians have at least one story where they harm an innocent/defenseless woman, all of them, yes including Ares who persecuted Leto while she was heavily pregnant by Hera’s orders.

5. Aphrodite cheated to “regain her sexuality”

No Patrick, cheating on your disabled spouse with his brother in the bed and palace he made for you is not a girlboss move it’s being an asshole (all the gods are flawed, how thought provoking). Hell, even Zeus wouldn’t pull shit like this with Hera.

Aphrodite and Ares most likely did this hoping it would be the last place anyone would suspect an affair, since Aphrodite could’ve had sex with Ares in his own place or some meadow somewhere but that might cause ppl to be too suspicious.

6. Ares is a big dumb brute who can’t take a hint and only saw Aphrodite for her beauty

Believe it or not, just bc I criticize Aphrodite and Ares doesn’t mean I hate them lol. Now look, all the gods care deeply about looks but that’s not the only thing that Ares and Aphrodite love about each other. Here is Ares being a total simp and actually listening to her:

Iliad book 5

Thebaid book 3

7. Aphrodite felt neglected by Hephaestus bc he’s too busy at the forge

No lol, she straight up works with him at the forge, why wouldn’t she? If anything this claim makes Aphrodite even more shallow than she actually is.

8. Aphrodite and Ares didn’t care about being humiliated in the golden net and Ares straight up brags about cucking his brother

Yes I’ve heard such claims and no Ares and Aphrodite are actually capable of feeling shame lol, almost as if they were in the wrong. Also why would Ares actively antagonize the guy who makes all his stuff? Maybe that’s why Athena keeps beating his ass, bc Hephaestus purposely gives Ares shitty weapons and armor lol

Anyways umm… I think that’s it? Maybe I missed a few things bc I’m frustrated af rn

Just so y’all know, I’m not a scholar I’m just autistic and read a lot lol. I hope I didn’t miss something or get anything wrong.

Have a good day (or night).