#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

[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

[5sospenguinqueen]

Espresso | Max Verstappen x Singer! Reader

Summary: Despite going back to his relationship with Kelly, Max can’t stop thinking about you. Every night. It certainly doesn’t help that you keep cropping up in the McLaren garage.

Warnings: softcore angst? Swearing. A pining man 

Requested: yes by many of you on the previous part 

Facelaim: Sabrina Carpenter (she was used on the last one and yes, she's used a lot but I stole her song and her job so I'm also stealing her face)

F1 Masterlist

prev. || next.

this will end up having 4 parts total. they're planned but not fully written

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yn_ln just posted

liked by mclaren, oscarpiastri and others

yn_ln what do you do when you get woken up at 2am and can’t get back to sleep? write a song espresso is out now 

16,331 comments

user1 is this what the kids call a soft launch? is she seeing someone?

user2 okay but who is the guy reflected in her sunglasses? a new beau perhaps?

alexandrasaintmleux i don’t know what’s hotter. the song or the body 

→ francisca.cgomes the men in the video

→ pierregasly i can see this

user3 at least we know this new guy is dicking her down good 

user4 why do i feel like this is about max?

→ user5 why tf would it be about max? it’s a fun song about fucking all night

→ user4 because it feels teasing. like, he’s with someone else but can’t stop thinking about yn

→ user6 i’m with user4. maybe she’s trying to throw us off?

landonorris the sun looks bright in that pic

→ user7 uh oh. norizz is alive and well everyone 

user8 does this mean max keeps contacting her? 

user9 max is 100% messaging her at 1am saying how he misses her 

user10 i need a camera in max and kelly’s house when they first heard this 

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yn_ln just posted

liked by redbullracing, kellypiquet and others

yn_ln i know i mountain dew it for ya (although, most of these had vodka) tagged: alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes

17,094 comments

user11 she looks like a hot librarian

→ user12 i‘d let her help me with my homework

user13 red bull admin is a canon yn stan

francisca.cgomes hot girls do bottomless brunch

→ alexandrasaintmleux maybe they shouldn’t. i still can’t find my left shoe

→ yn_ln i have it

user14 i bet the debrief was piping hot 

→ user15 oh to be in a gossip sesh with yn, kika and alex 

charles_leclerc stay away from my girlfriend. she came home drunk ranting about how much she loved you and the colour of your hair 

→ pierregasly and mine wouldn’t stop talking about how pretty your eyes are and how good you smell

→ yn_ln i have unbelievable rizz 

user16 i’d let yn step on me

→ yn_ln and i won’t even charge you 

user17 max fumbled so bad 

landonorris who’s that cute blonde?

→ yn_ln oscar isn’t in this post??

→ user18 i don’t think he was talking about oscar, hun

→ yn_ln why would he publicly embarrass his boyfriend like this?

→ oscarpiastri i hate you 

f1wags just posted

liked by verstappencom, shortnsweet and others

f1wags not even 6 weeks after reconciling, max verstappen and kelly piquet were caught arguing 

3,330 comments

user1 can they just stay broken up this time??

→ user2 i love max but i’m fed up now 

user3 yet you’ve not got any pics of it? why all the old lovey dovey pics of them

→ user4 the pics are all over twitter. i think f1wags chose not to post them because max looks like he’s trying not to cry in them, and f1wags has always been nice towards the drivers

user5 why is no one talking about the fact that both verstappencom and shortnsweet liked this??? 

→ user6 the fact that their teams are so desperate for them to be together that they’re publicly rooting for kelly’s demise 

user7 i’ve seen the clip on twitter and i wanna know why she’s yelling at him so aggressively 

→ user8 i bet it’s cause he’s been all up in yn’s likes 

→ user9 yeah but so is she 

→ user10 you’d think their relationship would be strengthened by their shared obsession with yn 

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mclaren just posted

liked by lilymhe, flavy.barla and others

mclaren papaya party it wouldn’t be a maiden win celebration without some celebs. guess who got to hear espresso live 

7,814 comments

yn_ln why is lando’s hand like that? he’s not a ken doll 

→ landonorris i’m the barbie. you’re the ken

→ yn_ln you wish you were the barbie. you don’t have barbie energy

→ oscarpiastri i’m confused

→ yn_ln you’re an alan 

→ landonorris you take that back! 

→ user11 does this mean lando and yn saw barbie together?

→ oscarpiastri yes and they left me back at the mtc 

user12 not all the wags liking a mclaren post 

→ user13 it’s the power of yn

user14 lando and yn’s interactions give me life 

user15 i love how mclaren’s engagement has increased since yn started commenting on everything

→ user16 they’ve become more enjoyable since she became a fan 

user17 okay but she looks so good in orange

→ redbullracing except she was meant to be in navy

user18 her and lando make such a cute couple

→ landonorris ew no

→ yn_ln ew no. besides, you guys told me she was with oscar. i can’t break that up

→ oscarpiastri @/mclaren can we ban her from the garage?

→ lilyzneimer no! 

→ mclaren no! 

→ landonorris @/yn_ln i know i said no but why did you say no?

user19 guys, max liked and unliked this 

user20 mv1 fans, i think we’ve lost her 

landonorris posted a new story

yn_ln replied still serving cunt though 

maxverstappen1 replied is that yn?

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requests open

coming next; oscar piastri. rivals to teammates to more

tell my why i lowkey feel bad posting this after the pregnancy announcement. i mean, i still don’t like kelly but i wish them every happiness for a safe and healthy delivery.

there will be NO lando x yn in the next two parts 

tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @lilorose25 @sillyfreakfanparty @justaf1girl @omgsuperstarg @seonghwaexile @alejandrablacklupin @nina-or-anna-or-nora @shelbyteller @raynetargaryan2 @astroniii @jxnellat @seasonswinter @casey1-2007 @chemiru @strengthandstay @ivanag1rl @chaoswithus @ivegotparticulartaste @kiyoke3xe @pookynknowntranger

[reignpage]

The Other Woman

Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3

The doctors and psychologists said it’d be great for your husband’s well-being to be with friends and family. And for the most part, that’s proven true. 

Insisting on welcoming Satoru back properly, his students organised a party and invited anyone who had a remote connection with their teacher. Even Nanami had taken time off from work to be here and had given a polite pat on his shoulder and a genuine greeting. 

That brought a huge smile to the white-haired man who pounced on the poor guy without remorse, giggling about how he knew he ‘always liked him really’. It felt great to watch him be surrounded by and showered with so much love and support, the kind he deserves; you could tell it was bringing life back to him. After all, it must have been painful for him to have been cooped up in the house trying to reconcile his new reality with the one he remembers. 

You keep reminding yourself of that. 

Satoru needs this. 

He needs normalcy. The normal he remembers, the normal he went to sleep thinking about and not the one he had suddenly woken up to, years passing him by. 

Everyone knows this. He knows this. Just as you do. 

So why is every person in the party sneaking you pitying and concerned glances?

Sure, no one could possibly think this is easy for you, to be the stranger that Satoru still gets surprised to see in the morning. The one he hesitates to say goodnight to, unsure of the boundaries, the etiquette, the right thing to do. He sometimes forgets to text you if he’s going out, shocked and annoyed, you’re sure, to see the many missed calls and messages from you. And you know he studies the picture frames all over your house like a textbook that would give him all the answer he needs.

All he gets, you’re willing to bet, is the realisation that you’re both the tether he needs to keep grounded, that guides him through the sea of memories he cannot touch, and the leash that binds him to a role he doesn’t remember signing up for. 

Are they looking at you with worry because of the inevitable toll this sudden shift has taken on your mental health or because your husband is talking to his ex-girlfriend the way he used to talk to you?

It can’t be the latter, right?

Because there’s nothing to be worried about. 

Satoru is simply catching up, trying to stitch up the crater-sized hole in his memory with a familiar face. There’s no reason for your hand to shake as you sip your drink or for your eyes to keep darting back over to them, sat alone at a table like they’re the only people in here. 

He’s laughing, throwing his head back and making that obnoxious cackle you love to hear. Loved. Because this one isn’t for you. It’s for her. The woman he shouldn’t be near, the woman he shouldn’t even think about, shouldn’t let touch his arm. 

You’re the wife. 

You’ve got the ring to prove it. 

He’s wearing it. Just not on the hand attached to the arm strung over the back of her chair like he’s protecting her from the rest of the world. Hell, maybe he is. Maybe his infinity is on and covering her. But you don’t have it in you to throw something at them to find out. Either result would be just as humiliating as the other. 

There’s nothing to be done. 

You can’t interrupt. 

Because Satoru needs to know what he said goodbye to all those years ago to know what he says ‘hey, pretty lady’ and ‘good morning, gorgeous’ to now. Or used to say. Now, you’re lucky if he even looks at you without shuffling his feet. 

Eventually, the night draws to its natural end. 

People bid their farewells twice, once to him and her, and then to you. Each time breaks your heart even more until you feel it crumble inside, little shards falling to pieces he won’t pick up. She stands before you, a small, shy smile, like she knows what she’s done. And says it’s ‘lovely to meet you’, and of course you can’t say it back. 

Not when you had been introduced by your name, ‘my beautiful wife’ going nowhere near the tip of his tongue as if those words had never been uttered by your husband. And not when she had been introduced in a hastily withdrawn, stuttered freudian slip of hell. 

“This is my girlfr— Sorry, I mean, my friend. From high school. Yeah, high school.”

Satoru blushes, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as he waves goodbye to her. And you can tell he finds the act lacklustre, an uninspired, unnatural way to say goodbye to the woman you woke up to and slept beside. 

“Did you have a good time?”

He nods, a soft smile playing on his lip as he casts his gaze across the room, sweeping by the empty hall like he can still see every single person that came. “It was nice to see everyone and catch up.”

You’re thankful he doesn’t ask if you enjoyed the evening because you can’t lie to him but you also can’t tell the truth, can’t burden him anymore with the reminder that he doesn’t fill the shoes of your husband, that he continues to stumble with every step, dragging you down with him. 

So, instead, you fill the silence with a question that is so harmless, so normal it slips out before you can even think to anticipate the devastating crack that goes through your very soul. 

“Ready to go home?”

Satoru nods.

But he’s looking at a seat in the back. 

A seat that’s probably still warm. A seat you could never fill because you aren’t the woman he thought, hoped, he would marry. 

You’re just the woman he did. 

[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

[moody-alcoholic]

On a Wing and a Prayer

Part 3 - The First 24 Hours

This 'short' dribble is getting out of control. Also reader is a medic now... I have a thing for medical dramas.. CW: PTSD, mental health, panic attacks, little bit of comfort.

Previous parts - masterlist - next

You don’t want to stay in the med-bay. You want to get out of the sterile room to somewhere you feel comfortable. Which is hard to find while you’re still stuck on a base. You go to your room trying to ignore and avoid as many people as you can. 

You catch people whispering out the corner of your eyes, there’s probably not been anything this interesting happening in months. It’s not everyday special forces turn on one of their own, it’s not everyday they torture one of their own. 

You make it back to your room. It’s just the way you left it. Now it feels empty. 

There would be times when you would come back from a long day of training to find Simon laid on your bed with a cigarette between his lips, or Johnny sitting crossed legged with a book ready to talk your ear off about his day. 

That’s never going to happen again, you never want them in your space again. When you make it over to the bed you see a letter with your name on it. You recognise the handwriting it’s John’s. You don’t want to open it, your eyes go to the trash bin in the corner of your room. That's the only place it belongs. 

Your curiosity gets the better of you though. 

You sit down picking it up, your hands shaking, you’re holding your breath as you open it. You don’t even make it past the first line of the word vomit apology before you don’t want to read it any more. There is no use in them trying to reconcile with you. You fold it closed. Simon’s lighter is still there on the crate you turned into a bedside table. You pick it up, it makes you mad. 

You hate them, you hate what they put you through. You thought they loved you. You thought they would be on your side believing everything you said. Instead they hurt you, over and over for days. You found out from Kyle it had been 4 days. It felt longer. 

You bring the lighter up to the letter and set it on fire. You hold it in your hand watching as the flames disintegrate it into nothing. You drop it on the floor when it's about to reach your fingers and stamp it out. The knock at your door makes you jump. Your heart is pounding in your chest. 

“It’s me.” Kyle calls. You walk over opening it. He smiles at you but you don’t smile back. 

“He’s awake. He’s asking for you.” Kyle says. You let out a sigh of relief. He made it, thank god he made it. You follow Kyle in silence back to the med-bay. You walk past the room you slept in last night. Well slept wasn’t really the right word. Everytime you close your eyes, you're back in that room, with the snakes and the water. Two hours you think you go in total, spent the rest of the night having panic attacks until a nurse found you sobbing in a corner. 

The doctor wants you to speak to a psychiatrist. ‘Yeah? So I can be discharged? I want to work.’ That was met with sighs and a prescription for sleeping pills. Kyle stops just outside Johnny’s room. He turns to you and sighs.

“John and Simon are already here.” He says, it makes your stomach twist. You haven’t seen them since you left the room. You don’t want to see them, but you want to see Johnny. 

“It’s okay.” You lie. Kyle sighs again, you can tell by the expression on his face he’s sorry. 

“They don’t want to tell Johnny about what happened. They’re worried it will upset him. He’s only just woke up, the doctors want to give him a few days. Make sure he’s stable.”  

“Is that the doctor's decision on John’s?” You snap. You’re mad, you don’t want to lie to Johnny. Kyle doesn’t answer, instead he presses his lips together running his hand over his head. You sigh looking into the room, you can see John and Simon stood by the bed blocking your view of Johnny. 

It doesn’t matter who said it, they're right. Johnny needs rest, he needs to recover, he’s been in a coma for almost a week any stress could be dangerous. 

“I won’t say anything.” You say letting out a breath. Kyle smiles and reaches forward to grab your hand. You move it away so he can’t crossing your arms instead. You have to calm down or it’s going to be harder than it already is. 

Kyle walks in the room and you follow after. You try not to look at them but you can’t help it. Luckily Johnny pulls your attention away.

“Where have you been hiding lass? I thought you'd never leave my side!” He calls as you make it round to the other side of the bed and hug him. He groans in pain as he leans forward. You hope he can’t feel how hard your heart is beating. 

 “We were worried, for a while it looked like you weren't going to make it.” Kyle says as you break away from the hug. 

“Pff, not when I have the best medic in the world looking after me.” He says winking at you and grabbing your hand. You squeeze it tight and force a smile at him. It feels unnatural, it feels wrong, everything about this feels wrong. 

“What happened?” He asks suddenly, his eyes creasing together, his face going dark. You’re holding your breath, it feels like everyone in the room is holding their breath. He holds your hand up. You still have the hospital tag on. Shit. Panic rises in you. You don’t know what to do. You open your mouth to speak but words don’t come out.

“She hit her head.” Kyle says. You let out a sigh of relief as his hand finds the small of your back. 

“They wanted to keep me in for observation.” You follow up hoping he can’t hear the shaking in your voice. You look up at John and Simon, the colour drained from their faces. Simon clears his throat and Johnny turns to look at him. It gives you a second to squeeze your eyes shut and wish you were anywhere else. 

“You been pushing her too hard again?” Johnny asks Simon tutting. 

“Only what she can handle.” Simon says, it sounds cold in your ears. You feel sick bile rises in your stomach. You need to leave, your hand is sweaty, you pull it away from Johnny. You’re glad Kyle’s hand is on your back because without it you think you might pass out. 

“I have to go. Got this new rota that's kicking my ass.” You say trying to keep your voice level. It sounds so unnatural. You swallow trying to get the lump forming in your throat to go away but it wont. “I’ll come see you later. I promise.” You back up from the bed as Johnny looks confused. 

You can’t be here. You almost want to sprint out the room but you keep your calm walking out normally. When you leave and close the door behind you, that's when you run. 

______

You’re standing outside the washroom with a towel and a toothbrush in your hand. You want to take a shower scrub the layer of grease that's formed on your skin. You tried, you tried to take a shower in the hospital, the water brings flashbacks. Great, now you’re afraid of water. 

You have to get it together, if you can’t you’ll be sent home on leave, or worse discharged. You want to work, you enjoy work. Maybe not the people you work with but you’ve already thought about a transfer. You doubt John will have any issues with that, and if he does well there are always people above him. 

“Hey.” Kyle calls making you jump. He frowns coming towards you. “Didn’t see you at dinner, is everything okay?” It looks like he already regrets that question, no nothing is okay. Everything sucks and all you want to do is take a shower. 

“I want a shower.” You say looking back at the door. 

“Is someone in there? I can kick them out.” he offers, you sigh, shaking your head. He seems to get it and you hear him sigh. He steps up next to you putting his hand on your back. 

“I can help,” he says. You shake your head forcing yourself to be strong as your lip quivers. You have to try and do this alone. Your knuckles turn white as you grip your toothbrush as hard as you can. 

“I’ll watch the door, make sure no one comes in.” He says rubbing your back. You smile at him and nod, stepping into the room before you change your mind completely. 

The place smells damp as the automatic lights flicker on. It’s only been you and the rest of 141 using this space so their stuff is everywhere. You start to realise things about the room you didn’t even see before. It’s windowless, there’s a loud hum of vents. The place smells of aftershave and soap. 

You walk over to one of the showers, hanging your towel over the half wall. You’re stripping your clothes before you can stop yourself. This feels like a routine, showering in the freezing base showers only this time the thought of turning the showers on makes you feel sick.

You keep telling yourself you can do this, repeating the mantra in your head if only to keep your mind occupied. You’ve been taught how to deal with PTSD and triggers, what's the best way to help, or stave them away. You don’t have PTSD, you remind yourself. You’re just going through a rough patch.

As soon as you can get away from 141 and have a good night's sleep you’ll feel better. And now Johnny’s awake, that's one less thing to worry about. You reach over and twist the hot tap on. The water hits your arm and you pull it back like you’ve just been burned. 

You can do this. It’s just a shower. Kyle’s watching the door. No one can hurt you. 

You suck in a deep breath and stick your leg in, the water is surprisingly hot for once. That’s good, it will make things easier. One step at a time. Your hand and arm go in next, your breathing picks up, goosebumps rise on the parts of your body still exposed to the air. Now you’re shaking. 

You let out a long breath forcing yourself to move into the water. You turn letting it run down your back in an attempt to get the shaking to stop. It doesn’t work. Now you’re frozen you can’t move. You try to focus on getting your breathing to steady but it’s not working. You have nothing to distract yourself with. 

You force your eyes closed, that just makes things worse. Fear rises in you, you don’t know why but your head tips back. As soon as the water hits your face it’s like you don’t know where you are anymore. You’re not in the showers, you're back in the room. The water drowns out any sound in your ears. You don’t know what’s happening anymore.

The next thing you know you’re on the floor, your head throbs. There’s commotion, a noise you don’t recognise and footsteps. You open your eyes with a sob as tears escape. You turn, you must have slipped, Kyle is turning the shower off. He picks up your towel and comes over to you, bending down and wrapping it around you. He doesn’t say anything, just kneels down on the wet floor pulling you into his arms. 

You sob in his arms as he holds you tight. You get it all out, all the tears you’ve been avoiding over the last 24 hours. Maybe this is what you needed: a good cry. 

Kyle doesn’t let you go. Eventually he starts rocking you, stroking your hair, kissing the top of your head. He tells you everything will be okay. You want to believe him, you so badly want to leave this room and everything will be magically better. 

It won’t be though, and it won’t be for a very long time. 

As you calm down and your body stops shaking, anger burns in you. This should never have happened to you. Especially not by the people you love. You hate them, you never want to see them again. Kyle notices your change in body language and silently helps you to your feet. 

He walks you across to your room, closing the door behind him. 

“Want me to stay?” he asks as he helps you over to your bed. You nod looking up at him, he strokes your cheek smiling. “I’ll be back in a second.” He says going to leave the room. 

You don’t want to be alone, not right now. Maybe with Kyle here you can get some sleep. Or maybe it will be worse, right now you’ll try anything. You look over at Simon's lighter still sitting on the crate. You pick it up, turning it over in your hand before dropping it in the trash.

You never want to see them again.

next

I could have kept going. I don't know when to stop... This is what happens when my main fic is on hold. I need a million projects or I get bored XD Banners by firefly-graphics

[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.

[vendetta-if]

Texting Yvette everday, just to say fuck you lol

Jokes on you, Yvette would definitely take it as a good sign somewhat 😭

She’d be gushing to Skylar like, “Oh my God, Skylar! They’re still texting me everyday! That means I still have a chance to reconcile right?”

“Uhh… What did they text? Is it another ‘fuck you’?” Skylar asks hesitantly.

“Yes and yes, I know it sounds bad, but at least they’re taking the time to text me every day! How many mothers out there can say that their kid texts them everyday?”

Skylar’s smile is strained as they try to share their mentor’s enthusiasm and hopefulness (and delusion). “Haha… Yeah… Even I sometimes forget to text my own mom for holidays…” they reassure, not having the heart to break the more possible harsh truth to Yvette.

“I know they still care deep down… I just need to try harder…” she sighs wistfully.

But yeah, as some have said, the opposite of love is indifference. Fully cutting contact with Yvette would hurt Yvette even more because there’s completely no connection whatsoever for her to latch on 🥺😥

[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

Edit December 2024: my opinion about Shouto's ending has changed after 431 was publised when vol 42 came out on Dec 4, 2024. I'll have to rewrite this. But still, my stance that ending was riddled with toxic positivity and hollowness still hands

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)