#but he knows it's something real and raw

[gunsatthaphan]

give them their romcom you cowards 😤

[quietwingsinthesky]

in the amelia pond au, amelia’s aunt does still send her to therapy between doctor adventures, but since amelia is now secure in the fact that he’s Definitely Real since both rory and mels have also met him and because she lost a tooth last week from tripping on the stairs of the tardis, she doesn’t bite any therapists this time around. and besides, her therapist is a very funny lady. she reminds amelia of her doctor, with how her voice will flip and jump in volume and accent and tone on a whim, with how she’ll talk to amelia like they’re conspiring together. she keeps the pictures amelia draws of the doctor and their adventures for her, even hangs one or two on the walls. she listens very intently to every detail, which no adults in amelia’s life do save the doctor himself and river song, whenever she’s around. and best of all, whenever she tells amelia’s aunt that amelia is doing just fine, don’t you worry, she’ll grow out of this, she winks at amelia so that amelia will know her therapist is only playing along to wave away her aunt’s suspicion.

it is a little odd, though, that she insists on only being called Missy. but amelia is quite used to odd by now.

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

I love this scene because even after everything, the first thing Naesala does when he gets into the room is react in panic about Reyson and Leanne being unconscious. In that short moment, he just reacted on the instinct that he's always cared about them, despite how shaky things had gotten with Reyson a few years ago and how he was forced to do the things he did (including with the Laguz Alliance in RD).

If he was thinking logically and had a moment to process the situation, he might've stood back and pretended to care less than he actually did, as is usual for him. In this case he didn't hesitate to react and ran to them as soon as he walked in, because it was a knee jerk reaction.

If he sat back and thought about it, he would've known Tibarn was going to start making threats and trying to pick a fight, but his genuine desires overcame logic for just a second long enough for him fear for Reyson and Leanne. As long as the two of them are alive and well, he can continue putting on that mask and faking his way through it. If there's any chance they're in life threatening danger, he'll change course to make sure they're safe (such as refusing to fight Reyson when he was in service to the Crimean army, even at his own expense).

Since Naesala wasn't aware how badly the herons were being affected by the medallion, he wasn't aware in advance that they were in any danger. He doesn't know what happened here, so he walks in and suddenly sees them unconscious on the floor. For all he knew, it could've been life threatening - hence his instant response that didn't wait for his brain to register that he's supposed to be playing the bad guy. I think the only reason he could calm down and conclude it wasn't is because nobody else was panicking/grieving with the implication of a possible death.

(And fwiw, yes, he did have to technically sell Reyson to Oliver in PoR. If he didn't abide by something the senate wanted, Oliver could just make up some story to Lekain to get him to trigger the Blood Pact. Naesala knew he was being a snake to get the whole thing to happen, but he did technically have to go through with it the moment anyone from the senate wanted something from him)

[scarletspider2the2ndpower]

Chasm: Curse of Kaine (Vol. 1/2024), #1.

Writer: Steve Foxe; Penciler and Inker: Andrea Broccardo; Colorist: Brian Reber; Letterer: Joe Caramagna

[fiendishartist2]

eaten from the core and out to the skin– mp100

Reigen strutted through the halls of Salt Middle School, passing empty classrooms and bustling club rooms at a brisk pace. As he turned an unfamiliar corner, he schooled his worried expression to something closer to irritation. Reigen was on a mission and he couldn't let any weakness show. He came upon the door he was directed to by the woman in the main office.

He entered with a hand on his hip, suit bunching up at the action. Reigen surveyed the small office, eyes catching on the cheesy inspirational posters and self-help books. He wrinkled his nose, ah, a guidance counsellor. Oh god, Mob, what kind of trouble did you get yourself in this time. Speaking of Mob– Reigen spotted his student sitting in the only other chair in the cramped office. His shoulders were brought far up to his ears and his head was hung low. Whatever they called him in for, Mob sure was taking it seriously.

Whatever, Reigen thought confidently, we'll be out of here in no time if I have anything to say about it.

The woman that had called him in sat at a cluttered desk that took up about a third of the small room. She smiled widely, brushing back her black bob behind her ear. Her elbow nudged against one of the many stacks of paper littering her desk.

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Reigen. Please, take a seat." He obliged, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair. He tapped his foot impatiently.

"Would you mind telling me why I was dragged out of work to be here?" Mob hiked his shoulders higher, curling in on himself. His flat fringe cast a dark shadow over his face, covering his expression. Reigen thought he could see his lip wobble out of the corner of his eye, however.

"Ah- apologies, it was at Shigeo's request. I'm sure he didn't mean to interrupt." Mob asked for me instead of his parents? Reigen narrowed his eyes, lips pursing in thought. Mob never asked Reigen to pick him up from school unless something was really wrong. Last time this happened, Mob was trying not to blow up over the black eye some kid gave him. That day, Reigen had to keep reminding himself that a 26 year old man beating up a 12 year old middle schooler was definitely illegal. Now, seeing the way Mob's face was painfully schooled, like he was just barely holding it together, Reigen felt the same urge to hunt down whoever had done this.

He took a steadying breath, cracking a placating smile, "No, it's alright." Some of Mob's tension dissolved, "But, I do want to know why you called me." He tried, making sure to keep a pleasant tone. The last thing he wanted was to get Mob all worked up about whatever it was he did.

The guidance counsellor smiled, although it was fake just like Reigen's. Just a gesture meant to put the other at ease. She cleared her throat politely, picking up a file from under her elbow and sliding it across the table to Reigen. He leaned forwards, eyes scanning the page.

He landed on a few scribblings in pen that read 'lunch hour', 'truancy', and 'physical altercation' before she interrupted him.

"Shigeo was absent from all of his classes today and was seen by another student loitering in a club room during second period mathematics. As well as-" she picked up the paper, reading with a light hum, "-Ah, here– during lunch hour, Shigeo pushed a classmate, resulting in a dislocated shoulder." She read it off so stiffly, like a judge reading a list of crimes out to a jury. Reigen resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her seriousness. That's what Mob was in here looking like he was on the verge of breaking down for? Skipping class and pushing a kid? Reigen had done much, much worse in his school days– this was practically nothing.

Holding in a scoff, Reigen hummed sympathetically.

The counsellor sighed and put the paperwork down. She levelled Reigen with a tired stare, "As this is the first time I've had to discuss Shigeo's behaviour with a parent or guardian, I'm not going to punish him." Reigen's face softened before he could stop himself and she pounced on the opening, pressing her lips into a thin line. Or maybe this game of social chess was all in Reigen's head and she was just emoting like a normal person. Either way, she continued, "However, due to school policy, I still need to come to an understanding with Shigeo."

Reigen nodded, "Of course," he went on the attack, "I'm sure Mob didn't mean anything by his actions. Sometimes he just gets overwhelmed and-" his good natured smile slipped as Mob joined the conversation.

"I meant to push him. I'm sorry…" He whispered, hands twisting around each other. C'mon, Mob! I'm trying to vouch for you here, just don't say anything and I can get you out of this scot-free! he screamed internally. Unfortunately, Mob never had figured out telepathy, so Reigen's pleas went unheard.

"I skipped my classes too, on purpose." He continued in his soft voice. His warbly confession felt wrong, twisting itself around Reigen's stomach. This was all too serious, why was Mob getting so worked up over nothing?

Reigen swallowed the questions that crawled up his throat in favour of clawing the conversation back to normalcy. He patted Mob's shoulder forcefully, nervous laughter bubbling out of him.

"Such an honest student I have! As you can see, he's much too well behaved for trouble-making. So really, we should just let this whole thing blow over, huh?" Reigen boasted in his salesman voice. Despite directly contrasting Mob's incriminating words, he hoped she would believe him over his student by confidence alone. Judging by her unamused expression, it wasn't working.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Reigen, but multiple students admitted to seeing the fight at lunch. Now, Shigeo," she turned her attention to him. Mob didn't even look up from his lap.

"Why don't you explain to me why you were absent from class?" Reigen crossed his arms, turning to his student as well; he obviously wasn't getting them out of there any time soon. And, he was actually kind of curious about that too. Mob wasn't a perfect student by any measure, but he hated getting scolded and was too polite to break any rules anyways. It was really out of character for Mob to skip a whole day of classes.

Mob didn't react. Reigen couldn't be sure he even heard the counsellor's question at all. The boy sat so still he might have even been holding his breath.

Just as she got ready to try another approach, Mob sucked in a sharp breath, "...I don't know." His voice shuddered. Reigen's mood curdled instantly– Mob was definitely lying to them. There was nothing to lie about in the first place; sure, skipping class was against the rules but it wasn't egregious and it certainly wasn't uncommon. A bead of sweat rolled down Reigen's temple.

"Were you bored in class? Maybe you wanted to meet up with friends or get an early lunch?" She listed off the most common excuses bolder delinquents gave her. She hummed, leaning her chin on her entwined fingers, "How about an emotional reason? Did you feel upset in class and needed to take a walk?" She probed gently.

Mob curled imperceptibly inwards, holding his shoulders tighter to avoid reacting. But, Reigen spotted his clear sign of guilt: Mob's hands were gripping his knees with white knuckles.

"I'm sorry. I don't know." He replied robotically, voice getting flatter as Mob's distress grew. Uh oh, Reigen realised suddenly, this is bad. Mob really doesn't want to talk. He rubbed his clammy hands on his thighs, readying himself to step in and stop this situation from escalating any further.

Before the counsellor could say another word, Reigen went on damage control.

He hummed in surprise, drawing his phone from his suit pocket. In one fluid motion, he flipped it open and pressed it to his ear. He made a show of clicking the 'answer call' button.

"Spirit's and Such Consultation Office. Reigen Arataka, greatest psychic of the 21st century speaking. How can I help you?" He nodded along to the silent client on the other end of his fake call, "Hmm… an important job, you say? Please, calm down sir, of course I can handle it."

As he dialled the theatrics to 10, Mob spared his mentor a glance. Reigen trained his eyes on the wall, only so that he wouldn't break character once he spotted the dried tear tracks running down his student's red cheeks. Reigen widened his eyes dramatically, letting his mouth fall slack in mock horror. His imaginary client was describing quite the gruesome scene.

"Oh wow, that is very serious." He mumbled just loud enough for the counsellor to catch it. Reigen held back a smirk as she let out a worried hum.

Standing from his seat, Reigen straightened his tie, nodding again, "Stay calm and get to safety. My disciple and I will be there as soon as possible. How many victims did you say this spirit claimed already?" As he spouted a bunch of concerning nonsense, Reigen gestured for Mob to follow him. He scrambled out of his seat, thankfully used to Reigen's antics enough to understand the scheme he was pulling.

"Oh my-! Is something wrong?" Reigen flicked his eyes to the counsellor rising from her desk, a hand on her chest. This time, he let his satisfied smirk free, facing the door. Dramatically, he clicked his phone shut. In his grimest voice he could muster, Reigen put the final nail in the coffin.

"Yes. I've just gotten a call about a violent spirit terrorising innocent civilians. It's serious- life or death, you see." He reached for the door handle, "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to cut this meeting short. I'm sure you understand." With that, Reigen threw the door open, steering Mob out of the school briskly. Sure, it was one of his more reliable lies, but it didn't fool everyone and Reigen would rather be caught dead than have to own up to lying straight to someone's face.

Once they were outside the school, he relaxed. Reigen clapped his freed student's shoulder with a relieved grin.

"Alright, Mob, let's get out of here. What do you say to an early dinner? On me." Of course, that would mean Mob's paycheck would be lighter tomorrow, but it's the thought that counts. Money doesn't grow on trees after all.

Reigen stopped his stroll when he realised Mob wasn't following. Instead of falling into step with him, Mob was still standing in front of the school, his face buried in his hands as his shoulders jumped up and down sharply.

Reigen rushed over to him, hovering around his crying student. He floundered; Mob hadn't cried in front of him in what must have been years. He hadn't cried in front of anyone else in much longer.

To his surprise, Mob tipped forward until his forehead rested on Reigen's chest. Reigen froze before placing a tentative hand on the top of his student's head. Gently, he patted down his shiny black hair.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked. Mob mulled it over for a few minutes. Reigen didn't mind; he knew that Mob needed time to think about what he was going to say. Mob had always been a quiet kid and when he wasn't lost in thought, he was speaking his mind– even if the things that came out of his mouth were terribly blunt. So, in the middle of the day outside of the school they had just ran out of mid-conversation, Reigen and Mob stood as Mob collected his thoughts. Reigen really hoped no one would spot them.

"He poured milk on my head." Is what eventually wrestled it's way out of Mob's throat. It was mumbled, like he was both scared and ashamed of the admission.

Reigen didn't understand the gravity he was giving it, but sometimes Mob was just sensitive about violence. No matter how tame or justified.

"The kid you pushed?" Reigen prompted. Mob just nodded, "Well then, I think he deserved it. Serves him right for being a jerk."

He thought that would be the end of it; Mob would wipe his eyes and give Reigen a faint, grateful smile, and then they would be off eating mediocre ramen at the cheapest place in the city. Instead, Mob unfurled a bit, grabbing Reigen by the front of his blazer and burying his face in his chest as he choked and sputtered.

"Woah, kid!" Reigen wrapped him up in a real hug, confused at Mob's sudden clinginess, "Mob, calm down, you're hyperventilating." He struggled to keep the panic out of his tone. Mob shook his head frantically.

"Okay! Okay, Mob, just breathe," Reigen shushed, rocking them back and forth slightly in their hug. He hoped it was comforting, he wasn't very well versed in hugs. Mob wasn't usually touchy like this.

He felt a few teardrops soak into his shirt before he collected himself.

He ran a hand through the back of Mob's bowl cut, "It looks like you got most of it out, but you probably want to get properly cleaned up, huh? How about I walk you home and-" Mob shook his head again.

"You don't want to go home?" Reigen took the resounding silence as a yes, "And you probably don't want to go to the office, right?" Nope, alright, last resort, "Okay, what about my apartment, then? You can get cleaned up and I'll order takeout." He sweetened the deal, "And we can watch those action shows you like?"

Mob thought about it; it had been a while since he had been to Reigen's apartment, but he remembers it being pretty cozy. He liked hanging out there when he was younger and his parents needed his boss to act as his pseudo-babysitter. Reigen always tried to make his few stays there fun. And although 'free' dinners were regular with Reigen, Mob was really hungry from missing lunch to hide in the Telepathy Club room. Takeout sounded like a dream at this point.

"Mhm." Mob hummed.

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

Reigen gathered his haphazardly folded pyjamas, placing them in Mob's arms. He shot the boy a smile, but Mob's eyes were glued to the ground, glazed over with a distant frown on his face. He took the clothes with a quiet thank you, padding into Reigen's small bathroom. The door clicked behind him loudly in the silence.

Reigen sighed, scrubbing his face with a hand. Maybe he should get into something comfier as well.

The shower started as Reigen dug around for anything remotely wearable. I hope I didn't give Mob the last of my clean laundry… Just then, Reigen pulled a crumpled sage green ('barf green' a particular spiky haired kid jeered in his mind) tracksuit from under his bed. It didn't have any obvious smells or stains so it was passable in Reigen's book.

He jumped into bed, relaxing into the pillows and dragging his laptop towards himself. As he sent out emails and filled out his calender with upcoming appointments, he heard the shower shut off. A few minutes later, Mob shuffled out of the bathroom, wet hair plastered to his forehead and cheeks red from the hot water (or from crying, his brain supplied unhelpfully). He was fiddling with the hem of the oversized sweatshirt Reigen gave him. It went past his hips and the sleeves pooled at his wrists. The pyjama pants he wore had to be rolled up at his ankles and cinched tight around his waist. Reigen didn't like he frail he looked.

Reigen pulled out his phone, rummaging through all of the random papers in his desk for a takeout menu. Just as he sat up to move to his couch, the mattress dipped next to him as Mob settled on the bed. He pulled his knees to his chest. Wordlessly, Reigen handed him the menu.

Once they had their food ordered, Reigen pulled up a new tab in Mobgle, quickly searching through suspicious websites for good quality rips of Mob's favourite shows.

"Cover your eyes, I don't know what kinda ads will pop up." He reminded Mob, chuckling. His student just hid his face in his knees.

Soon, they were huddled around Reigen's laptop, eating their dinners and watching TV. The show was in pretty good quality, but even then, Reigen had no idea what was happening. As he watched the flashy fight scenes, he wondered why kids even liked this stuff. It was just guys yelling at each other and blowing shit up with magic. He realised that might be a bit hypocritical, remembering the magical girl cartoons of his childhood. Kids like to watch other kids wear colourful outfits and fight with superpowers.

Reigen cringed; after seeing what that mentality did to real children, he couldn't watch the show without feeling a bit sick to his stomach. Or maybe it was the two bowls of ramen he ate…

The credits played softly, some woman singing about friendship over quiet piano. Reigen collected their leftover bowls and chopsticks, taking a quick three-step trip to the kitchen to throw out their trash. He stretched, wincing at the way his back popped way too loud to be healthy. As he made his way back, he realised Mob had paused their show.

Reigen hesitated at the side of his bed, before perching on the edge of it next to Mob. He reached out and patted his knee, silently imploring him to talk.

"Shishou-" Mob started, face crumpled in a way that looked painful, "I'm sorry for bothering you." He bowed, "I caused so much trouble today for no reason. I made you come to my school when you could have been working."

Reigen shook his head harshly, "No, no! No, Mob, you didn't bother me. You needed my help back there. What kinda shishou would I be if I didn't get you out of trouble, anyways? Besides," he cracked a smile, ruffling Mob's hair, "I don't blame you for skipping class after what that jerk did."

Mob ducked his head down, wrapping his arms around his knees.

"That's not… why I skipped." He whispered. Reigen stilled.

"No?"

Once again, Mob was tense. He was pulled so taught, he was shaking. The room held its breath for a minute or two as Mob collected his thoughts.

"I wasn't feeling well this morning. I had a nightmare- uhm- about school."

Reigen hummed softly, not wanting to break whatever spell made his student want to talk about what was bothering him.

Unfortunately, Mob held his tongue, falling silent again.

"What happened in your dream, Mob? You can talk to me, you know." Reigen prompted. Mob's face was blank, but his breathing came out in short bursts, revealing the emotions boiling just beneath the surface.

"Do you remember when we had to- to help that possesed girl?" It didn't make sense; why did Mob look so scared?

Reigen nodded. Of course he remembered that awful job; he remembered how he had to sit and watch his disciple put himself in danger while he could do absolutely nothing. He remembered getting in a cab to go home and how Mob refused to look him in the eye the whole ride, but glued himself to Reigen's side. He remembered how jumpy he was and how unstable Mob's powers were for a whole week after. Now, three weeks later, Reigen was just glad they got out of there without incident and they could put the whole thing behind them.

"Asagiri? Yeah, what about it?" Reigen replied flippantly.

Mob flinched.

"When I was in her mind with…" He was staring at his feet, gaze worryingly distant. It looked like he wasn't even present in their conversation– like he was only talking through himself from somewhere else.

"With Mogami," he mumbled the psychic's name, "I was in there for a long time. I think it was longer for me than it was for you."

Reigen stayed silent, rubbing small circles on Mob's knee with his thumb. He hoped his small reassurances were enough to clear that fog from Mob's eyes.

"Um- it was months, actually." He confessed. Months?! How could he have been there for months? It took only half an hour at most for Mob to exorcise Mogami. Reigen barely bit back his questions.

"That world I was in, it was…" he paused, struggling to find his words, "Shishou, you didn't exist and my family didn't either a-and-!" His grip around himself tightened. As his aura spiked, his hair started to float, revealing wide, scared eyes underneath.

"Everyone hated me– Minori hated me and Ritsu didn't care about me and all of my classmates thought I was awful-" Mob couldn't breathe. All he could see as he squeezed his eyes shut was Minori's malicious smile. The smile she gave him when she picked on him, called him names, cornered him in the halls, poured milk over his head. Cold sweat dripped down his face and it was like he was back there, his own blood gushing from his head and over his cheeks. It felt like dying.

Meanwhile, Reigen was getting more confused with each confession; what was this other world Mob was talking about? What does he mean he didn't exist? Were they still talking about Mob's dream? What does this have to do with Mob skipping class?

"I'm sorry, Mob, but I don't really get what you're trying to say?" Reigen said gently. Mob's eyes opened and he startled like he forgot Reigen was even there.

"M-Mogami," again he said it in a hushed tone, "He made a world in Minori's mind. It was like my life here but- but none of my friends were there. And I think my family wasn't either because... I lived alone." He didn't mention how Mogami took away his powers. He didn't know what he would do if Reigen found out what he did once he got them back.

"Minori…" Mob scrubbed his palms over his eyes, drying the tears springing up against his will "She always targeted me at school." 'And everywhere else,' was left unsaid.

"I don't know why, um– why she hated me so much, actually. One time…" His hands twisted in his borrowed sweatshirt, right above his stomach, "She spilled a carton of milk on me. On purpose." He confessed in a hushed voice.

Reigen's heart clenched. So that's what he's so upset about, he thought, relief flooding through him. Just as he started to make up a speech about how that job was over and he was safe, Mob continued speaking.

"A-and I was scared of going to class because…" The cups and plates in Reigen's cupboards started to rattle, "Be-because-" he flinched as a something shattered in the distance, phantom pains sparking on the skin of his cheek. Reigen paid the ruined dish no mind. He barely ate out of them anyways.

"My teachers they would- uh. If I got a-a question wrong… they hit me. Um- hard." Mob's words oozed shame. He hung his head, cheeks flush with humiliation.

It's not everything, Mob knew. It would probably never be everything, if he was being totally honest. Six months of pent up frustration at the world, crushing loneliness, and a hopelessness so all encompassing he thought he would choke on it every day couldn't be voiced in a single conversation. All Reigen needed was context right now, Mob told himself. There was no need to worry his shishou with details of box cutters and cats and the cackling laugh of high schoolers.

He threaded his fingers in his flowing bangs, "I know it's not real," he reassured himself, "But it's still so- it makes me feel so-" he floundered, mouth popping open and closed.

"Scared?" Reigen supplied weakly. This whole conversation made him feel like that, actually; scared and weak.

Mob finally looked him in the eyes and the open desperation could have made him cry. He opened his arms and Mob fell into him.

“I had a dream about it last night…” he croaked, “I co-couldn’t calm down all day. I was scared of hurting anyone s-so I hid in the club room instead of going to class.” Mob’s voice broke, “I’m sorry.” He whispered. Whether Mob was apologising for breaking the rules or for keeping this a secret from Reigen, he couldn’t tell.

Reigen tucked the boy's head under his chin, wrapping his arms around his small back. Small because he's a child. A child you failed to protect. He counted with Mob, trying to get his breathing under control. Reigen tried to stay present but his own distress was mounting by the second, stirring in his chest and making his heart race.

How long did Mob say he spent in that hellish world? Months? Reigen tightened their hug with shaking hands. Mob was trapped in Mogami’s manipulative illusion for so long with no one to turn to– not even himself it sounded like. Reigen was almost glad for it; he didn’t want to know how Mogami would have twisted their relationship. He didn’t want to think about what kind of irreparable harm he could have caused.

The thought of himself raising a hand to Mob in the same way his teachers had was enough to make him nauseous.

After what could have been hours of hushed voices and panicked sobs, Mob’s aura calmed down and Reigen’s apartment was finally still. Reigen held his student long past the sun setting, no matter how much his back protested the action. He rubbed circles in Mob’s back, talking about anything and everything until he slumped against his chest, fast asleep.

He was in the middle of a rant about the proper way to season pork when the peace was broken by his ringtone. It was muffled, tangled in the comforter they both sat on. He rifled through the blanket's folds, digging out his phone and flipping it open. The time blinked back at him.

"9:13 already?" He mused under his breath, hitting the answer button.

Before he could start up his customer service greeting, the woman on the line cut in.

"Reigen?" Mrs. Kageyama demanded, relief lacing her concern. Reigen's eyebrows rose.

"Oh, hey, Mrs. Kageyama." Reigen answered dumbly. She forewent her usual correction of the formality and rushed into the reason why she called.

"Is Shige with you? He was supposed to be home hours ago and he hasn't been answering his phone." Her tone was scolding but the frantic pace she spoke with gave away her anxiety. Reigen looked down at Mob's slowly rising and falling back as the boy dozed. He still clung to Reigen's middle in a tight grip, sitting up despite his exaustion.

"He's with me. Sorry for worrying you, I didn't see the time." He pinched between his eyes, "It's been a long day, if I'm being honest. Shigeo's asleep right now, but I can get him a cab or something if you need him home."

Mrs. Kageyama answered slowly, a warning just under her words, "Did something happen?"

Reigen winced.

Lying to Mob's parents wasn't something he loved doing- they already put so much trust in him with their son and violating that trust made his skin crawl. They could also be pretty intimidating when they wanted to be, especially his strict mother. What had happened on the Asagiri job was horrible and keeping that from Mob's parents didn't sit right with him.

On the other hand, Mob seemingly hadn't told anyone else about it yet. If his student wasn't comfortable telling his parents about Mogami, then Reigen had no place doing it for him.

"Nothing drastic. Just a bad night's sleep, I think," he stretched the truth. "He's hanging out at my place." Reigen let out a hollow laugh, "Don't worry, he's been fed. We were just eating ramen and watching TV before you called."

"I wasn't criticising you, Reigen." He could hear the smile in her voice as she teased him, "I'm sure you boys had lots of fun. Just make sure he hasn't been cursed or whatever it's called."

His smile strained. Sure, Mob hadn't been cursed by a spirit, but another kind of heavy presence hung over him. This was something they couldn't just exorcise in a second– something that would follow him around for the foreseeable future.

"I'll have you know, Mrs. Kageyama, I'll be 30 soon. I wouldn't exactly call myself a 'boy' anymore." Reigen joked weakly. It was hard to keep his festering guilt out of his voice.

She hummed sarcastically, "Goodnight, Reigen. Let me know when Shige wakes up." Reigen agreed and quickly hung up. He snapped his phone shut as quietly as possible, letting out a sigh into the remaining silence.

Judging by the time and the heavy weight of Mob's head on his shoulder as the boy slept soundly, Reigen was sure he wouldn't be getting back to Mrs. Kageyama anytime soon. He shot her a text saying just as much.

Gently, Mob's fists were released from the sides of his tracksuit. Reigen tucked him in, slipping off of the squeaky mattress. He nabbed his laptop from where it lay forgotten next to Mob's head, settling onto his couch and resting it on his stomach. The couch was way too small for Reigen to sleep on, but he could handle his ankles dangling off the arm for one night if it meant Mob would sleep peacefully in turn. He reached around under his coffee table, finding a thin fleece blanket with a triumphant smirk he didn't really feel. It also didn't cover his feet.

Reigen fell into a restless sleep, passing out in the early hours of the morning with his clunky laptop pressing into his gut uncomfortably.

The only solace from his endless nightmares, was the soft, steady snores of his student filling the air in his apartment. Everytime he woke, stomach roiling and berating himself over how badly he had failed Mob, he was comforted by that noise.

Part of Reigen knew that it was probably because the boy was exhausted after the day he's had, but a smaller, softer part of him wanted to believe he put the boy's dreams at ease. The thought that Mob felt safe and cared for, at least for now, in his presence warmed his heart– no matter how much he tried to deny it.

Reigen dialled Salt Middle School the next morning, calling his student in sick. He and Mob spent the day walking through parks and eating mochi, instead. They don't talk about their conversation last night, but Mob leans into his space more than usual and Reigen makes sure to smile at his student more; when they part for dinner, Reigen ruffles his hair and Mob huffs out a faint laugh, not bothering to duck away from his hand.

[hauntingblue]

I forgot how fucking hard it hits when nami just goes back to the town after her berries get stolen and just all cheery says she is going to make them again do not worry. Jesus

[oblako]

caught up on the ily fp and god this episode filled me with so much dread......

[eats-the-stars]

sometimes being an adult is also soft-core parenting your peers into not dying from an impacted molar because they did not know you could just "go to a dentist" or that you could get dental insurance independently, as opposed to workplace dental. my sister's boyfriend has a whole flock of 20 something guy friends who have somehow made it this long with very little information about how the world works. the boyfriend is coming home telling my sister stuff like "wow. sucks that Kyle's tooth is still killing him. nothing you can do tho" and then my sister just sits there a moment and i can see her thinking "do i let this go, or do i do something?" and she inevitably caves and goes "okay so when you say his tooth is killing him, do you mean literally?" honestly i think schools should focus more on "how insurance works and how to get it" and "this is how to figure out what kind of state/federal support is available and who is eligible for it, and how to apply" and "yes anyone can go to a food pantry you don't have to be a certain level of poor or provide proof" and then "these are signs that you should go to the doctor/dentist ASAP" and "here are some basic lessons on how to clean/maintain your house/apartment." throw in some info on basic hygiene and actual decent sex ed just for fun. because i swear to god, there are a LOT of people who do NOT know these things, and i'm pretty sure it is legit killing some of them.

[werewolf-apologist]

the scene in barry s2e6 when they’re rehearsing sally’s scene and barry really taps into his trauma and rages but still refuses to choke her spontaneously for the scene, holding his hand out in front of her and letting her pull him forward to mimic choking is so. poetry

[madlori]

On being an older fangirl

I was probably 10 years old when I first conceived of what was, looking back, fanfiction. Me and my best friend would lie in bed together on sleepovers and I'd make up stories about what happened after the end of our favorite book, "The Westing Game." She'd ask me for more stories, and I'd tell her more, inventing them as I went along. "Then what?" she'd say.

I was 14 when I went to my first convention. I had discovered Star Trek: The Next Generation. It was 1987, and my youth pastor was a huge Trekkie. He took me to a one-day crappy Creation con, but it was amazing to me. I met Nichelle Nichols. My dad showed me the Trek movies. He and I watched TNG together.

When I went to college in 1991, my dad used to videotape TNG episodes onto VHS tapes and mail them to me, so I could keep watching (I didn't have TV in my dorm room).

By the time I was a senior, we had Trek watching parties in the dorm lounge, where the TV had cable. Star Trek: Voyager had started up, and I wrote a column about it for the college newspaper. I joined a mailing list about it, with people in it that I still know today.

I got my first computer that could go online in 1995. I was on newsgroups. I discovered Doctor Who. I went to Trek conventions where we still passed around fanzines containing fic and art and smutty K/S fan creations.

Then it was Harry Potter. Then there were websites. Then there was Geocities, where we could all make our own little spots. We organized them into webrings. We talked on newsgroups and mailing lists. There were fanfic archives. Then there was fanfiction.net.

Then...there was LiveJournal. And we could interact in entirely new ways. We could form communities, and debate things, and fight over canon, and get into ship wars. On LiveJournal, I met my best friend of 22 years. I was in her wedding. She's my sister of the heart (which is what she calls me).

Then there was Tumblr. And Twitter. And now there's Discord. But it's all the same.

I am the same.

I am still that little girl who made up fanfiction in her head to entertain her best friend. I am still the one who was amazed to find communities on the internet - which was so new, so raw, so uncommodified - where others like me could meet. I found there people to meet in real life.

I am still that twentysomething going to her first major convention, being told that someone loved my fic, being asked about my writing process.

I am still that thirtysomething watching something I wrote blow up. Seeing friends from other fandoms find me in new ones, finding them there, too. Forgetting which fandom I know someone from, because I've known them for twenty years.

I still know some of the people who created those early websites, those mailing lists, those archives. I still meet people in new fandoms who say "Oh, I read your fic in [fandom] fifteen years ago!" There's no feeling quite like having someone remember something you wrote for that long. Or meeting someone whose fic meant a lot to YOU, or who you talked with on rec.arts.drwho.creative in 1997.

Aging in fandom is a gift. Being middle-aged in fandom is a joy. Having people who still read what I write and ask "Then what?" is a blessing.

It breaks my heart that so many people see it as something to be ashamed of, when it is one of my life's greatest gifts.

[criminalamnesia]

Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

————————————————

authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶

[steveyockey]

To be aware you might be trans but unwilling to do anything about it is to create endlessly bigger boxes within which to contain yourself. When you are a child, that box might encompass only yourself and your parents. By the time you are a gainfully employed adult, that box will contain multitudes, and the thought of disrupting it will grow ever more unthinkable. So you cease to think of yourself as a person on some level; you think not of what you want but what everybody expects from you. You do your best not to make waves, and you apologize, if only implicitly, for existing. You stop being real and start being a construct, and eventually, you decide the construct is just who you are, and you swaddle yourself up in it, and maybe you die there. There is still time until there isn’t.

This reading of TV Glow’s deliberately anticlimactic, noncathartic ending cuts against the transition narrative you typically see in movies and TV, in which a trans person self-accepts, transitions, and lives a happier life. Owen gets trapped in a space where he knows what he must do to live an authentic life but simply refuses to take those steps because, well, burying yourself alive is a terrifying thing to do. The transition narrative posits a trans existence as, effectively, a binary switch between “man” and “woman” that gets flipped one way or another, but to make our lives so binary is to miss how trans existences possess an inherent liminality.

Humans’ lives unfold in a constant state of becoming until death, but trans people are uniquely keyed in to what this means thanks to the simple fact of our identities. You can get lost in that liminality, too, forever trapped in a midnight realm of your own making, stuck between what you believe is true (I am a nice man with a good family and a good job, and I love my life) and what you know, deep in your most terrified heart of hearts, is real (I am a girl suffocating in a box).

And yet if you want to read the film as being about the dangerous allure of nostalgia, you’re not wrong. I Saw the TV Glow totally supports that interpretation, too! But in tempting you with that reading, the film creates a trap for cis viewers that will be all too familiar to trans viewers. Somewhere in the middle of Maddy’s story about The Pink Opaque being real, you will make a choice between “This kid has lost it!” and “No. Go with her, Owen,” and in asking you to make that choice, TV Glow is simulating the act of self-accepting a trans identity.

See, the grimmer read of the film’s ending truly is a nihilistic one. It leaves no hope, no potential for growth, no exit. Yet you must actively choose to read that ending as nihilistic. If you are cis and the end of I Saw the TV Glow left you with a gnawing sense of dissatisfaction, a weird but hard-to-pin-down feeling that something had broken, and a melancholy bordering on horror — congratulations, this movie gave you contact-high gender dysphoria.

In an infinite number of possible universes, there is at least one where I am still living “as a man,” embracing my fictionality, avoiding looking at how much more raw and real I feel when I “pretend” to be a woman. I think about that guy sometimes. I hope he’s okay.

Consider, then, my cis reader, that TV Glow is for both you and me, but it is maybe most of all for him. I hope he sees it. I hope he breaks down crying in the bathroom afterward. I hope he, after so many years locked inside himself, hears the promise of more life through the hiss of TV static.

Emily St. James, “I Saw the TV Glow’s Ending Is Full of Hope, If You Want It to Be,” Vulture. June 4, 2024.

[nereidprinc3ss]

no sweeter innocence (than our gentle sin)

in which spencer reid is gentle with overwhelmed fem!reader after sex

18+ (fluff, implied intimacy) warnings/tags: it's just aftercare, but like psychological aftercare, implied intimacy duh, vague descriptions of sex but nothing explicit, hurt/comfort without the hurt, allusions to postcoital dysphoria, reader cries but its not really sad, spencer reid is so kind i wish men were real, i think that is all a/n: guess who wrote an entirely different thing instead of touching her wips..... AGAIN...... this bitch cant do anything omggg!! but this was based on a request so go me also what a strange time to be posting but it's only 1k words and nobody can stop me

“Hey. Are you with me, angel?”

You blink your eyes open in the dark room—reorienting yourself to the tangle of your bodies. How many minutes has it been?

“Hm?”

He chuckles—a quick huff from his nose as he brings a hand up to push hair from your face. 

“I asked you if you’re with me.”

It takes you a moment to answer. You’re still trying to make sense of where you are in space, each sensation coming back to you one by one—the weight and pressure of him against you, the slip of cotton sheets and a cool breeze from the cracked window over your heated sticky skin. 

“Oh.”

It’s not much of an answer and your voice is small. For a moment he lets it sit, cupping your warm cheek. Your eyes flutter shut again. His voice comes gentler, dipped in concern. 

“You okay?”

This time you don’t try to speak. Your tongue is like a lead weight in your mouth and your brain is running on dial-up. The best you can do is to cling to him, hiding your face in the curve of his neck and hoping he’ll understand that your firm hold on him is a request for him to tighten his own arms around you, until you’re sure you won’t float away. He reciprocates and it makes you feel more secure immediately. 

“Can you answer me?” He murmurs, all sweet solicitation, lips brushing the top of your head in this new airtight position. And then, a moment later— “Baby. I wanna hear your voice.”

“Mhm,” you manage. 

Spencer rewards you by rubbing your back in slow circles. His hand feels nice on your bare skin. The way you love him is too big for words. It could make you cry. 

“Wasn’t too much? You’re not hurting anywhere?”

You shake your head and try to ignore the ache in your bones when you can’t seem to get him close enough. 

“Mm-mm.”

It’s not entirely true—your legs are sore, but it’s nothing that needs tending to, and your lower back is a bit crampy, but he’s already working on that. 

He hums. “You’re pretty out of it, sweet girl. What’s going on with you?”

Spencer is always careful with you. He’d never hurt you, or sacrifice your comfort for his pleasure. That said, he’s just as passionate as you are. The stretch of your arms above your head is still fresh in your mind—the ghost of his grip, pressing your wrists into the mattress, or pushing your leg up, or pulling you exactly where he wanted you by the hips. It’s all wonderful, and you never feel safer than you do when you’re with him, but it doesn’t make you feel any less vulnerable, any less raw, after all is said and done. Maybe it’s precisely because you trust him so much that you’re so sensitive afterward. But he never, ever makes you feel bad for having an intense reaction to an intense experience. He always meets you where you’re at. That in itself makes you emotional. Spencer is different than any of the partners you’d had before. 

Again, he’s patient as you try to process his question and work up a response. Maybe a minute later, you’re breathing out something that feels true. 

“Overwhelmed.”

The word is a tap against glass you didn’t know was there until it’s fracturing like a spiderweb. With no warning, and for no good reason, you find yourself choked up. 

“Oh,” he says, sympathetic and drawn out as understanding sets in. “Do you need me to back off for a minute?”

You squeeze him even fiercer and shake your head, unable to stop the tears from drawing their shiny paths down your cheeks and sinking into the weave of the pillow case. 

“Shh. You’re okay,” he murmurs, quiet and slow and almost sing-songy as he smooths your hair, though you know he doesn’t really expect you to stop crying. “You’re okay, pretty. Remember what I said about all the hormonal shifts in your body after you come?”

Once more you nod against him with a small, shuddering sniffle. 

“And how sometimes your body regulates by crying? Kind of like a… a reset button?”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm.” He shifts from rubbing your back to tracing light lines in shapeless patterns with the blunt edges of his nails, and your breath catches before you’re melting in his hold. “It’s okay to have big or confusing feelings after sex. It’s actually really common. I just want you to be honest with me about those feelings, right? So we can keep you safe?”

“Right.”

“Would you tell me if you were hurting, or if something I did or said was bothering you?”

“Yes.”

If you were looking at him you know he’d be smiling ever so slightly at your monosyllabic responses, charting an upward path with his hand and pushing it through your hair at the nape of your neck. “You can just nod, baby. You don’t have to talk. I know you’re tired.”

You make a small noise of gratitude and nuzzle closer, feeling better as the tears slow, quickly as they’d come. 

“Do you want a bath in a little while?”

Another nod. He scratches at your scalp. “Okay. We’ll do a bath, and then dinner, and then I’m finally going to make you watch that documentary about Helvetica. It’s a little outdated, and there are a few basic errors about the origin and development of the font as well as misinformation about the typeface subgroup in general, but I can amend those as we watch and afterward we can read the director’s tenth anniversary statement. I was waiting to read it until we watched it together.”

Spencer knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that you’ll fall asleep ten minutes in, curled up on the couch under a blanket in your biggest hoodie with your head on his lap and his hand in your hair, just like this. 

He’s actually really looking forward to it.

[asmileforyourscrapbooks]

OMFG THIS COMMENT. GUISE. THAT LAST SENTENCE IS SO FUCKING RAW

edit: i see a lot of people arguing over the 'eat the rich' thing and i'd like to clear up my standing currently! i know they aren't the same kind of fancy multi-million corporation that our beloved phrase talks about, and the reason i agree to a point with this comment is that watcher is evidently trying to become that. they're doing some shitty things in regards do disregarding poorer fans, and are seemingly blatantly ignoring the economic crisis by saying 'everyone can afford that!', all in direct contrast to their entire branding of being leftist and openly supporting things like eat the rich.

"You said 'eat the rich' then handed us the forks, laid on the plate, and expected us to spare you?" at least from my understanding isn't flat-out saying watcher are now the rich we eat, but are well on the track to becoming so, and are quickly developing the same ego.

BUT!! don't like people directly hating on steven like that!! they're all grown men who can make their own decisions, and pretending like shane and ryan are out little baby beans and then calling steven evil and whatnot isn't okay. they can all be held equally accountable. though i do somewhat understand being the most disappointed in shane, as he's the one who speaks on shit like eating the rich the most, and is generally more outward with his ideals, so it's perfectly reasonable to feel betrayed more deeply. but bottom line is they're all equally accountable for this decision.

some shit we can't take back. i probably got pissed and said some weird/uncool shit initially because of the intense emotions i was dealing with, which other people amplified. i do regret some of the things i've said to a point when it comes to being hateful, but i can't just un-say it all, so i'm not even going to try. i'm going to leave everything be and allow it to serve as something to look back on for what not to do in future circumstances. while this new path for watcher is, in my opinion, not the smartest and generally really shitty, they're human beings who make mistakes, and they deserve our acknowledgement of that.

in short, i don't like it but i'll stop being a bitch about it because they don't deserve that. also sorry for the wall of (probably incoherent lmao) text i got passionate <3

edit 2: guys. im screaming. the apology was amazing imo and i genuinely think they really mean it, like it doesn't seem bullshitted. i think they realized they fucked up for reals and feel bad. im so happy for them, but also for us as fans. yay :D

[thephantomsdream]

Let's be real for a second.

Ghost likes you a lil mean. Just enough. To him, to his mates, to everyone. He can fight. He will fuck anyone up who dares to react aggressively to you, so it doesn't matter if you're sassy, snarky, plainly put a little shit. He won't stop you, he's not gonna "tame" you, he's definitely gonna fucking eat it up and tease you, loving your remarks, clever, funny or straight up mean. The man will be smirking behind his mask (or straight up giving you heart-eyes at home). Don't be unnecessarily mean though, it's not a good look on anyone. Oh, god, and if your humor is dark? You got the man snorting and fucking giggling*(1), shoulders shaking and him trying to hold it in as you're plain roasting someone.

Be mean to him. He tests the waters, dropping one of his incredible and fantastic jokes for you to roll your eyes at him and tell him to rather wear a clown mask, since he's such a joke, and I swear he folds. Wants to pin you down and fuck you raw until you're a sobbing mess that knows nothing else but his name? Of course, and know he'd be mocking you, because where's that snarky mouth of yours, hmm? Oh, ya, busy sucking on his fingers. But until then, he's lowkey following you around dropping stupid joke after stupid joke until you're actually angry and amused. He got you smiling somehow? Gets him feeling like a young boy with a crush, silly butterflies and all.

Give him a bitch-face. Raised brow and unimpressed face at anyone and he's just eyes on you. Fucking hell, he's creepy too. Ghost is fucking intimidating as he is but if he just fixates on something, big brown eyes locked onto you and (big, awkward because let's be fucking for real, boy's actually fucking awkward) body frozen. Just 🧍‍♂️. (I'm fucking wheezing, he just 🧍‍♂️👁👁 and you know it!)

"Fuck are you looking at, weirdo?" That's bloody foken lovely!

And!

AND! He just (again, awkwardly) hovers and makes shit jokes but is so helpful to you in any way he can because in reality he's garbage with words but with actions he's much better. Regardless of where you met, he'll find a way in your life because you bring him joy and he just can't seem to let go. Simon tries to convince himself too that it ain't a good idea, that you're better off. Aha. Yeah, then you just look at him in a way when someone else says something absolutely fucking stupid and he just... Yeah, he's yours.

Be mean to him, then let him shove his face in your tits. Pull his hair a little but wrap your arms around him. Bite him and call him an idiot if you want, as long as you call him your idiot. That's Simon to you.

(But when you're nice to only him, he feels special. Make this man feel special, yeah? He needs it.)

(1): I actually imagined him in his barracks, him kicking his feet while he wears a pink robe, writing in his pink diary (with a pink pen with one of those fluffy balls at the end) "Dear diary, my lovie called me an asshole today. My heart is still racing. We shall mary in spring." and drawing hearts around his and your initials together.

[strawberrymatchawhore]

p power

rafe cameron

“take it from him and i leave him with nothing”

summary- john b cheats on you with sarah cameron you get revenge by getting with her brother

warning- DUBCON, sex under the influence, raw sex (wrap it folks), drinking, smoking, partying, fighting, sex tape (reader knows hes recording but doesnt know he sent it to her ex), semi public beach house sex, meanish pussy drunk rafe lol

you took a hit of your pen, gently coughing from the amount you just inhaled. you were currently in your boyfriends room, confronting him. you had caught john b cheating on you with sarah cameron, kook princess and someone you thought was your friend.

“can you not do that in my room? take this seriously.” john b said swiping his hands in the air to get rid of the cloud puffs floating. you scoffed, the audacity.

“i dont give a fuck about what youre asking for me to do right now john b, you cannot be for real about me taking this seriously.”

“i dont know what to tell you, she was going through something. she needed me.” john b gave his bullshit excuse which made you even more angry.

“what about me, did you even think about me for one bit before you decided to fuck her ?” you screamed at him, getting up from the couch ready to leave the room. as you have your hand on handle, john b grabs it. his large hand covers yours.

“i love you.. please” he pleads, eyes getting wetter.

“dont touch me with that dirty ass hand john b, i shouldve known. no matter how much i showed my love for you, no matter how much i cared. you will always choose her.” you gritted through your teeth.

“i-”

“no, its okay. im done with this shit.” your voice cracks and you slam the door in front of john b's face, driving away with tears blurring your vision.

AT THE PARTY

you strut your way into the party, the annual bonfire that happens the same week every year. you grab a pink solo cup and fill it to the brim with jungle juice. you had already pregamed before and begged your friend to drive you here, laughing at yourself when you caught yourself tripping over the pile of beer cans on the floor. obvious that you were feeling the effects of the weed and alcohol combining.

you were tired, physically and mentally, you couldnt deal with anyones bullshit anymore. especially after what happened earlier in the day, you just needed a break.

“what are you doing here ?” you heard a voice question from behind, you turned and saw rafe cameron looking at you up and down.

“oh hey rafey, nothing honestly just trying to forget shit you know ?” you down the rest of your drink and turn again to retrieve another cup. before you can take a sip out of it, it gets knocked down by rafe. who angrily walks over to john b and sarah cameron who were conversing with each other in the corner.

oh shit

“the fuck are you doing bro? chill.” john b says and backs up. sarah tries to intervene by calling his name and you just stand there interested in what was about to happen.

“you feel good about yourself ??” rafe pushes john b, getting ready to instigate a fight. you fight the urge to run up and defend your man. but you stayed still.

this is what he deserves

sarah cameron stops her brother in his tracks and tries to stop him, he ignores her.

oh yeah try to get him to stop, cheater.

“looks like you got my sloppy seconds... good luck with that. shes a real handful” john b insensitively says, rafe continues his way toward him. and within a second throws a hard punch to his face. john b falls to the ground and rafe looks over him.

“you like that shit johnny ? huh ?” he moves and hovers over john b's body, and continues to beat him unconscious. kiaras dad finally pulls them apart, and you walk over to rafe checking to see if he was okay. sarah starts to angrily push rafe, but he doesnt budge.

“sarah you better stop that shit before you end up on the ground just like john b.” you glared at her angrily and pushed her away before gently grabbing rafes arm and walking away with him.

……..

“jeez rafe you really fucked him up…” you said while wiping the blood off his knuckles with disinfectant. he winces when you finishes it off with ointment.

“yeah i dont know what i was thinking, i just.. its just that he pisses me off so much an-” rafe drunkingly rambled, you hesitated. but then losing to your own thoughts you grab his face and kiss him. you quickly pull away fluttering your lashes, mouth slightly open. taking short deep breaths in and out, nothing but the sound of waves crashing could be heard.

“fuck im sorry.” your voice cracked, tears forming in your eyes. you even shocked yourself with that action, moving your hand from your face you fidget with your bikini top. rafe then gently grabs your face and makes eye contact, kissing back but with more passion. everything in the room starts to blur and your focus is only on him. he pulls away and begins to hover over you. cornering you further into the plush couch.

“nah don’t apologize.. just kiss me back” rafe whispers into your ear making his way down to your neck, giving it light kisses and sucks. his hands wander around your body, you begin to grow desperate and grind yourself onto his thigh, hands rubbing his back. you grabbed his hair to pull him closer to you, he groans in response.

"you dont understand how badly i want you.." he kisses you deeper.

"..how badly i wanted to do this." he backs up and takes off his shirt, his abs and buff body glistening from the ocean water combined with the low light of the moon. he lowers himself and his hands reach for your bottoms, untying them then tossing them onto the floor.

your breathing hitches when you feel his cool breath on your pussy, rafes arms grab at your thighs and spread your legs open.

"oh fuckkk" you lightly moaned when you felt his tongue on your clit making slow but rough licks. rafe laughs and moans into you, sending vibrations throughout your whole body. he looks up at your and makes eye contact with your glossy glazed over eyes.

"you taste so fucking good." he continues to lap at your juices, you looked at the blonde. dazed and memorized by how pretty he was. forgetting all your worries and troubles because of how good he worked his mouth. it was over for you when you felt his fingers prod at your entrance.

the combination of his long thick fingers sliding in and out of your wet pussy and his mouth on your clit drove you over the edge.

"fuck, you gonna cum f'me? please cum baby." he slurps and fingers you faster, your chest heaves up and down before you cum all over his face and make a mess. but rafe doesnt stop there, he removes his fingers and uses both his arms to hold your legs open. continuing to eat you out.

"oh my go- fu- please.. too much! rafe please sto-" you mewl trying to close your legs to no avail.

"uh uh stay still f'me" rafe tuts, eventually he stops and gets up, his mouth and chin dripping with your juices. he grabs your jaw and kisses you before taking off his shorts, the classic calvin klein banding accentuates his v line and you could see his bulge.

you sit up and your fingers hook at the band and pull his boxers down, immediately his cock springs up and hits his stomach. your eyes widened.

"its not gonna fit." you say, his tip is leaking with precum and you fight the urge to swallow him whole right then and there.

"dont worry it will." his hand pushes you back down and he uses his knees to spread your legs. rafe starts to rub himself up and down your pussy, circuling his tip around your clit. and you let out a satisfied hum. he was fighting the urge to just shove himself completely inside you and fuck you deep into the couch. rafe eyes your phone, and leans over to grab it.

he hovers the phone over your face and unlocks it, opening your messages app. he clicks on john bs contact and sees that he left 30+ texts, laughing at the idiot rafe then clicks on the camera feature.

“rafe w-what are you doing?" you asked, closing your legs shyly. your eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"dont worry, just trust me." rafe responds, leaning down to kiss you sloppily before he pressed record on the camera. using his free hand to push your thighs apart he moves the camera closer to your bodies, your lower body and his are in view. rafe then uses his fingers to spread your lips, showing the camera your slick. he slides two fingers inside you and gives it a few pumps before he removed them.

"open up f'me." he gently taps your cheek and slides the two fingers into your now open mouth. his long fingers caressing your tongue, automatically you start to suck his fingers. cleaning them.

"thats it... good job baby." he admires the way your plump swollen lips wrapped around his fingers, at this point his cock was aching in need to pump you full of his cum. he must have you.

"please rafe.. need you." you whined and looked up at him, watery eyed and pupils blown. you desperately moved your hips, and thank god he started to rub your aching pussy with his cock again. the both of you were hungry and needy. gentle whines filled the room, and rafe eventually slid himself in.

"oh fuck." rafe dragged out, slowly pushing deeper and deeper inside you.

"youre so tight, holy shit. mmmmm." bottoming out he stayed there for a moment to let you adjust. he was so long and thick, you felt every vein on it in your walls. you seriously had nothing to say, no words could have been let out to describe what you were feeling right now. pure ecstasy.

the both of you continued to say nothing as rafe sped up, drilling harder and faster into your wet pussy. his balls slapping against you ass, nothing could be heard besides moaning and the sound of his rough thrusts. you could barely see anything aside from rafes figure but you were sure that his back and biceps were now covered in scratch marks from you. the bright flash of the camera blinding you, you've never been filmed like this before. and the thought of you being slut out on camera made you even more wet.

"such a good fucking slut for me, youre takin' me so well." his free hand gripping tight on the fat of your hips to guide himself against your sweet spot.

"oh FUCK!" you let out a combination of a moan and scream when he continued to hit that spot, the knot in your stomach growing tighter.

"does your ex fuck you like this?" he slows down his pace, but you were too fucked up to respond.

"huh?" he asked and slid out just to snap hips back into you bringing you back to reality.

"no! oh fu- youre so much bigger.." you moaned, your pussy leaving a white ring at the base of rafes cock.

"yes yes yes. ah!" you whined when he sped up, which you didnt think was possible. rafe was pounding you so hard you were seeing stars. your hand went to cover your mouth but rafe slapped it away, and put it on your lower stomach.

"dont do that i wanna hear you moan f'me."

"you feel that?" rafe asked, you could see his cock bulging from your stomach.

"god- squeezing me so fucking tight..." rafe grunted, and lowered his hand to rub circles on your clit. your mouth slack and open, boobs bouncing up and down from rafes thrusts.

rafe wasnt even sure if he was getting all of this on frame, he was jackhammering into you like he hated you. he relished in the way your cunt clenched around him like you were made for him. and he was sure you were. all perfect, pretty and stupid for him.

"rafe i feel like im gonna pee, stop!" you screamed out and gripped his bicep. your stomach burned in pleasure and you felt like it was going to explode.

"pl-please oh my god, oh... my"

"thats it baby, squirt all over my fucking cock. youre so pretty like this." your eyes started water even more, he was fucking you so good you stared crying. overwhelmed with all sorts of emotions and feelings.

"so cute when you cry for me, if you keep doing that im gonna cum inside you." embarrassed you turn your head away and shake your head, the squelching and sight of your cunt was so sloppy and messy. rafe gripped your jaw and forced you to look at the camera.

"open your eyes sweetheart, keep looking at me." his fingers made their way down to your throat and squeezed.

"fuck." he whimpered, rafe has never done that before. the both of you were shocked but youve never been turned on this much.

"mmm keep doing that, you sound so fucking hot rafe." you urged him.

"im gonna cum, can i cum inside you? please baby" he begged, his thrusts becoming less controlled.

"yes, fuck. i need you to fill me right now. i wanna see your cum dripping out of me, breed me." the both of you were whiney, your cheeks were wet and your legs were shaking and sore.

"shit, you are so perfect.. this pussys so p-perfect." rafes body was tired, rutting into you like you were nothing but a fleshlight. his tip twitching inside you before he came deep into your cervix, making sure to push every ounce of his seed inside you before pulling out. and filming your dripping cunt before he ended the video.

rafe didnt have evil intentions but he wanted to let john b know what he lost, who would want to miss out on a girl like you?

*attached video*

"shes busy rn bro"

5 hours later you were laying next to a knocked out rafe, finally sobering up you went to check your phone. the most recent message being from none other than your ex.

why is he spam texting me?

"what the fuck? youre such a bitch" the text read, confused and curious you decided to scroll up. only to get surprised by a video of you and rafe from earlier. you dropped the phone in shock and turned to see rafe who woke up from the sudden sound. you picked your phone back up and shoved the phone into rafes face.

“what the fuck is this rafe?!"