#and then the identity thing really just feels like another way to lump a whole lot of people together into a mindless blob

[comas-are-for-sleeping]

growing up and watching my mom radicalize and realizing that my dad is less left than i thought he was

[soleminisanction]

Issue 6 of "The Saga of the Super Sons" answers an important question: where the fuck has Dick been in this scenario?

Answer, apparently: At college.

Which is... where Bruce Junior is supposed to be. Bruce Junior, whose mother Bruce almost certainly met years after he took Dick in as a ward. Bruce Junior, who appears to be younger than Dick, but not by that much.

If you came at a Silver or Bronze Age writer with today's modern "but why is this character still 17" bullshit, I think they'd laugh directly in your face.

By the by, Dick is here because Bruce has been murdered.

I guess some things never change.

This does present an amusing comparison with the more modern takes on the subject like Prodigal/Knightfall, Gotham Knights (the game) and Battle for the Cowl, because here the boys treat Batman like something they expect to be left to one of them in Bruce's legal, actual will, like the one read out loud by his lawyer, implying the lawyer would be in on the whole secret identity thing.

When that obviously doesn't happen they come to an agreement to both... team up? But also compete? To find out who murdered Bruce, and whoever does the actual uncovering wins the cowl. This, for... reasons involves seal hunting in the Arctic and, ah... northern Native people. Which means a lot of use of a certain slur that all Natives in that biome used to (and still do) get lumped under, which I shall endeavor to write around but just know, there's a lot of it. Like, a lot. A loooooot.

Less awkwardly, check out what Dick Dillin apparently thought a killer whale looked like:

Hell, look at those mildly demonic black seals. I know this was pre-Internet dude but you could've gone to your local library. Or picked up a Seaworld ad.

Another thing that apparently never changes: Super-Sons comics insisting that only blood relatives count as "real" children.

To be fair, I wasn't actually expecting to see Dick referred to as Bruce's son at all in this. And Bruce Jr. is the only one who says this, and he's pretty consistently portrayed as the more immature and bratty one in this equation, so it doesn't really feel like the story is "agreeing" with him, it's just an interesting parallel.

Of course, because this is the 70s, they don't have any consideration for things like tactical costume changes or the realities of being mostly normal guys in the Arctic. So, though the boys arrive wearing sensible parkas, once they change into their superhero costumes Dick is just, snow shoeing through the tundra and water skiing behind a seal in his short sleeves and bare legs.

You'll probably be grateful to hear that the white industrial seal hunter is in fact the bad guy of this story -- this is actually one of the more cohesive stories in the saga so far in that regard. Simon Link was exploiting the land by killing too many seals, and then massacred part of the native village when they fought back trying to stop him, so this man Malook wanted to kill him. But, unable to find him and unable to get the white authorities to listen to him, he instead traveled to America to target his business partner, Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Junior is appalled by the accusations but, interestingly, Dick is willing to hear the guy out. When Link's crime is exposed (with the help of the Supers Senior and Junior, natch), he tries to escape across the ice.... disguised as a seal... aaaaand...

Huh. Okay then. Justice is served, I guess.

Oh also Bruce Senior's still alive.

I mean... good on you for realizing the need to make amends for funding exploitative colonialism, Brucie-boy, but did you have to do it in a way that put your son through the exact same trauma you went through? Complete with the murder mystery dinner theater death scene?

Not to mention your poor wife, do you know how much shit you two have put her through in the last however long it's been?? Junior faked his death complete with a full funeral in the first issue of the saga and now you're doing the same thing! If you actually did marry Talia she'll gut you both the next time she sees you and probably Dick too just because she's never liked him.

Anyway, for a parting shot, check out the image they used to advertise this story on the cover, it's one of the funniest things I've ever seen. Beware the Ominous Pixie Boot!

[agentwriter]

So, I sort of got an Operation Blackout headcanon. Real angsty too to go with the whumptober vibe so be prepared-

I saw a couple days ago a post about how canonically Rookie was doing the laundry when Herbert nabbed him, and I went “damn, that’s anticlimatic” because I imagined things going a lot differently. Picture this scenario:

Rookie is taking a walk around, knowing damn well that he’s one of Herbert’s targets by being the EPF’s Comms lead, if G and Dot’s kidnappings mean anything. He’s been getting bad vibes all day, so he’s been trying to keep his nerves on check by not worrying too much, maybe it’s just the growing coldness getting to him? Or the lack of sunlight despite being day leaving him uneasy? Either way, he continues on, hopeful that Herbert hasn’t caught onto his location yet, even if he’s obviously the least careful around his secret identity of all agents with how much stuffed he has leaked to the media along the years.

He tries to chill out, and that goes fine until Rookie hears a couple of suspicious clicks ahead and spots a couple crabs looking at him, and in any other occasion Rookie would approach and greet them with open arms, however, these crabs aren’t supposed to be here. They should be underwater, burrowing in lumps of sand until the temperature gets warm enough for them to be cozy around the island…

Unless, these crabs are here for him.

He should’ve guessed Herbert’s crab army would be a part of this whole scheme, the agent blinks once and crustaceans are gone, even so, he can feel their little ways watching him from somewhere hidden now. How long have they been following him?! The EPF’s teleportation system’s been broken ever since Gary disappeared (and no one managed to fix it without him) and he couldn’t really run to one of the resistance’s hideouts and risk their existence- So he decides to run to his igloo that is a bit close and lock all the doors as fast as possible.

After doing that, he hears some bangs coming from outside and immediately figures he’s cornered. Rookie shoots an SOS message to other agents but he doubts he’ll be able to escape his fate, especially when Dot, someone known for being able to sneak past the most sticky situations, couldn’t. While Rookie realizes that Herbert is going to take him away from his friends and leak his agent info like he did with the others he captured, he decided to make one final message.

And here’s another headcanon inside another scenario but just hear me out- Rookie is a comntent creator. Even before he joined the PSA he did silly vlog videos and livestreams where he chatted and game’d a bit. Of course, he couldn’t really upload more of his wholesome content while dealing with Herbert’s dictatorship in Operation Blackout, and since the Club Penguin News was taken over too, Rookie, along with many other penguin content creators, became replacement sources of information for all of Club Penguin that wished to know where to find food, shelter, if the resistance is doing any progress and all that, so basically-

The day Rookie was kidnapped, he did one last livestream.

He barricades the door of his recording room and immediately starts the stream. The viewers can see something’s different just by the way the whole thing is setup, Rookie looks nervous, and decides since this is probably the first thing Herbert will leak when he’s captured, he figures it will eb better if he does it himself. So instead of the usual welcomes and smiles, he starts the transmission with “I’m Rookie. Officer of Public Relations and leader of the EPF’s Communication sector, and I have a small announcement for you all…”

The message is actually pretty short, 6-7 minutes at most, and Rookie is overall very serious despite being apparently nervous. He talks about the Blackout, and how everyone that has resisted Herbert has been suffering, and how the EPF is sparing no effort to bring things back to normal, and apologizes since he’s going to be offline for a while. He mentions other channels that could serve as good sources of information while he’s gone and then asks for everyone to maintain hope despite it all, that Club Penguin has faced a lot of disasters together, and that this one won’t be any different.

By this point, the way Rookie was glancing sideways together with the bangs coming from somewhere off-screen, the chat was begging him to escape.

But he didn’t, using his final minutes to do a personal goodbye. He talks about his friends at the EPF, how all of them are incredibly resourceful and fierce, and especially good at their jobs. Rookie asks them to be strong, just as he’ll try to be now. He’s scared but hopeful, and just then, a powerful blow breaks the door down.

The camera is knocked off into the ground and sounds of struggles along with clicks can be heard, the commotion doesn’t take long either, and when EPF’s tactical team finally arrive on the scene, it’s too late.

Rookie’s igloo is empty of it’s owner, and a couple of hours later, Herbert shares the news with glee along with more confidential stuff, as a treat.

And like that, Operation Blackout continues.

So ye, this is the headcanon. There’s more that could be discussed about it like the other agents reaction (jetkie angst yummy) and how Rookie gets an earful by the Director when everything is over. But that’s the main meat of it. I should probably translate this into proper fanfiction format later (idk if there’s a lot of club penguin fanfic readers out there tho), but it would be nest anyways.

Thanks for reading this ^^

[shyfoxsky]

Photo Credits: rpbirdman, Wes and Dotty Weber, John Benet, Tom Vezo

I wanted to share some pictures that feel like me not because of conformation or pelt shape or coloration, but because of location. I've talked about how I feel like I come from the SE US due to being from there as a human, leftover from back when I considered my identity to be pretty much entirely spiritual, back on Instagram. That hasn't exactly changed, I still see a lot of my home state as my natural range, thanks to lumping red wolves into my ambitherian label, but I've come to see the specific region where I live within my state as my true territory less and less.

As a wolf, I don't really truly care where I am, as long as it gets cold and there's plenty of food. It's not in a hunter's job to be picky, but I do find myself most comfortable with specific plant makeups on the landscape. I also said this at one point over on Instagram, but I used to be huge on swimming in the ocean. Every chance I got, whether it was a beach, a pool, or even a puddle, I'd stick my paws in. Water is such a big part of my identity. I need water in the warmer months and snow in the colder months. It's just how I am, so when during summer classes for college we went on a trip to the great smoky mountains and I got to see mountains with my own eyes and swim in freshwater streams for the first time, it spoiled me, legitimately rewired my brain. Ever since, I've been unable to be excited to swim in saltwater or chlorinated water. I also got to see a forest made up of something other than slash and loblolly pines and saw palmettos. I got to see a whole forest of spruce and fir trees and moss for an understory. After that, the same thing happened when it came to the forests I once was head over heels for. The pines that I used to be crazy about are now just another forest, nowhere near as special as those. I can only imagine how it would feel to go back during the winter and see it when it's cold and snowy.

All this to say that although I consider the coastal plain to be my home as much as anywhere else in the Eastern US, I cannot deny that the mountains are where my heart lies. I long to wade in their streams, protected on all sides my their slopes and peaks. I just want to post about it here and give some appreciation for my hearthome.

Below is a video that perfectly encapsulates what I feel is my environment. It's in New York, far north of where I live, but it still has species I consider familiar as well as the mountains and streams I call my own. It's part of a very short list of pieces of media that I would concretely say are me in every way.

[fictionkinfessions]

what a wild experience it is to be relatively young while also having a large number of past lives constantly popping up in my memory.

i've been nonhuman more times than i know, but just like i suited myself then, humanity fits me perfectly now. i have more estranged family members than the combined amount of everyone i've met in this life, but still act awkward around my blood relatives because i haven't quite gotten confident in this new self yet. i've worked any imaginable number of jobs but my new first one still seems just as intimidating, at least socially. i've held unbelievable, unsustainable power and more times than not used it for good, for the sake of my people, but i feel guilty accepting simple help from my loved ones. every past and present social convention is more suggestion to me now, yet still i follow, knowing there's nothing worse than being above or below everything where the only part of you others can see is your shadow.

where i once was the pitch black void of destruction for my enemies, i'm now small and soft and doting, and the craziest part is, i was always both.

i cycle between feeling intimidated by/estranged to those older than me and thinking of people my age or older as kids. just like most anyone, they're rambunctious and unafraid and openly, adorably don't know what they're doing because, in their eyes, it's the beginning of their first time. i've done that, too, but remembering it from the perspective of beyond keeps me from experiencing it quite the same way again. the amount of times even before adulthood i have been referred to as an "old soul" is comical- i am old, so old that my highest desire is to teach, to care, to protect others whenever they need it, yet i'll never be too old to remain young in the ways that matter. every menial "coming of age" thing i have done and will go on to do i have done once, twice, a thousand times, but this time is not special in that it won't be when i stop getting excited. my brain prevents me from remembering it all, but if i've learned anything, it's that excitement and joy are all that remain when all else fades away. knowing this means every choice i make will not be a missed or seized opportunity, rather a dedication to love and life itself.

i've had the hard truths of existence carved into my mind over and over. i've been broken and reassembled and built up to tumble back again, yet each time i move on, the burning remnants become nothing more than a fuzzy afterimage that superimposes itself on my being, now entirely different in the exact same way. really, that's the beauty of it; a different body and mind with the same information will come to a different conclusion, even if similar. no set of hands can sculpt a lump of clay the exact same way twice. i am the clay and i am the hands and i am the eyes that gaze upon my self-creation in admiration, in a way some may wish to but cannot in quite as much depth. one day i will hold an entirely new form and choose a new, yet equally true, metaphor to describe the ways in which i've changed. and then, too, i will be young and grown, and grow up while remaining young, and love relentlessly, unconditionally. in this, i will never be alone.

collectively, i'd say my age outranks that of this universe itself. but just like it, i am still a kid, marvelling at the gift of life with bright eyes despite every wild possibility. beauty is within the love you create. so i say to you, another irreplicable creation within the crushing embrace of existence:

reread that cringe book you like, or replay that game that used to be your favorite as a kid, or pick up the hobby you've wanted to try that you know the people around you would think is lame. rant about the most seemingly meaningless things just because you wanna. be as spiritual or non-spiritual as you wish. embrace your various identities and interests with a whole heart, and if they change, let them. you change every day you exist, and you will never be precisely as you were or will be, which makes the you you are now infinitely valuable. if your people are too blinded by the biases of this world to make peace with the harmless things that bring you joy, find new people who can admire the story of each smudged fingerprint in your surface just as readily as every smooth curve and minute detail. whether it be through friendship, romance or family, let yourself be shaped by the influence of others in that irreplicable way you would never achieve on your own. stand on your business when you have to, act the way you feel, speak your mind. make mistakes and learn from them, and make them again, and learn something entirely new. take it from me: you will never run out of things to learn or to love, and that's the greatest gift of all. learn what you need and what you can, and most importantly of all, learn what you love so that you might have the time to love it for as long as possible. remember your time is limited, but acknowledge anything you do to fulfill yourself or something important/necessary to you is not a waste, despite how limited you may be. take whatever pace makes you comfortable, no matter what vindictive minds may insist, and live a life full of all the things you and your loved ones desire, so that no matter when the day comes that you move on, you will know it was worth it.

and, if you can, leave a positive impact on those you meet who could use your irreplicable influence. never force yourself to become beholden to another (just as any other shouldn't be to you) and uphold your personal safety before anyone else's, but if you have the chance to change something for the better, don't choose to let it go. if nothing else, you'll thank yourself for it, as will i. i know you're struggling, and you are trying, and i love you. i believe in you. as long as you always protect and value your own voice, you will live in the best way. never give up on that.

(p.s: also don't give up on your sleep schedule! i'm sitting in tumblr writing this at 4 am on a friday morning. when this is posted, chances are you will never know me or even want to, but remember those you do know and hold them fondly in your heart. and especially appreciate those who choose to work for the benefit of others, like mpc! (thank you for providing this space for people to share things they otherwise couldn't.))

to whoever you might be today, take it easy out there.

- a friend

x

[genderstarbucks]

I'm curios on your thoughts on agab terms. If you're comfortable talking about it.

The way I see it used, in general, seems really exclusionary of intersex, trans, nonbinary, gnc, and anyone who doesn't fit into rigid binary ideals of male and female. (So cis people are excluded under this too, like say a cis woman with prominent body hair or a cis man who's short, for simplest examples.)

It's always about, like, agab bodies, agab genitals, agab hormones, agab organs, agab socialisation, agab chromasomes. And it just doesn't work. Like even considering agab in a more literal sense, like intersex people being assigned a sex without their say, that can only go so far. With current technology it's impossible to assign internal organs, chromosomes, and even with surgery and hrt, that still doesn't change the experience of being different, of getting such changes rather than always having them. But agab just groups everyone under the same category, and erases those differences.

And for trans people, I think it leads and perpetuates a lot of incorrect information as well, some of which gets into the territory of sexism too. Like the idea of agab bodies, when applied to trans people, it just makes a lot of assumptions about what genitals they have, what organs they have, what hormones they have, etc. which just isn't true. And for those who don't medically transition, which is fine, lumping them into the same category are cis people really erases their trans identity. Like for example, a non medically transitioning trans man isn't just exactly as a cis woman, or a non medically transitioning trans woman isn't just the same as a cis man. I feel like it's really erasing something there, and under agab they're just treated as the same.

And I feel like I see it used to be really weird about biology too, like "oh it's important for your doctor to know your agab!" For the most unrelated things. Like a flu is a flu, fixing that illness isn't about chromosomes, or agab, or whatever, but it's treated as if it is. I wonder if people who say things like that know what trans broken arm syndrome is, how trans people can have completely unrelated issues blamed and refused to treat because of them being trans. Of course, even for things where "sex matters", intersex people mess up that system. Or even just perisex people with some mild difference. Like women can be autistic do, but people think of it as a "biological sex" thing, and so say only men can be autistic. But that's just not the case right. Agab terms just remind me of that. Another pointless oh but sex matters thing. Except maybe worse, since I feel like people have started accepting sex can be changed (think trans surgeries), so they just replaced it with agab, which is forever assigned and can't be changed.

There is more to be said about it, how it just weirdly separates men and women as different species, and drags trans people into it with the whole forever assigned thing, but I've already typed too much haha /lh

So I mean I guess it's obvious I don't really like agab terms, but then I see people like you (or I guess actually you're the only one I've seen) who use it as self identifiers, instead of boxes to shove other people into, and are quite inclusive with it (like people can be transmasc/transfem regardless of agab sort of thing). So that does get me wondering about my distaste for agab language. I mean you seem to really identify with it, it'd be mean to say you can't use that word for yourself.

This turned out more negative than positive, but you seem to be using it pretty positively, so it got me wondering about your ideas with agab terms. /gen

Basically how I see them is that they can be self-identifiers and they can be useful terms, but only in certain situations

Like you said, agab shouldn't matter at all with things like going to the doctor for a cold or something completely unrelated (shoutout to the time I went to the doctor for a cough and he asked me if there was any chance that I could be pregnant like what 😭)

Afab and amab shouldn't be used like how tme and tma are, people are literally just using them as a different binary to put people into

Obviously I see my afabness as a very important part of my gender identity and other people don't and that's completely okay

And like what you said, people of the same agab can have different experiences

Like many afab people have more testosterone than other afab people

I see agab terms as terms that should only be brought up in conversations where it actually matters (such as this one, or someone stating their experiences as an amab person) or as self-identifiers

And they most definitely are exclusive of intersex people, since most of the time intersex people are assigned afab or amab

Like just because someone has F on their birth certificate doesn't mean they're gonna have the same experiences as someone else with F on their birth certificate yk?

And the fact that I'm the only person you've seen who uses agab as a self-identifier and is inclusive with it is kinda sad tbh 😭 like people should be able to identify as transmasc or transfem regardless of their agab

Transmasc and transfem just mean being trans and transitioning to masculinity/femininity, agab shouldn't matter and it should be up to the person on whether or not they wanna use those terms

Honestly people are just using agab terms as boxes to push people into, like it's literally just a new binary that's "inclusive"

And also like what you said about trans people with a certain agab, just because that's their agab doesn't mean they're gonna have every single afab trait if they're afab (and especially if they transition)

Just because both me and a cis woman are afab doesn't mean we're the same, I could have a dick but still be afab (I mean I don't but ykwim)

You basically just stated everything wrong with agab terms, how they're exclusionary and also rigid boxes to put us into that are labeled as "inclusive"

Just because some doctor took one look at our genitals and decided "yep, that's a female/male" doesn't mean that that should have to determine the rest of our lives

So basically, the only good way I see that agab terms can be used is for self-identifiers and in conversations or other situations where someone's agab would actually matter

Other than that, they're just a new exclusionary binary box that people are shoving us into

[overpoweredcacti]

S17 Ep5 post-watch recap

I have way too many thoughts, this is going to be long and probably disjointed.

So I feel like a lot happened, but at the same time not really? Overall though, so far I'm really here for this Gold Star mystery and the MK Ultra/behavior modification/Frankenstein's monster stuff around it, I just hope they commit to it? I know so far they've made it a point multiple times how it's a "conspiracy theory" and it's "based on a half-truth" and so on but at the same time things just don't add up? Most notably, if the government has nothing to do with this, why would they care enough to hide it? Who has enough influence to stage Emily's arrest etc?

Anyway, since this was very complex I'll try to break it down to characters.

Damien/Jade

Honestly? I'm really enjoying them so far? They have a fun dynamic?Wish I knew their actual ages, maybe it was shown and I just didn't pay attention. I think Aiden was around 26? So I'm assuming they are around the same , give or take 2-3 years. So these 2 meet up, 1 is dead ("assassinated by the FBI", which is an interesting way to phrase it. I wonder if that will come back on either Rossi or Emily. One giving the order, the other following it.) And Peter and Dana are 'missing', and we have no idea what they look like. Okay, cool.

So they are tech savy enough to operate Voit's network (wasn't that used to be a weather app lol? That whole comment on people posting their racist opinions on that neighbor app, which was featured in ep 3 too, seems like a reference that my not-american brain is not clicking with) and they can put together bombs. It was weird that nobody picked up on the fact that Jade has to be in the park to make that call? Why was everyone just standing in a circle and worrying when they could have sent people to scour the area lol All the while ignoring Voit who was at least smart enough to not run.

Voit

So Voit. This little shit. Every scene he was in I just kept repeating 'you little shit'. Very entertaining bordering on frustrating. His whole demeanor of being like a kid in candy store was funny I'll admit that. That first scene with him going "Dave Dave Dave" took me out. My dude is def dying by the end of the season tho. They can't keep him around for much longer. And I honestly can't tell if him doing morse code was meant to be noticed by the team or not. Because I'm thinking that he is in fact making up the identity of "North Star" and trying to get someone killed? Also, that reveal that he gave the identity of the strike team to Damien? Chef's kiss. He's truly Hannibal Lectering this season. Aaand he has a point with Garcia and Tyler and that whole fiasco last season. I'm glad they are bringing that up because that should have some kind of consequence. (Voit giving them a ship name tho? And talking about carbon footprints? I'm not sure I like him sounding like stan twitter. I mean it's obviously a reference for the fandom to get, but still. It's...a writing choice for sure.)

Garcia/Tyler/Luke

I'm lumping them together because the show is apparently committing to the love triangle bit. Which I'm not that big of a fan of, in general.

This might be an unpopular opinion but the more episodes we have the more I feel like the show doesn't really know what to do with Garcia this season? Like that entire exchange in her office, that ends up with them being back in the bullpen? It was...weird? So Voit smells, okay, cool, did we need to spend this much time on this? It honestly felt like a waste of time that didn't lead anywhere because we are back at the bullpen anyway? Like, narratively, what was the point here?

Luke is still not checking on JJ after throwing a bomb on her, cool lol. Love that he was the one deciphering the morse code tho, and that he dismantled the bomb. Love it when the show remembers character traits.

Tyler remains another frustrating part of this season for me? Everytime he does something where I go "hey cool, that's nice, I kinda like you" he immediately does something else where I go "okay, go fuck yourself now". Like, doing off-the-books work for Emily? Great, cool, love it. And then goes behind her back like it's nothing. So 'Teresa' might be an actual person, but the phrase could also be relevant? Maybe it's another anagram, idk. Either way he's warning someone while keeping Emily in the dark. In conclusion, I don't trust him lol.

Emily

So the framed arrest/mugshots are coming into play, that's great, I'm glad there was a point to that. (Weird choice to drop the name of an actual existing website as the leak but okay). Someone is really out to get her that is connected to this whole ordeal but there's no indication it's either Damian or Jade. Someone also convinced Brian to change face. Also, was he trying to gaslight her? Is that going to be a part of Emily's "breakdown arc" that she is questioning her own sanity? That could be interesting. Or, we are going full scifi and they made him somehow forget his previous alignments. Seems unlikely, but who knows. Anyway, she is on restricted duty and is clearly over it. Just, everything. Great scene by the end. She was going to back to her "spy roots" and moral grayness and it's slowly breaking her. Genuinely think she is one of the most complex characters of this entire show. (Shout out to her speaking Russian too. I know it's just a phrase but it's a nice callback.) Love her bond with Rossi as well. And just all her scenes, great. If there's a character I'm really happy with this season, it's Emily.

Rossi

Honestly not that much to talk about? For the audience this is not the first time he interacts with Voit, but great scenes. He is also losing it, clearly. Maybe I expected a bit more? Confusion, at least? As in, having a hard time differentiating with the real Voit and his halluciVoit?

JJ

I'm biting my fist every time JJ is on screen because I'm just so nervous how that is going to end. She is clearly not okay, everyone is dealing with something and not taking notice of her issues. Loved to see her in charge on the field. She was also the only one competent enough to finally tell someone to shoot the wheels, lmao.

Tara

Tara wasn't given a lot this episode tbh. She was aiding Luke, sure, but this may have been her least active episode. So we have the scene with Rebecca losing her shit, that she's in danger, okay. I mean, they are cute? Wish they would talk more instead, but cute scene at the end, none the less.

I have absolutely no idea where the next episode is going lol. I expected a cliffhanger, we didn't get a cliffhanger. Zero clue as to what comes next.

[thehoneybuzz]

Waking Up with PTSD

You go your entire life suppressing the feelings of panic that come with this disease. My therapist calls PTSD the "granddaddy" of anxiety disorders, and there's undoubtedly something nefariously patriarchal about how it all works. Patriarch, after all, comes from the greek roots - patria meaning family, and arkhēs, meaning ruling. In the context of PTSD, anxiety rules with an iron fist. The kingdom of my mind is governed by it. 

So what do you do? What CAN you do when your brain is programmed to expect the worst and will adapt your thinking to ensure it's correct?

You focus on every little thing except the black hole that lives in your chest, certain that ignoring it will make it better. You live like if you do not acknowledge the fact you were hurt, or abused, or traumatized, it can't grab hold of you. Come to find out that in the act of suppression, you've exacerbated it all the more. 

The only other option you have is to feel the pain, and who could stand that? Who is strong enough to face the reality of injustice, the realities of innocence lost in place of terror? So instead, we seek to contain it - but it's not like jumping on a grenade. It's a hydrogen bomb. You aren't just blown to pieces; you're eviscerated. 

You see - You've compressed the things that make you human inside yourself - the molecular structure of who you are is contained by the ways you've coped with it. Your need for distress manifests in your interests such that they are indistinct from your personality - you climb mountains to feel alive and create risks to feel better. 

That's how nuclear fusion works. It contains the raw material necessary for an explosion. With heat and pressure applied, hydrogen atoms combine. To combine, each element must lose a bit of its mass. I combined who I was with what happened to me, and both became lesser for it. Only the explosion was delayed. 

In physics, the amount of energy created from a fusion reaction equals the amount of mass converted multiplied by the speed of light squared. Familiar, isn't it? E=mc2. So try this calculation on for size - 

If you convert your identity as a person to your status as a victim - how much of your personal "mass" has been lost? 

I can't tell you for sure, but I can show you what it feels like.  

Boom.

You spend your whole life telling yourself that your feelings are invalid. You start to heal, and your first few steps involve recovering what you lost. You look at yourself and realize the way you've been responding to things is not how they really are. You know that, yes, the world was dangerous - but it's not anymore. 

The truth is your brain, chemically, does not know how to operate fully unless it's under duress. So when you wake up on a beautiful Sunday morning with nothing to do, you don't relax - you search for the familiar, and your sick mind is all but happy to provide you an answer - a list of the ways you're failing so you can affirm the world is as awful as you believe it is. That beautiful lump of grey matter that's had to adapt to keep you alive has to learn another way. The process of learning is arduous, the process of un-learning - nearly impossible. 

But you must. 

You acknowledge the truth of what happened, which means making space for some terrible pain. All your life, you've been conditioned to ignore your emotions. Then, you force yourself to acknowledge them. Finally - after months or years - you regain touch with yourself again - you put the puzzle of yourself back together - you know what hurt feels like, but you also know joy - and then the worst realization of all is waiting for you as soon as you untangle yourself from the shame.

And that's the really fucked up thing about PTSD: Not all your feelings are valid. 

You go from one extreme - absolute denial - to the other - radical acceptance. But the majority of your living is done in the grey. I might wake up on a Sunday and feel like I have nothing of value to provide in this world - but it's just not true. Healing means recognizing which feelings are worth consideration and which are echoes of trauma gone by. 

The work is making space for what was while reaching for things as you know they're meant to be. 

[gloriousvermin]

I really like this comic as an identical twin myself. I struggle a lot with identity and trying to be different my brother. But ultimately we are very similar music taste, fashion sense, ext. It's very annoying because you can't ever escape the fact that you have some extremely similar to you when you share a room or clothing. When people just buy two of something instead of asking. I think a lot of my decisions recently are motivated by trying to be different. I deleted Reddit partially for that reason. And use Tumblr in a much different way than he does. I'm much more active than he is despite him being the one to get it first. The reason I listen to much more punk now is not only because I like it(I very much do). It's because I know he doesn't like it as much. I want so badly to be different but were so similar. I think the best example of this is hair. when we were young it was very short and we never liked needing to get it cut. At some point I decided to part it to the right my brother then parted his to the left. As time went in it stayed short until 2020 when the lock down happened. During that time for whatever reason mom never cut it. How ever in the first two years of highschool (right after the lockdown) we still needed to keep it with scerten limits. I gut very tired of this and decide to quit the class that gave me those limits the next year. How ever for the reminder of that year I would grow it out as long as I could within limits (not very long compared to today but it was impressive at the time). However this decision was mirrored by my brother. And more recently leaned that he also intended to grow it out until it was properly long.

I am aware that he doesn't do this on purpose. I'm guilty of it too. He joined an art class the next year I did the same. the difficulty for me is in how much my hair is a part of my identity. I remember I think two years ago I started freaking out at people over both of us being blamed for things only one of us had done.

It's very annoying because it feels like everything I do to escape being lumped together with my brother just ends up being another commonality.

It's important to any twin you meet that you consider them completely separate from the other. Yes they are similar but they are different people who have been together their whole lives.

Preview of Sam Long’s story, drawn by the amazing Cynthia Yuan Cheng! (@cynthiaycheng, cynthiaycheng.com)

Becoming Who We Are Kickstarter ends Dec 14! Preorder now to help us fund the book!

bit.ly/becomingkickstarter

[cesium-sheep]

:I the same person who flipped out on me a couple days ago has come to the conclusion that actually yeah she is trans after years of going "hey can I do these things and still not identify as trans" and of course the whole time I've been like "yeah of course gender identity and gender expression don't inherently have to be tied to each other" but now she's like "yeah actually I am trans also can you give me voice tips" and it's just. I'm happy for her and I want her to be happy but goddamn transfemmes can be so exhausting for me. I don't know what it is, cuz it's not "oh I don't want to be a woman why would anyone else" yknow, like honestly that doesn't seem to play a role at all. it's just. idk she even used the wrong name when asking me and it often really feels like both my actual gender (or lack thereof) and my assigned gender become just like. tools of convenience for them? my experiences of being perceived as a woman and how to navigate that are only valid when they want something specific from me, and the existence of nonbinary people including myself are only valid when it's a convenient resting point for them before they're ready to commit. this keeps fucking happening. but there's so many vocal transmisogynists out there that it's very difficult to express valid criticism because it gets lumped in with the tide of bullshit one way or another.

[greta-van-chaos]

I Will Possess Your Heart // Part 1

Oliver Reed x Reader

Part 2

Warnings | Explicit sexual content, cursing, alcohol consumption, oral (m receiving), fingering, daddy kink, a little bit of slapping cause i'm extra, hair-pulling

Word Count | 4.2k words

Authors Note | I have been wanting to tackle an Oliver fic for a while but was never really sure how to go about it... now I think I've found a way to create it and I hope you enjoy

~

It definitely isn't safe to be driving in such weather and not only that but coupled with the late hour, you're setting yourself up for a possibly dangerous endeavor. Nevertheless you wave off your friend and duck into your car, hoping that you aren't as thoroughly soaked from standing in the rain as you feel. She offered for you to spend the night but you couldn't stand the thought of listening to her and her husband bicker for another handful of hours, all the while drinking yourself into a stupor with the cheap wine you brought as a social convention.

After peeling off your drenched sweater, you stick your key into the ignition and the engine sputters, refusing to start. You try again to no avail but on the third attempt with a animal like growl it comes to life. You curse your cheap car, it's cheap parts, and your cheap parents while you pull out of the driveway.

The music cuts in and out as you follow a long winding road, surrounded by a lush canopy of trees. It leads you to the another almost identical road that you don't remember seeing on your way in.

"What the fuck!"

You swear it wasn't so much like a maze when you first passed through. You continue down the snake-like path and find that you're passing the same landmarks over and over again. The once calming rain now beats down on the top of the car and sends your mind spiraling into an even worse state of anxiety. If it wasn't so dark you may feel a little more comfortable but everything feels like it's closing in on you, like the dark is swallowing you whole. You feel like you're driving in circles and a chill runs down your spine when you can't even retrace your steps to get back to your friends house.

After what feels like an hour of mindless driving you find a turn that is one you definitely haven't seen before. A laugh of relief escapes you and it's so brazen you barely recognize yourself in it. Taking the turn you're lead down a straight, narrow path made up of dirt. The uneasiness of the road rocks your car and your stomach does similar flips to mirror how unsteady the drive is becoming. You almost swear the rain starts to beat down harder on the roof and the trees grow taller and thicker around you. Swallowing the lump in your throat you pull to the side of the road, practically driving into the forest due to the lack of space.

"Please work, please work." You can feel your luck wearing so entirely thin that when you go to turn on your phone you half expect it to be dead. The screen lights up and just as you had been anticipated, no signal. You take a deep breath, hoping to calm yourself but upon release you scream, the sound filling the car and echoing in your ears. How did you get so lost? It all feels like some shitty horror movie and there is no way that you have the brain power to deal with it.

Sighing, you put the car in drive and step on the gas but almost as soon as your foot touches the pedal the car makes a clanking noise followed by a pop and then you're plunged into darkness, every light within the vehicle, as well as the head and tail lights going out.

"Fuck!" You throw a tantrum like a young child whose parents refuse to buy them a lollipop, flailing your arms and stomping your feet. Tears threaten to fall but you hold them back, slamming your fists against the steering wheel to relieve the anxious pressure in your chest.

You sit there in silence. What can you do? Walking around in the pouring rain is the last thing you want to do but you know there has to be something nearby, maybe a farmhouse or a gas station? You have to talk yourself up a little bit, whispering under your breath that you're going to be okay, that it's better to figure this out now rather than later. Taking a deep breath you open the door, immediately pummeled by the rain which just so happens to be falling angled towards the inside of your car. You swear and kick the door closed, almost hoping you leave a dent in the midst of your frustration. Trudging forwards up the road with your arms crossed tightly at your chest you try to act like you aren't already soaked to the bone. Now without your sweater your t-shirt and jeans cling to your body you're a life preserver.

It feels like a film and you wish you would stop romanticizing the terrifying events unraveling but as you come closer to a fork in the road a bright yellow light can be seen from up high in the night. For a movement, you question if you can see heaven. Maybe this is how you die, freezing and drenched, alone on the side of the road in a town you've never been to before. But of course, rationality prevails and as you find yourself following the light you're stood in front of a decadent, gothic mansion. The architecture seems out of place in the middle of the worn down countryside, all of its features so sharp and new looking, barely aged compared to the archaic farmland you'd seen on the way.

You don't really have another choice so you cave and follow the driveway, there are gates that adorn the entrance to the path but they're open enough for you to slip through. The initials O.R. that are perched on the black, metal bars don't go unnoticed to you and you can't help but imagine who the owner of such an ornate house could be. As you make your way up the long drive you rehearse what you want to say, muttering under your breath about your car breaking down and how goddamn lost you are. You're hoping if someone's inside that they have an extensive liquor cabinet cause there is no way you are going to sleep sober after the night you've been having... That is, if someone even opens the door.

Finally you step onto the barely covered stoop and hesitate before ringing the doorbell... what if the person inside is a murderer, waiting for their next victim? You curl your hand back from the button but sigh at your apprehension and quickly press it. Taking a step back out of a mix of fear and the small bit of hope that begs to outshine all of the negative thoughts swirling around your mind, you smooth your hands down your pants.

A light flicks on behind the stained glass windows laid into the wall beside the door. Your stomach ties itself in knots and you almost decide to turn around and trek back down the drive when the door swings open.

"Well hello, darling."

Your eyes widen slightly at the man in front of you. He'd slung his words together as if he's had a little bit too much to drink but that quality is very slightly overshadowed by a heavy English accent. The man has long brown hair with short beard that looks more red than brown. His outfit appears to be as antiquated as the furnishing you can see behind the door. A vest over a button up that's fastened dangerously low on his stomach. The necklaces dangling at his sternum and further along his chest are a refreshing, almost vibrant contrast to the old timey look of his outfit and it makes you crack a small smile.

"Come on in then, it's fucking pouring!" His words are overly animated and the way he gesticulates confirms your hunch about his drinking habits. Now that you've stepped inside you can smell the liquor on him and hope he has enough to share.

"Thank you!" You step inside a bit to enthusiastically but his back is turned, allowing you a second to compose yourself. "My uhm... car..." You words dissolve on your tongue when the man turns to face you, slipping off his vest and adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. It sends a spark of heat to your stomach, watching his slender fingers toy with the fabric.

"Your car what, darling? Did it up and drive away on you?" Clearly he thinks he's a comedic genius as he laughs at his own, awful joke but you chuckle too, only a little hesitantly as you try to draw your gaze away from his hands.

You become all to aware of how drenched you are when you notice his eyes lingering on your chest, the white shirt you wore doing nothing to hide the lacey bralette you're sporting under it. Ignoring his unabashed staring you press on, trying hard to get your words out as coherent as possible

"It broke down and I don't really know where I am right now... Do you have a phone? Or know a place I can stay?"

He clears his throat and strokes his beard. "Well, I suppose you could stay here, no sense in me drinking alone now that there's a pretty girl on my doorstep." He catches your gaze, intense brown eyes boring into yours "You drink, love?"

The offer surprises you a bit but you've worked yourself into this situation by not taking the offer of your friend so you concede, nodding you head, "I would really appreciate it if you let me stay and, yes, I do drink."

He claps his hands together and motions for you to follow him into the room next to you. The whole house is dark and decorated with old wood furniture with gold accents. It's a very expensive looking set up and the dark ambience mixed with the smell of firewood and whiskey makes it that much more lavish.

"I've got the fire going, you can sit, I'll get you something to drink."

You settle on your knees in front of the fireplace and raise your hands to feel its balmy heat creeping over your skin. Your shirt has become so overwhelmingly uncomfortable and you hope that if he's kind enough to let you stay that you can get a shirt from him too. You rake your hands through your hair and comb it with your fingers, your hands now slick with the residual wetness.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing out in this end of town so late at night?" The man hands you a heavy crystal glass filled way more than a conservative pour but you accept it gratefully and take a large gulp, the warmth flooding your veins immediately. He smiles at you, a look of awe in his eyes.

You have the urge to say that one could hardly call it a town but think better of challenging someone you've just met. You answer him as politely as possible, trying to ignore the cliché line, "I was visiting a friend, she'd just moved down here but I got lost leaving... I'm not really sure what happened but after a while my car just--" You wave your hands in the air for emphasis "Gave out"

"That's too bad." His voice has a sinister edge to it as he eyes me, taking a seat on the sofa that faces the fireplace. He spreads his legs out comfortably and brings the intricate crystal glass to hips lips, the brown liquor sloshes around as he takes a sip.

You turn to face him, allowing the fire to warm your back. When his eyes dip to your chest again you draw your knees up and cradle yourself. "So, what's your name?"

"I find it very surprising that you don't know who I am." He crosses a leg over his thigh and regards you, the firelight flickering in his irises.

"Should I?" You breathe, his question creating even more heat in your stomach.

"'Spose not, if you're not from here but I am an actor, you see."

You hold back a chuckle, he doesn't look to be the type you'd see on the silver screen. You can hold back a laugh but not the question that forms on your lips "How old are you anyways?"

He doesn't like that, his gaze narrowing. You expect an outburst, just based on the look of offense painting his face but he seems to rethink his reaction and lets out a small laugh "You've got quite a mouth on you, don't you darling?"

You shrug and rest your chin against your folded arms. "And you--" Bringing the glass to your lips you take another gulp of whatever he put in your glass. "--you never told me your name."

"Oliver. Oliver Reed." He mirrors me as I take another sip, drinking down the last of what's in his glass. He slams the crystal onto the table next to him and smacks his lips. You'd find it rude or unattractive but something about the way his adams apple bobs in his throat makes you want to run your tongue along his chest, taste the liquor on his lips. "I'm sure you've got a beautiful name to go along with that face."

You blush like a highschooler at his comment and hide your smile. "Y/n."

"I'm always fucking right." He digs himself further into the couch, tipping his head back and exposing his neck. Why did the mystery house owner have to be ridiculously attractive?

Slugging back the last of your drink you wave the glass in the air and clear your throat, "Can I get a top up?"

"You're my kinda girl." He laughs. When he stands he looming over you, eyes glistening from the alcohol and from the fire. You have the urge to push up onto your knees and claw off his pants but are definitely not drunk enough to get yourself in such a position yet.

When Oliver returns both glasses are half full and he's brought the bottle with him, just plain ol' Jack. You smile when he hands you the glass again and this time he sits across from you on the floor instead of sitting on the couch.

Remembering the state of you clothes you ask "Could I maybe borrow a shirt? Mine feels disgusting, all soaked like this."

"I'm sure your trousers are soaked too." He states and your face blazes bright red, the innuendo layered so heavily over the sentence has you sputtering and trying to grasp at any coherent thought. Instead you opt to take a small sip of whiskey and nod. "I'll go get you something to wear, wait here."

The clothes he picks are surprising to you, a red t-shirt made of an extremely soft fabric, the neck is stretched out and you wonder why but don't ask. He also brings you a pair of boxers to wear. You set them down beside you and immediately start to claw off your shirt, not caring if there's an audience.

"Didn't know I'd be getting a show tonight!" The brunette laughs and your face flushes, the alcohol hitting you a little harder than you had anticipated.

"You can get more than a show if you play your cards right." You jest, leaning in a little bit and giggling at your words.

"Is that right, darling?"

His eyes are solely focused on yours and his lips are tipped up in a smirk, one that you want to feel against your skin. You hum and cast your gaze to his hands. His gripping his glass so tight you think it might shatter and it makes you bite your lip, imagining what he could do to you.

"Are you gonna do anything about it, or just enjoy the show?" You say, teasingly pulling down one of your bra straps and then the other. He blows out a breath that sounds so incredibly strained.

"Fuckin' hell." He watches your hands work over the thin material of your bra. When you unclasp it and it falls his mouth draws up into a smirk. "You are the hottest fuckin' thing I've ever seen."

"You're not too bad yourself."

That must knock something loose for him because he advances on you, whiskey glass forgotten on the floor. His hands are roaming your body, touching anything he possibly can. Your lips meet and you can taste the whiskey on his tongue, yours probably tastes the same to him. You thread your fingers into his hair and push away your clothes, laying back on the expensive looking rug and pulling him down with you.

"I've been thinking about this since I saw you out in the rain, you looked like you were begging to be fucked."

You push his head down to your neck and laugh at the tickle of his beard. You can feel him smile against your collarbones and you outright moan at the sensation. "Oliver--" You breathe.

"Mmm, fuck darling, you sound so pretty saying my name like that."

Oliver tucks his fingers under your jeans, teasing you by not going to unbutton them, just tracing the skin that the waistband lies on. You arch your back in attempt to push yourself against him further and in your plight you feel him against you, hard and straining against his slacks.

"Touch me, please, touch me." You hands are frantically scouring every inch of his skin, pulling at the open sides of his button down and bringing him against you harder.

"Touch me, what?" His breath is hot, fanning against your cheek as he stops kissing you, waiting for a reply.

You gulp. What does he want you to say? You're caught between a plethora of nicknames but finally make your pick and hope for the best.

"Touch me... daddy."

"That's much, much better." He praises, dipping to kiss your clavicle. "I'll give you what you want, pet."

Finally his fingers find the button of your jeans and pops it then he unzips them and slides the fabric down your thighs. When his fingers drag over your panties your back arches again to meet him halfway.

"Christ, is the from the rain or from me, pet?"

You blush at the question and clear your throat, not trusting your voice after the way he's been touching you "You, Oliver."

He tsks at you and slaps your thigh which makes you sink your teeth into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. "Try again."

"Daddy! You, you made me this wet."

"Good girl." He continues to toy with you through your panties, not quite giving you the friction you need.

Oliver drags his tongue down your neck and sternum and then back up to lock your lips together in another passionate, yet sloppy kiss. After what he must feel was enough teasing he slips his hand under the thin lace covering your heat and plunges two fingers into you.

"Look at that, so ready for me, you're cunt is dripping and I've barely touched you."

"Fuck--" You wrap your legs around his hips and dig your heels into his back, pulling him against you.

"Needy, are we?" He works his fingers in you slowly, setting an agonizing pace that makes you grind your hips against his palm whenever he pushes into you. You can feel that your slick is already covering his hand and you'd be embarrassed if he wasn't looking at you like you were the hottest thing on earth.

"Please go faster daddy, I need--"

As he picks up the pace his hits a particular spot inside you that steals your breath but he doesn't let you off the hook that easy.

"What do you need, pet? Hmmm?" His condescending tone feeds the pleasure mounting in your stomach and you yank on his hair, pulling his mouth to your neck again. The tickle of his facial hair actually adds to the sensation of his fingers working deep in your cunt.

"I need to cum-- Fuck-- I need you to make me cum." You're putty in his hands, writhing and aching beneath him as he pleasures you.

"Are you going to let daddy make you cum? Are you gonna be a good girl and let go for me?" His growly accent is loud and clear in your ear, helping tip you over the edge. You buck you hips into his hand involuntarily and his palm catches your clit. In a flurry of newfound pleasure you start grinding your hips against his hand mercilessly, chasing the high that you can practically taste on your tongue.

"Fuck-- yes, I'm gonna cum!" You moans are filling the room along with the wet sounds of his hand working into you and when you buck your hips just right you fall over the edge and into a pool of euphoria. The stars dancing behind your eyes are so tangible, so real, you almost reach out to touch them. Oliver whispers sweet praise against your over warmed skin and you come down.

When your eyes flutter open he withdraws his hand, bringing his fingers to his lips and you can't bring yourself to look away as he sucks your slick off of his digits. "You're so sweet, pet."

"Let me help you." You say, once you've found your voice again. He looks a bit confused but when you trail your hand down his chest and stomach to cup his growing erection he sighs and grinds into your hand.

"Can't really say no to that, now can I, pet?"

You both share a laugh as you sit up. He helps you pull on the t shirt he lent you and then takes a seat on the couch, legs spread. Oliver doesn't take off his slacks or even unbutton them, apparently he expects you to do all of the work. If you weren't so worked up you'd view that as an annoyance but your blood is singing and your head is spinning all from his touch so you don't mind that much. You drag your knees on the carpet, making your way over to where he's seated.

"I knew you'd look perfect on your knees for me." He grumbles, throwing his head back.

You don't replying, deciding to busy yourself with unbuckling his belt instead. He sighs when you tug down his pants, he lifts his hips to help you and once they're down around his ankles along with his boxers you stop and stare. You mouth is practically watering at the sight of him.

"What is it, pet?"

"You."

A fire catches in his eyes and he grabs you by your hair, roughly pulling you up to meet his lips. His grip is hard and the pain burns but as the kiss continues it fizzles into a sharp sort of pleasure that sends electric shocks bursting through your body. When he's satisfied with kissing you he lets you go and you settle back onto your knees, still just staring up at him.

"Get on with it darling, I wanna see your pretty lips wrapped around my cock."

"Fuck." You mumble it under your breath to yourself but Oliver's eyes gleam with amusement as if he's heard you.

You don't waste anymore time staring. Oliver's head tips back again when you take is dick in your hand and pump it a few times. It's already leaking with precum which you collect with you thumb and use as further lubrication for your actions. The man beneath you sighs when you bring your mouth to his tip and kitten lick it, going slow at first just to test the waters. He bucks up into your hand when your slow the pace of your fist, giving him long teasing strokes. The grunts and soft breaths you're able to draw out of him are euphoric to your ears and they spur you on further, taking as much of him into your mouth as you can and using your hand on whatever else you can't.

"Christ, pet, your mouth feels divine." His voice falters and it only serves to feed the lust now building in your stomach again.

You can't help but trail your other hand down to toy with your clit as you continue to suck him off, bobbing your head and only coming up for air when absolutely necessary. Your breaths are sharp and shallow through your nose which presses against his abdomen every time you take him into your mouth. Eventually you begin to go faster, feeling him slowly come apart under you. He reaches out and puts your hair into a makeshift ponytail, using it as an anchor to move you as he pleases. Now that he's creating the rhythm you're moving faster than before, lewd noises coming from the back of your throat every time he accidentally pushes too far into your mouth.

"Where do you want it?" He asks, completely breathless.

Oliver takes himself out of your mouth and continues to jerk himself off so you can answer. "Cum in my mouth." You whimper.

"Daddy's dirty girl." He hums and after a few more pumps he releases all over your outstretched tongue. You make sure to swallow every last drop and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand while he pulls his pants back up.

"So I'd assume you'll be staying in my room tonight rather than the guest bedroom?"

"If that means you'll fuck me, yes."

BESTIES DO WE WANT A PART TWO??? I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS

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[whatstheoccasion]

heyy, I see your requests are open! can I request toman boys of your choice when their s/o died? 🥺 gn please and thank you!!

A/N: thank you for requesting sweetie! this is an old ask, but if you happen to read this then i hope you like it. i didn’t really know if you meant the moment they died of long after so i miex them up a bit. if you want other members send in another ask and i'll do it! enjoy x

️️ ️️️️️️️️️ ️️ ️️ ️️

"Will you miss me, when I'm gone?"

pairings: baji x gn!reader, mitsuya x gn!reader, draken x gn!reader.

warnings/tw: death, mentions of alzheimer. genre/tags: angst, spoiler free.

"Will you mourn me when I'm gone?" was what you asked your boyfriend in a hushed whisper, a few months into your relationship. Baji's breath faltered, but he quickly hid it with a harsh glare at you. "Fuck are you talking about? I won't let you die, dumbass.'' He whisper-shouts, his voice tight while he continues to play footsies with you behind the library's solid brown table. "But what if I miss you too much, when I end up in heaven while you go to hell?" you tease. He clicks his tongue, annoyed, but the pressure on his chest feels a bit lighter. "Idiot, you won't get rid of me that easily. I'll just follow you there." You then joke that he did the same thing with Mikey when they were younger, following him everywhere, and he yells at you– but his fond smile he can't hide, childish fangs sticking out his mouth even after getting kicked out by a very angry librarian.

Now, laying pale and dirty in front of your bloody, lifeless body, he hazily takes a look around the brawl, fighting the hot tears streaming down his face. His best friends were wrestling for their lifes, children and grown men yelling and fighting till death, and he regrets with a angry scowl letting things get so far. With his last uneven breaths, Baji thinks he may understand where you were coming from all those years ago. As his last words are choked out of his mouth to the cold ground, he foolishly hopes you’re listening, wherever you are. “You were right,” he reassures you, bringing your body closer to his and finally admitting defeat. “I’m not letting you go alone.”

He was always following after his loved ones, after all.

Mitsuya’s long fingers stop in their motions, needle hanging now uselessly over your favorite pair of jeans. You look at him, amusedly waiting for a response. Only then does he look at you, and your heart drops when sweet lilac eyes are staring at your own with an emotion you can’t describe, making him look more mature than a 14 year old should ever look. "What am I going to do without you?" He repeats your questions slowly, to confirm he heard you right. You nod, worrying your lower lip, had you made a mistake asking him this? After a long pause, he sighs, and returns to his stitching at hand. For a moment you think he won't answer, until you hear a low "I don't know. I can’t think about my life without you in it."

It's many years later when Mitsuya goes back to your talk. When he's old and wrinkly, and there's a tan mark around his left ring finger– a mark identical to the wedding ring he always wore– and will always wear. Right next to the scar on his arm, from when you forgot who he was- Alzheimer's treating you unfairly, making you forget about your highschool sweetheart and love of your life– and burnt him in this same hospital bed, with tea he had just prepared for you. But it was okay, Mitsuya has always found a way to make you fall for him all over again, time and time again. Even now, as your dying breaths even out and your wandering eyes are looking at him like you barely know who he is. He swallows the lump in his throat, holds your hand in his two stronger ones, slowly kissing your knuckles and hoping he’s distracting enough from the inevitable end on your life support machine. "I’ll be right here with you the whole time." As ugly tears make their way down his tormented face, and he lowers his head in grief, Mitsuya misses the chance to see when your eyes widen in recognition. A heartbeat too late you weakly squeeze his hand, but the imminent beep of your machine follows shortly after.

Draken was never the same again. He could laugh and joke around and continue living life as usual, feeling like he owed that to you. But the people who knew him, who loved and cared for him knew he was never the same again. His smiles weren’t as bright, that charming, particular glint of fire in his eyes was gone. You took a piece of him that he could never replace- and he didn’t wanted to, even when later in life he got married. He had promised you one day, after having one too many drinks, "I think I'm going to love you forever." You're still the one he's thinking about while he watches, with tense guilt squeezing his throat, as his spouse-to-be is saying their votes. On his deathbed much later in life, he cries for his family and friends, but sadly it's been a while since he felt this hopeful. Even if he hides the relieved smile that softens his wrinkled face, Draken thinks that the afterlife will be your second chance– he likes to think that, maybe, if you're his last thought, then he can keep his promise and spend eternity with you.

[nicks-disks]

THIS.

The west's perception of Asians is almost strictly regarding EAST Asians who have the paler skin and smaller eyes that we're used to seeing in media. The west have grown used to identifying them as 'Asians' no matter the specific nationality they may hold or the culture they come from. To many, Japanese, Chinese and Koreans kind of meld into a huge lump, and that lump is just known as 'Asian'

This exposure to East Asian people and culture for decades, no matter how racist, insulting an inaccurate it is, has declared East Asians to be THE Asians in the minds of those in the West, and practically any other Asian is kind of seen as a separate thing. I ask you this sincerely, but when I ask you to picture an Asian person, what comes to mind?

As a result, South Asians, Central Asians and even South East Asians are all sort of lost in the mix. I mean, the Middle East is Asian. I'm going to say that again, the Middle East is Asian. If you knew that already it seems like common sense but cannot tell you the minds that exploded when I mentioned that at the family function, and I think it's really important in recognising how the identity of the word 'Asian' can me muddied beyond recognition. I have never ever heard the Middle East described as Asian really

Do I think this stems from some kind of lowkey racism? I'll say yes while trying not to diminish all that East Asia has done in terms of carving a well deserved place out in pop culture. Unfortunately, even with all the racism that East Asians face I do think that the colour of their skin has aided in their massive rise to popularity. Of course there's other factors sych as a Western Audience alreay being 'used to' their pressence on screen and again I don't want to entirely wash away everything they've done by saying 'oh it's because they're light-skinned' but once you hear the kind of rhetoric directed at other Asians it's something that you have to consider. Whiteness is a very important factor to many white people, and even if you aren't while culturally and ethnically, if parts of you resemble a white person then that's close enough. Or, it at least makes you better than the others who don't have such resemblance, I mean that's the whole idea with the category of 'white-passing'

I'm half Indonesian, and growing up I have had so many white kids tell me 'you're not Asian, you're too dark to be Asian and your eyes aren't squinty enough' even calling me a 'dirt-skinned Asian' DIRT SKINNED WHAT and these were CHILDREN. Like between the ages of 6-10. And the worst thing is I know I have it easy by comparison because I've had Indian and Pakistani friends who have been actually beaten because of their skin colour and 'the way they smell like curry' which is a WILD thing for a fucking 12 year old to do to another 12 year old.

This gross distinction between the more desirable light skinned Asian and the less desired darker skinned has separated the word Asian into just being for East Asians, while the rest of us are not even thought about. When we are thought about, it's with this air of disgust and uncleanliness, because our countries and cultures are met with the attitutes that they're unstomachable to those in the West

Is this the fault of East Asians? Obviously fucking not. It's white prejudice seeping into other parts of the world and picking and choosing the aspects that make them the most comfortable. Still, though, I'm very happy in Korea's massive breakthrough to a Western audience, and I'm glad Japanese culture is still being adored today. Now I'm say it's China's turn but the West's hatred towards China even within their love for East Asia is a whole nother discussion

Please, if you're white, check your bias. How do you view East Asians as opposed to literally the rest of the whole continent? Do you feel as though they're 'cleaner' or 'more advanced'? Can you name a country in South Asia off the top of your head? Central Asia? West Asia? South East Asia? Please, the rest of us are worth loving, or at the very least, knowing about

Personal rant but Indonesia is the 4th most populated country in the world and I have met perhaps a grand total of 15 people here who knew the country before me telling them. People who had gone to Bali and assumed that Bali was an entire country, not realising there was like 17,000-18,000 islands attached to it. I love my culture, I love living in the West (for the most part) but it gets so lonely, you feel a bit like an alien because where are you supposed to fit into these peoples heads? They don't really like you, and then compare you to another completely different group of people who they don't understand at all, not even bothering to respect them that much, just using them as a benchmark for you.

South East Asians are literally the closest to East Asians, so much so that sometimes we do fall into the Western idea of Asian (yippee!!!) but still, sometimes i dont feel that privilege. My skin is literally the most lightest tan, I speak without an accent and I have lived most of my life in Australia, I am the closest you could ever be to a white person without being white and yet I never will be, and the culture I'm a part of, that I love, clings to me and begs to be loved, to be spoken about and to be shared. We all want to share our cultures and lives and experiences and loves with you, youse just don't want to listen

Also, even though I'm genuinely pale as hell, if I were to go back to Indonesia now they'd tell me I'm dark and would suggest me to get skin brightening syrums. My mother was bullied and literally beat in the 90s-early 2000s because her skin was so dark that it made her 'look like a servant'. Her skin's like, a deep olive. These divisions based on the colour of your skin are literally embedded within some of the cultures themselves, so of course they're going to be carried over and re-enforced by the West when looking at the continent of Asia.

Anyways this was a disproportionate response to the original post and after re-reading it I so genuinely apologise for taking the lense away from Indians and South Asians, I just wanted to talk about how every Asian suffers as a result of this. South and West Asians get it especially bad though because the fucking media is so cruel to them, please, take the time to fall in love with their cultures and countries I promise you it is the most wonderful, gorgeous thing

“indians and asians” where exactly do you think india is

[itsnothingofinterest]

You know what? We basically have the week off. You remember that theory I made last weekend about AFO’s control over Tomura being dependant on Tomura acting as a groomed duplicate of AFO? Well I’m gonna see if that theory’s got any validity by going over the instances of Tomura’s emotions and their correlation to AFO gaining or losing control over Tomura since he got the AFO, as well as what we can gleam from their arrangement if it does.

To summarize: said theory was that, while it had up until now seemed as though Tomura/Tanko feeling hate had give AFO more control, it seemed as though certain instances of hate towards something personal to Tenko gave him more control. Thus the idea formed that it is not simple hate that gives AFO control, but being on the same wavelength as AFO; feeling the same as him or else feeling nothing to remain in AFO’s shadow. In turn, any emotions that stimulate his own identity and individuality, even if they are in the form of hate or destructive wants, allow him to rise from AFO’s suffocation.

Literally.

Anyway, with that established, let’s get started.

Jaku:

We begin with the first instance of AFO directly influencing his thoughts and actions; seeing Midoriya and addressing him as his brother (Yoichi).

Imminently after we get some support for my theory on Tomura’s individuality being the key to gaining control; by way of him swiftly stating his intention to keep his individuality and surpass his master. Stating “I control myself”, allowing him to do just that,. For a while at least.

And though I theorized a long time ago that AFO was fighting to wrestle control from Tomura the whole fight, causing those crack-line injuries; Tomura keeps control until Deku instigates the sky battle. On a related note, that pre-sky battle section is also where he gives his speech on the failings of hero society and stats his own person reasons for villainy. The “That’s what makes us heroes and villains” speech. So, what is it that causes control to slip?

Well, it’s a bit boring of an answer, but my first assumption is that rather than being based on hate or any other emotion, AFO simply asked for it while Tomura was burning; and either Tomura acquiesced, or was unable to keep control while in pain from the fire. Likely the latter since Tomura then immediately tried to fight for control back next chapter.

Although another option is that AFO synchronized with Tomura’s frustration in fighting One For All. This only starts working as Deku and his amazing strength start laying down the hurt; something AFO knows all too well from Deku’s past few successors. And oh we will get back to their shared hatred of All Might.

After that, while AFO keeps control until he gets knocked out, Tomura briefly wakes up in control while captured by Best Jeanist.

It’s very quirk, but once again features emotions rooted in Tomura/Tenko, namely his feelings towards his home. It also features his talking to Machia as a League member, as an equal. Even seeming to sympathize with his current plight and telling him to do what he would do; break free/destroy (I was once told that, thanks to a funny quirk in the Japanese language, he told Machia to do both of these things at once).

(See below the cut for everything from The Hand scene to the latest chapter.)

The Hand:

And of course, all this changes once the final hand of the Shimuras in placed on his face; stimulating the lump of lead in his heart to fuel his rage and bring AFO into full control from which he’s yet to really be removed.

Now seemingly, this should really interfere with my theory; as the hate-lead of Tenko’s originates from his family and specifically wearing their remains. On the other hand, the fact that this increases his synch with AFO is of no real surprise as he has been cultivating this specific hate-disgust-mix since Tomura went by Tenko. One way pr another, the hate-lead is what AFO cultivated the most to most easily control Tomura. So assuming I’m not wrong right out the gate, what might be causing this?

Well, Tomura’s hate-lead originates from how his family died, which AFO made sure he never forgets or heals from by making him were his family’s remains on his body to instill a constant sense of disgust and hate. So, could it be that AFO feels similar feelings that he can match to Tomura’s, and planned to use them?

This is just speculation at this time; but perhaps he can, and perhaps he did. He does have at least 1 dead family member after all, in Yoichi. Now AFO has never expressed any motion for Yoichi besides a creepy level of possessiveness, but at present we don’t know how Yoichi died or what AFO felt about it. So, suppose AFO watched Yoichi die a truly gruesome death, or perhaps even caused that death (very possible given their relationship). That would allow him to synch with the hate-lead, especially if it’s something AFO feels particularly strongly. And supposing he does; perhaps it could even motivate his future actions, him refusing to let that horrible scene be the last he ever sees of his brother so he needs to steal his quirk.

Again, this is basically just speculation that I’ll admit I’m mostly doing to cover what would otherwise be a big hole in my theory. But it could be reasonably assumed. We’ll have to see if we ever get a Shigaraki-brothers flashback.

Fighting Star and Stripe:

Anyway, that was the interesting bit of speculation, but this next section should be a bit simpler. mainly because...it’s just hard to see who’s in control at any given time unless we’re actually peering into Tomura’s mind. Lets go over the fight with Star and Stripe.

First, just to repeat myself; we see the fight for control allowing for AFO to gain more control, theoretically because a want for control is something AFO feels very strongly and allows for him to slip in to Tomura’s mind. AFO even stats that Tomura hating him and fighting him causes their melding to accelerate.

A scene of note shortly after this is Tomura remembering his house; and starting to think a bit more like Tomura in the next chapter as he analyzes New Order; thinking of it in terms of game play and mentioning using it on Mon-chan. Although this is brief, as pondering the quirk causes AFO to surface and want it even more.

But a big factor is Star bringing up All Might, how much she admires All Might, and her desire to be the next All Might. As mentioned, a hatred for All Might as both a person & the symbol of peace is something Tomura and AFO have in common, which leads to AFO gaining more control. Star commenting on All Might prompts a trip into Tomura’s mind to see AFO suffocating him. And as the New Order quirk attacks him, it brings to mind All Might; and as it dies talking about another hero surely killing TomurAFO, their fight ends with AFO in basically full control with the inner Tenko smothered.

Recovering in the cave:

In between this and the war is one simple but notable scene because it supports the idea of All might giving AFO control of Tomura; as he rieths in agony thinking about how he hates All Might. This is basically Tomura’s only talking scene before the 2nd war that AFO is losing for him.

The War AFO is losing for him:

Which bring us to said 2nd war, where in Tomua was trapped in UA and where AFO is basically in full control of him. And as mentioned in the original post; most of what’s discussed are things AFO fells that same as Tomura about, or else only he cares about. His want to be in control of everything, how heroes suck in a vague sense, the quirk singularity and associated projects, how dare these extras be holding their own against him, etc. As such, it’s more interesting to talk about what brings Tomura to the surface.

Now there are a few signs of Tomura doing just that throughout this fight, but they’re mostly pretty faint, so I’m gonna stick to the 2 big instances.

First is Mirio commenting on Tomura having no freinds because he wants to destroy so much (quick tangent: he wants to destroy for his freinds, dummy). This has no effect on AFO, but resonates with Tenko, who takes great offence to the idea of him having no friends. Ergo, we see a de-synch and Tenko chews Mirio out.

This also causes AFO to comment on how “Tenko” could be a problem for him and his control over Tomura. At the time, I think a lot of us though he was suggesting Tenko and Tomura had split as personalities. Given how that image at the top of the post seems to disprove that; we can assume he was either wrong, or that’s not what he meant. (Both are very possible, but I’ll discuss that latter.) See, Tomura is a persona AFO has groomed into the “next him”, and thus he has a lot in common with and should easily synch too. I think I’ve shown this isn’t as true as he’d like, such as that instance of him talking to Machia as an equal; but it is mostly true that most of his post-Tomura life has a lot in common with AFO.

AFO has little in common with Tenko though. I mean, Tenko does seem to hate heroes & authority, but in ways vastly different from AFO. If something personal to Tomura’s past comes up, even if it enrages him and makes him want to break stuff, AFO’s control slips.

Which brings us to the end where we began; Tenko rising from the depths of All For One pissed at the heroes over matters related to his own trauma. Namely their saving Bakugou when they couldn’t give a rat’s left butt cheek about young Tenko or his family, being so hypocritical & human while pretending to be so upstanding & great. Yadda yadda, I went over this in the original post, and Tomura will probably go over this some more in the next chapter.

Summary:

While I won’t say anything definite, I do think the theory has merit, as there does seem to be a correlation of Tomura rising to the surface and instances of his individuality and personal experiences being stimulated. And if it is true, then that would imply two things:

First is that AFO feels a similar feeling of horror, revulsion, and hate that is caused by Tenko wearing his dead family. And he knows this well enough to cultivate it, more than any other emotion, in Tomura during his development. For lack of any mention of his parents, these emotions would probably originate from however Yoichi died.

Second is that this opens the door to Tomura regaining complete control of his body through sufficient stimulation of his individuality without having to directly change into a new personality first. Though this would mean that even if Deku helps save him, what would come out is the Tenko/Tomura we all know; hero-hating anti-authoritative attitude and all.

Personal thoughts to end on:

And I’d be very glad if he did. Not only am I a well-known Final Boss!Tomura supporter; but I’ve just never been a fan of the idea that Tomura had to erase all his hate to be free of AFO.

I mean first I’ve just never been a fan of “saving Shigaraki’s heart” and “saving Shigaraki from AFO“ to happen at the same time; as I worry that would allow for the challenge of ‘Shigaraki the villain’ and ‘Shigaraki the victim’ to both be done at once with AFO acting as an easy out to both (AFO is much easier to beat tan Tomura, and could act as a scapegoat to save him). All while also supposedly giving Deku a free pass to not have to tackle those political and societal issues that caused Tomura & the League; as removing all hate means Tomura wouldn’t care and wouldn’t hold heroes accountable any more. That’s how the idea was initially presented to me anyway. Never mind how that leaves the door open for more Leagues to form and kill people.

And also it just never sat right with me that the solution to AFO’s attempted grooming of Tenko into an exact duplicate of himself is to becomes the exact opposite. I mean I understand there’s some nuance to these situations I’m hardly equipped to properly comment on; but personally the idea of continuing to define himself by what AFO wants, just aiming for the exact opposite, who Tomura/Tenko was before or wants to be and where all those things overlap be damned, just doesn’t sit right with me.

So if this opens the door to another resolution more accommodating to Tomura’s own identity and issues, I’m all for it. And I’m quite happy that we have evidence of just that possibly happening.

[helloalycia]

my happy ending [two] // kara danvers

summary: the secret Kara has been putting off for months finally comes to light, leaving you both in a precarious situation

warning/s: mentions of a breakup (let's be honest, this isn't a spoiler lol)

author's note: here’s the second part! hope you like it :)

part one | masterlist | wattpad

It had been a few months since Kara and I said 'I love you' and it was around that time when things between us were moving forward. We were still going strong and I had never been in love with someone as much as I was with her. No relationship I'd had in the past was as amazing as it was with Kara – she was magnificent.

I was sure nothing would get in the way of us; we were going strong and despite small, petty arguments we'd had in the past, we'd never truly fell out over something. I couldn't imagine us doing so either, because our relationship was built on honesty and trust. What could possibly break us up?

I was in charge of all social media content for CatCo, so I wasn't one who usually went with reporters to cover stories. In fact, I rarely did unless it was to help a colleague, like now. My friend, Cara, was covering a story at L-Corp – something science-y to do with the labs. I wasn't too into the details, but she didn't want to go alone, so she asked me to accompany her.

So, that's where I found myself now, standing with Cara as she was being shown around the labs of L-Corp by a scientist.

Cara was a professional, asking question after question and digging for the nitty gritty details in which the scientist would try to avoid. It was pretty cool to witness.

"So, that's everything we're working on so far," the scientist finished the tour, stopping by some glass doors.

"What's in there?" I asked, nodding behind the scientist.

The woman glanced behind her before forcing a small smile. "That's something I shouldn't discuss."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Seriously? Now I definitely want to know."

"Look, this isn't a scrutinising article," Cara explained, her voice sounding convincing. "We're not trying to uncover L-Corp's secrets. The last thing we need is another 'evil Luthor' recycled news story."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I still can't share what's in there," the scientist said, apologetically.

"Off the record?" Cara offered, and I could sense her curiosity, too. "We won't tell anyone. I won't report it."

The scientist seemed reluctant. "It's not a secret, I can tell you both. But it's just, you're the media..."

"Technically, she's the reporter," I pointed out, literally pointing to Cara, who smacked me in the arm.

"C'mon, we'll sign an NDA or whatever," Cara promised.

After some puppy dog eyes and pouting, the scientist (whose name I couldn't remember) gave us some NDAs to sign before finally taking us inside the glass room.

"As you know, we manufacture many different products," she explained, leading us to a desk with some microscopes on. "We're working on recreating Kryptonite."

I furrowed my brows. "That's that stuff that Supergirl and Superman have right?"

"Their weakness," the scientist corrected. "We've managed to recreate the properties of Kryptonite and can use it in case of an attack from Kryptonians."

"But the only Kryptonians we know of are Superman and Supergirl and they would never attack," Cara stated with confusion.

"Not necessarily true," the scientist said. "Remember Astra?"

"The woman who tried to kill us all at the start of the year? Yeah, we remember," I replied, shivering at the memory.

"It's for cases like that," she explained. "It's not a big deal, but we're keeping it on the down low to avoid public scrutiny. As you said earlier."

Cara nodded and began to look through the microscope, studying the Kryptonite on the slides. I looked at the green glowing rock beside the microscope, picking it up and wondering how something so beautiful looking could be so dangerous to an alien.

"Amazing, isn't it?"

I looked up at the scientist. "I guess. This stuff really kills Kryptonians?"

"Too much can, yes," she answered. "Small doses can inflict pain, and manageable doses can strip them of their powers, making them similar to a human. This piece you're holding is a highly-concentrated dose."

"Best keep this far away from National City's only hero then," I joked, feeling a tad uncomfortable that I was holding such a powerful object.

I placed the Kryptonite back on the desk and tapped Cara. She got the hint and concluded the tour.

Cara and I headed back to CatCo after and she thanked me for accompanying her to the tour. It wasn't a big deal, so I smiled and left her be to write it up, promising to give it a read before she submitted it.

I decided to head to Kara's afterwards, seeing as she was working from home today. I brought some food – her favourite, Potstickers – to surprise her, and knocked on with a smile on my face. Just the thought of seeing her got me all giddy, like a little kid.

"It's open!" Kara called out from the other side.

I rolled my eyes playfully and walked into her flat, setting the food on the kitchen counter. "What did I say about leaving your door unlocked, Kara? It could have been anyone!"

Kara grinned from her position at the dining table, standing up to approach me. "But I knew it was you and– ah!"

I furrowed my eyebrows when I saw Kara stumble over her feet when walking towards me.

"Kara, what is it?" I asked, moving forward to help, but when I touched her, she pushed me away and held the table for support. "Kara!"

I looked closely and realised her veins were glowing bright green. That could only happen if...

"Wait a minute," I said, staying stood still as she gulped hard, still hunched over with pain. "You're in pain... and that can only happen if you've been in contact with–"

"Kryptonite!" she cut me off breathlessly, before staring at me with startled eyes.

I stepped back, feeling my heart drop to my stomach. "You're a Kryptonian."

"Why do you have Kryptonite?!" she questioned, still clutching the table and cowering away from me.

I shook my head, still in awe. "I was at L-Corp and we saw some Kryptonite... but only Kryptonians are affected, and there's only two known Kryptonians on Earth... Superman and..."

She avoided my eyes and that's when my suspicion was confirmed. I felt my mouth go dry as I looked at Kara carefully. Her glasses, that was it. That was the only thing separating her from her other identity, her other life. How could I have missed that?

"I've gotta go," I got out finally, my throat closing up.

"Y/N, please wait," she said desperately, stepping forward, but she stopped herself when overcome with pain. Her skin was glowing green now and I realised that there was still Kryptonite residue on me from that highly-concentrated piece I held earlier.

I turned around and left, feeling my heart beat fast in my chest. Kara was Supergirl. I didn't know what to feel because that very fact was still trying to sink in.

I had no choice but to go back to CatCo after, needing to get the rest of my work done for today. But I couldn't concentrate because of what I'd just discovered. Kara was Supergirl. She was an alien. She had a whole other life I didn't know about.

My phone kept getting notifications from Kara – she wanted to explain herself, but she couldn't see me until she was sure the Kryptonite residue had dispersed. I didn't care about that anyway, I didn't want to see her right now. I wasn't sure what I would say if I did – she'd hidden this from me!

I thought we had something special and unique. I thought I'd finally found someone, something, indestructible. I thought I knew Kara inside and out, I wanted to believe I did. But I was wrong. She was pretending this whole time.

I went home after work, leaving a little early because I wasn't actually getting anything done. I was confused, lost, unsure what to do with this information. Kara was Supergirl. When she disappeared randomly, that's probably why. When she would sneak off with James and Winn... they probably knew, too. It seemed that everyone important to her knew. But I didn't. Maybe I wasn't as important to her as I thought.

When I reached my flat, I saw Kara leaning against the doorframe. She perked up when she saw me, clearing her throat.

"Y/N," she muttered, her voice breaking.

I wanted to ignore her, but I couldn't. I simply stared at her, noticing her red, teary eyes and puffy face that were hidden behind her glasses, the same ones that had hidden her identity. It was literally right in front of me and I hadn't noticed. She hadn't shared it with me. I was so sure we would last. A relationship built upon honesty and trust. Huh. What a joke.

"I don't want to speak to you right now," I said as calmly as I could muster, before fumbling with my keys.

"Y/N, please, I know you're angry, but I need to explain to you," she said desperately. "I don't want to hurt you."

"It's too late for that," I mumbled, swallowing down the lump in my throat before managing to slot the key in the hole and push open my door.

"I'm sorry," she said, following me inside. I rolled my eyes as she watched me with a guilty expression. "I didn't want you to find out like this."

"It seems that you didn't want me to find out at all!" I snapped at her, slamming the front door and spinning around to face her. "I found out by accident, Kara. You lied to me. You didn't trust me."

"I do," she tried, but I shook my head, disguising my hurt with irritation.

"No, you don't, otherwise you would have told me," I stated. "I feel stupid for not figuring it out sooner."

"I'm sorry–"

"I don't want to hear it!" I cut her off. "At first, maybe you didn't trust me enough to tell me, that's fine. Then we admitted we liked each other and okay, fair point, you didn't know if we would last so you didn't want to tell me. It's fine, understandable even, that you didn't tell me. But then we told each other we loved each other. And that could have been your chance. But no. You kept pretending that I actually meant something."

"I wasn't pretending!"

"If you weren't, then I would mean something to you, Kara. I would be important enough in your life to have known the truth!" I shouted, my vision blurry with tears. "You let me fall in love with you! Believing we could go somewhere when this whole time, you were living a whole other life! And apparently everybody else knows but me! Right? I presume that's why you're always hanging out with Winn and James?"

She stayed quiet, watching me with tears streaming down her face, but I couldn't care less. She was hurting me.

"Get out," I said, breathing out.

"Y/N–"

"I said get out," I repeated, glaring at her.

She nodded slowly, looking down to her shoes. "I'm so sorry, Y/N..." She walked past me, and I didn't turn around until I heard the door close.

I released a shaky breath, closing my eyes as tears fell. So much for a happy ending.

–

A lot can happen in a month, which is funny because it goes by quite quickly.

That's how long it had been as I tried to come to terms with how I felt about Kara hiding a big part of her life from me. I couldn't just forgive her and pretend it didn't hurt. The more I thought about it – which was a lot, as much as I tried not to – the more I felt like an idiot.

I was in love with somebody who I truly believed was my perfect someone. I believed she was everything to me, but she was pretending the whole time. I was convinced God was out there, letting me know not to get too attached, too safe with someone, because I would just be setup for disappointment.

Obviously, seeing as Kara and I worked in the same office, it made for, well, pretty much every day an awkward encounter. I tried my best to avoid her presence, which I thought wouldn't be too difficult, but gosh it was. It was like she was everywhere I went – the photocopier, the coffee machine, the toilets. It was infuriating, especially because I began to miss her a lot.

I had to put up with avoiding her eyes and stares from across the room for a long time. I knew she wanted to speak with me, because at first she tried to, but then she gave up and I think everybody knew. Nobody in the office brought it up, but it was obvious they knew, judging from the tension in the air when we were around each other.

And if all of that wasn't enough, it didn't help that I was reminded of Supergirl pretty much every day. She was all over the news and it was literally in my job description to tweet about her when I could. Seeing her – Kara – in all of those photos, reading about how she was literally saving people's lives... it hurt. She didn't trust me enough to tell me about all of it. Was it something I'd said? An impression I gave that made her deem me untrustworthy?

I didn't know anymore. I just knew that by the end of the month, my heart ached more and more, craving for the arsehole that was Kara Danvers. I refused to admit it at first, but when I kept finding myself searching for the blonde around the office, I knew I'd finally accepted what had happened. I wanted her back. I missed her.

It took a while to find the guts to go forward with this, but when I did, I tried to find Kara at work. She wasn't at her desk and nobody had seen her around. I did a quick search around, calling her name, but nothing. Only, when I was on my way into the hallway, I found her standing by the coffee machine. She wasn't alone.

The new-ish guy, Mike or whatever, was stood with her, pretty close to her side, his hand resting on hers on the table.

I knew I had no right – I'd literally blown her off for a whole month – but my heart began to ache at the sight. Whatever they were talking about must have been important. She was staring at him like he had hung all the stars in the sky. Unless that's just what I saw, I wasn't sure. I just knew that I hated it.

The two of them turned around when they heard me call Kara's name and I froze, meeting Kara's eyes for the first time in a long time.

"Y/N?" she breathed out, surprise in her voice and expression.

I licked my lips, backing up. "Sorry, I– sorry. I left it too late. I'll go," I mumbled, my voice breaking.

"No, Y/N, wait!" she tried, but I'd already turned on my heel and speed-walked away.

I felt my eyes tear up like an idiot as I walked away. Of course she'd moved on. Why wouldn't she? I'd wasted her time.

"Y/N, please wait," her voice broke me from my self-pity, and she stopped in front of me, eyes searching mine. "Let me explain."

"I didn't mean to interrupt," I said, clearing my throat. "You don't need to explain anything, Kara. I– I made you wait too long without saying anything. You don't owe me anything." I sucked up a shaky breath and avoided her eyes. "I've gotta go, sorry."

I didn't give her chance to respond, not wanting to hear her comfort me out of pity or obligation, and instead pushed her out of the way before leaving abruptly.

I just felt like an idiot.

–

I sat at my kitchen counter and opened the pizza box, tucking in there and then instead of getting a plate. I was tired, upset and wished today was over with.

After seeing Kara with Mike earlier on, I felt embarrassed and couldn't wait for my day to be over with so I could sulk over a box of pizza. I guess I should have seen it coming, since I practically pushed her away and gave her no benefit of the doubt. I deserved it, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt any less.

As I was halfheartedly eating my pizza slice, I heard a knock on the door and groaned inwardly. I really couldn't be arsed with the company.

"Go away," I called out, hoping they'd take the hint.

"Y/N? It's me."

I groaned loudly this time, recognising the voice as Kara's. I paused, glancing at the door, debating whether to tell her to go away. But I realised I'd have to face her eventually, and she was way too stubborn to take my word and leave.

With a heavy sigh, I dropped my pizza slice into the box and wiped my hands on my jeans before going to answer the door. Kara was standing there with a small smile on her lips as I avoided her eyes, cheeks growing warm.

"Hey," she said softly.

I nodded awkwardly. "I– er– hi..." I swallowed hard, saying, "Look, if you're here about earlier today, I'm really sorry, Kara."

"No, you don't need to apologise," she was quick to reply. "It wasn't what you thought, I–"

"You don't need to explain," I cut her off, finally lifting my eyes to meet hers. I didn't want her to explain it. "It's your business. I shouldn't have assumed anything."

Her eyes softened as she clearly had more to say. "Can I come in? Please?"

I would have rather ended the conversation there, but the part of me that missed her deeply was telling me to let her in. Next thing I knew, I was stepping to the side and letting her come in, hoping she couldn't hear the racing heartbeat in my chest.

"Mike isn't just the new guy," she said when I closed the door. "His name is Mon-El. He's an alien."

"Kara–"

"He's an alien and I've been helping him to settle into living on Earth," she cut me off, continuing hurriedly. She held my gaze, not giving me chance to interrupt. "Supergirl has been helping him. That's all it is. That's all it'll ever be."

I pressed my lips together, nodding slightly to show her I understood. Her shoulders relaxed and I felt a bit more at ease now myself. She wasn't moving on. Or at least, not with him.

"I didn't know that because I pushed you away," I admitted, frowning. "I didn't give you a chance... I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologise," she insisted, shaking her head.

I smiled sadly. "I get it could be too late, but–"

"It's not too late," she said quickly, eyes glistening with hope. "I... I was waiting."

I felt butterflies in my stomach as I felt my embarrassment return. "I needed time, that was it." I sighed to myself as I began to pace uncomfortably. "It was silly, really, how I didn't realise the truth. Everybody else knew and I... I should have known."

"Don't say that," she said, and I felt her hand grab my arm reluctantly. I stopped and faced her, seeing her shaking her head. "I didn't mean for you to feel like that. It wasn't your fault, Y/N, it was mine. I should have told you. I wanted to tell you."

I couldn't help but feel betrayed again. "But you didn't."

She let go of my arm and frowned. "It just happened that Winn was the first person I told. And James already knew because of Superman. And then I wanted to tell you next, but being Supergirl was hard at first. It was demanding. And being Kara with somebody who didn't expect anything more was nice. It was selfish, but I had you. And I wanted to tell you after, but I was scared. And once again, I was selfish because I knew I was falling in love with you and I didn't want to scare you away because of this lie."

I swallowed the lump in my throat as she searched my eyes for something.

"It got out of hand and I was in way too deep," she admitted regretfully. "You won't believe me, but I did want to tell you, Y/N. But now you know. And I know you hate me, but I wish you didn't because I am truly sorry I ever hurt you. I never wanted that."

"I don't hate you," I told her, eyes glassy with tears. "I don't think I could hate you even if I tried, Kara."

"I love you," she whispered, a tear slipping from her eye.

I couldn't stop myself as I pulled her in for a hug, squeezing her tight. I had missed her so much and to have her back in my arms was a blessing, even if it hurt me at the same time.

"I don't completely trust you right now," I muttered truthfully, before pulling away and holding her close.

"I understand," she said, nodding and sniffling.

"But I love you, too," I added, knowing that deep down I couldn't stop. "I want to be with you, Kara. You mean too much to me."

She seemed confused as she furrowed her eyebrows. "What does this mean?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I'd like to start again, but go slow. I still care about you and seeing you with Mike– Mon-El– whatever, made me realise that I can't see you being with somebody else."

"I'll earn back your trust," she promised, tucking a strand of her behind my ear. "I never meant to hurt you."

"I know you didn't," I said, grabbing her hand and kissing it gently. "And I know you will."

She smiled through her tears and I felt my heart beating quickly again, glad I had her back. I moved forward for another hug, relaxing into her arms as she squeezed me comfortingly.

We'd get through this. She was still my happy ending, Supergirl or not.

[houseboatisland]

I'm rather curious for your own takes on Thom Thom~✨💙

Edit credit to @/ComradeOpThomas from Twitter, this is my ideal Thomas!

(Season 5 Thomas is the best Thomas, I don’t make the rules)

I started this hoping for it not to become a whole biography, but it just kept pouring out of me, so here's a very, very long post indeed lol

Thomas is NOT an L.B.S.C.R. E2 Class. He’s actually a unique design born to the North Western Railway in its earliest days… and in remarkably sad circumstances.

When the Railway Executive Committee first took over in August 1914, they were repulsed at the state of the Sudrian railways. Here were several argumentative companies operating in isolation from one another, with geriatric engines and stock, and one of them hadn't even run a train or maintained its permanent way since the start of the century. A key agenda item of the R.E.C.'s was a continuous, efficient railway system to quickly move men and materiel to the Island's eastern coast were Ireland to side with Kaiser Bill against John Bull. The existing standard gauge railways would have to be more or less torn up and rebuilt from scratch, and several new miles of track laid in to make for a single fluid network.

This required, among other things, many new engines. Several came over the Channel as and when could be spared by the Mainland, but as it became increasingly clear that the war would not be over "by Christmas," this wasn't an ideal long-term solution. The R.E.C. was especially upset that it had to put so many of its tender engines onto construction trains when their strength could be better used on other work. Two tank engines off the former Wellsworth and Suddery Railway, No. 1 "Short" and No. 2 "Stumpy" were by now nearing fifty years old, and exhausted mechanically.

The R.E.C., out to keep costs down and use resources to the fullest, ordered the N.W.R. to scrap these two engines and use the best parts of each to create one new engine. Measurements were taken, plans were hastily drawn up, and Short and Stumpy were quietly cut up in January 1915. Several fittings were made new for what odds and ends neither engine could contribute a usable part. The resulting new engine was "Thomas," who was put to work fresh off the shop floor.

Thomas at this point became the N.W.R.’s No. 1 quite by accident. He was the first engine to be built at Crovan’s Gate, and the REC misinterpreted this on his builder’s plates as an intention by the N.W.R. TO make him No. 1. So when Thomas gained his number, the R.E.C. and the N.W.R. both assumed this was deliberate by one another. And it was just too much of a hassle and too unimportant to change, so No. 1 he stayed.

As for his name, Thomas is named after Thomas Reginald Payne, the North Western Railway's first Chief Mechanical Engineer. Payne had made Thomas' construction a reality, from drawing up his blueprints to supervising his piecing together. Payne, who was CME from 1914 to his death in 1951, never forgot this connection to "his" engine, and often wanted to be on the shop floor whenever Thomas was in for repairs.

Thomas’ “infancy” was in a word, harsh. He was working around the clock, surrounded by engines who came and went, and did little if any socializing. Foremen were ordering him about at every turn. His first friend ever was the new N.W.R. No. 2, Edward, the former Wellsworth and Suddery Railway’s No. 5 and only tender engine, who knew his old crewmates were chopped up to make Thomas. Thankfully, Edward knew better than to let Thomas in on this, lest he give him some sort of existential crisis, and he made quick work of making himself a mentor to the little engine.

In these conditions, Thomas’ “cheeky” and anti-authoritarian streak took shape. His whole life thus far had been work and taking lumps from his superiors, most of whom were English and not Sudrian. This morphed into a disrespect for big engines, who wanted him to be their errand boy as construction work began to ebb and focus shifted to running trains. Ever the contrarian, Thomas only doubles down on his disrespect for tender engines when he finds out that that’s “the traditional order of things.” Edward is of course exempt from this attitude, but in his tensest moments Thomas can even lose patience with HIM momentarily.

The war finally ends. January 1919 sees the N.W.R. out to make an identity for itself as peacetime takes hold and Parliament quietly rumbles about Grouping or outright Nationalization. Thomas is the first engine to wear "Hatt Blue with Red Stripes," the company's planned standard livery. This isn't unique to him for long, however, and Thomas' new line of work from hereon is Station Pilot for Vicarstown. Needless to say this is upsetting to him. He's not moving up and down the Island like he was when building the railway. He's still rushed off his wheels. He's expected to be answerable to tender engines as he makes up their trains. Most importantly, he's still having as much difficulty as before to make time to make friends. This new job is in every respect everything Thomas could have wanted to avoid, and there's no telling if he'll ever even get out of it. January 1919 is thus where "Wants to See the World" Thomas begins.

Thomas still gets to see Edward regularly, and he is for a pinch joined by two other tank engines shunting at Vicarstown. They're also ex-Wellsworth and Suddery Railway, Nos. 3 and 4 "Edwin" and "Victor." Thomas befriends Victor, who is a friendly old joker, but dislikes Edwin who has become cranky in his old and as a 2-4-0T has a tendency to slip and not be of much help. They leave him too, in 1922, when The Fat Director relocates them to run other branchlines on the Island. So, 1922 onward, we meet Thomas as the sole pilot, thoroughly busy and thoroughly lonely.

This seems more or less canon, but The Fat Director probably sent Thomas to Wellsworth after his runaway with Edward's trucks in anticipation of giving him the Ffarquhar Branch once he was a matured engine. He didn't give Thomas the line just because he rescued James in fine style, that was really what made his mind up.

Thomas looks kindly enough on Henry as a big engine at this time, he and Edward as mentioned aren't necessarily the kinds of "Big Engines" he dislikes. He'll occasionally give him a tease or two, or lose patience with his health, (something he now deeply regrets years later,) but there's no real malice in it. Think of him as the little brother poking fun at his bigger brother for having one arm in a cast, but altogether still feeling sorry for him and accommodating him how he can. Henry for his part appreciates Thomas, but takes his teasing very seriously considering how sensitive and implicating it is to, you know, his whole existence.

My idea of Thomas' relationship with Gordon is heavily inspired by @/mean-scarlet-deceiver's: Thomas is initially awed by Gordon's arrival and finally confident the N.W.R. can survive, but quickly resents him when he shows his true colors as a "big engine" through and through. I wouldn't even call Gordon and Thomas "friendly" until their alliance at Toryreck Mine. From 1923 all the way up to then, depending on when you place it, they... legitimately dislike each other. There's no affection beneath all the ribbing and jibes, they ACTUALLY disliked each other that whole period of time.

I'm still hashing out my headcanon of 98462 and 87546, (just know that those aren't actually their numbers,) but it's safe to say Thomas hates their guts, and '62 and '46 hate his guts in return as a servant willing to speak up for himself.

Thomas and James were a couple from 1924 to 1933, when they broke up amid the Big Engine Strike. I'd really rather reserve this for a post of its own at a later date.

Thomas and Percy are good friends, but I wouldn't go so far as to call them "best friends" like the TVS has so often hammered in. They clearly come to blows whenever the tension's too much. I like to explain that away as a shift in Thomas' character. With him doing more passenger work as Percy and Toby handle the stone trains, and his increasing fame, Thomas begins looking down on Percy, not long after he transferred to Ffarquhar in 1955 in fact. This might also have to do with unresolved feelings between them both. (Hey, remember that little green engine you kissed once just to try it over twenty years ago? He's your roommate now, probably forever. Play nice!)