#I’ve had some epiphanies about why I do some of the things I do and why some things trigger me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

claramelooo · 10 days ago

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CHECKMATE (18/21)

Look, things are going to get really difficult now. Rotten as politics...

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warning: angst!

Pairing: Governor! Agatha Harkness x Fem Reader

Summary: Victory came, but R still has to choose.

Epiphany

noun

1. a sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience.

“I’m here to file a report.”

You said, steady.

That got her attention.

The speaker’s eyes narrowed, suddenly alert. She leaned her hip against the edge of the desk, arms crossed.

“Oh, really? About what?”

You stepped closer, just one step, but it was enough.

“About Tony Stark.”

Rio let out a quiet laugh.

“You’re serious? Look, sweetheart…” she moved toward you, her smile edged with condescension. “I get it. I really get it. You’re young, probably hate capitalists and billionaires. Trust me, I do too,” she added, feigning camaraderie. “But don’t you think this is going a bit too far?”

Your eyes rolled so hard it hurt.

You were so done being reduced to someone’s idea of identity politics.

You held her gaze.

“He’s involved in money laundering, and… he’s connected to Thanos’s murder.”

Rio stilled.

The smirk vanished. For the first time, her eyes sharpened with genuine interest.

“That’s a serious accusation, Miss. Do you have any evidence?”

No, you didn’t.

Truthfully, you barely had access to any real information, but you needed her attention and now you had it.

“Yes.” You lied, flatly.

A bold-faced lie, but you didn’t flinch.

She looked at you differently now. No longer as an idealist, but a potential threat.

“What kind of evidence?”

You took a breath, straightened your spine, eyes fixed on hers. Lying was risky, but backing down wasn’t an option.

“Oh, come on. Stark’s been in power for years. Weird stuff was bound to pop up. Suspicious wire transfers to a company… what was the name again?” You tapped your chin theatrically. “LuxTech. A company that filed bankruptcy in under two years. Names linked to Mr. Harkness, and a series of unusually large transactions around the week of his death.”

You stepped closer, heart pounding in your chest.

“What surprises me is that you don’t already know about it.”

The provocation landed.

Something in Rio shifted. Her ego stung, she visibly bristled.

“Watch your language, girl.”

Silence.

You looked away deliberately, brushing off the warning.

“I’m compiling the files with a colleague who specializes in cybersecurity. I can have everything ready by the end of the week.”

You said it with calculated calm, as if it were already in motion.

Rio slowly moved away from the edge of the desk, circling you now, watching like you were a lit fuse.

“And why are you bringing this to me?”

“Because you have actual power,” you said. “And from what I can tell, you’re the only one Stark hasn’t bought,” you hesitated, then softened slightly. “You’re right. I have strong convictions, but this has to stop. People trust him with their lives while he deceives them. Am I really so wrong to speak up?”

Rio gave a small, crooked smile. Almost… impressed.

“You’ve got guts, I’ll admit that,” she said, walking back behind her desk. “But what do you expect me to do with all this?”

A faint smile curled your lips. You were getting through.

“I want you to start a formal investigation. Bring it to the Attorney General if you have to. Leak it to the press, if necessary.”

Rio leaned on the back of her chair, tongue brushing the corner of her mouth.

“You’re asking me to go after one of the richest men in the state based on data that could get you killed.”

“I’m giving you everything I’ve got,” you said. “Because he’s a threat. Not just to me, but to everyone,” you exhaled thinking in Agatha. “And I won’t let him get away with it.”

Rio stared for a long time, sizing you up.

Then she smiled again, differently this time. It was respect.

“Maybe Harkness chose well after all.”

You said nothing, just looked down at your phone, heart thundering.

Because there were things you’d do for Agatha Harkness.

[...]

The following days blurred into one chaotic stretch of time. Mornings at campaign HQ, only days remained until the election, and you were drowning in polls and progress reports; afternoons at the university, chasing your degree; nights on the phone with Darcy.

You both had grown closer since that day and now, Darcy was all in, digging through hidden state databases, searching for anything. A trail, a spark. Something.

But nothing surfaced.

Stark was clean when it came to Thanos’s death, and that terrified you more than if they’d found a smoking gun.

“Have you considered… maybe he didn’t do it?” Darcy had asked, hesitant.

But you couldn’t entertain the thought, not when you remembered the hollow look in Agatha’s eyes. The humiliation in her voice when she said he had blackmailed her.

That he was winning.

You couldn’t accept that.

You couldn’t let him hurt her and walk free. To threaten her with private photos. To touch her power with his greed. You couldn’t let him soil her victory, or destroy what the two of you had.

So maybe… the truth needed a little help.

“Maybe we make it so he did.” You said, voice rough, barely looking at the webcam.

Darcy made a sharp noise.

“What the hell are you saying? You want to forge evidence?”

You swallowed hard, nerves crawling under your skin.

“What? No! Come on, Darcy! That’s insane! I would never…”

She stared at you through the screen, reading you like a book.

You sucked at lying, always had.

“You know what? It’s late. We should get some sleep.” She said.

You agreed quickly, too quickly.

The call ended.

But you didn’t sleep.

Your pulse thudded in your ears, your palms were damping, just like your heart, racing with pure adrenaline.

You still couldn’t believe what you were about to do.

With trembling fingers, you opened a fiscal report detailing corporate donations linked to the Stark Foundation and several smaller, seemingly legitimate companies.

You copied the file, renamed it. Then you opened it in Adobe Acrobat and began to edit.

Your hands shook.

You replaced the tax ID of one ghost company with another—one you found on a list of defunct businesses. Authentic enough to pass, but obscure enough not to be flagged.

You altered the digital authentication stamp from the Federal Revenue Office, overlaying a distorted version to mimic scanning errors.

Then came the final touch: you inserted a large transfer, dated two days before Thanos’s death. A suspiciously high amount sent to an international security consultancy based in Geneva.

And in the fine print, a reference to Stark as an unofficial shareholder, hidden under a vague “strategic consultancy” clause, signed by a lawyer who, conveniently, had died two years ago.

Perfect.

Plausible.

And completely unethical.

Irrefutable enough to start a process, yet dubious enough that no one would dare dig too deep.

You exported the file under a new name, printed three copies, saved an encrypted version to a flash drive, and sent two copies to Ms. Vidal’s email.

Then… you went to the bathroom and threw up.

[…]

The week flew by after that, and thank God for that. Still, the silence from Rio’s inbox gnawed at you. You kept checking, rereading your email, waiting for anything, but nothing came.

And now, here you were.

Sitting on a campaign office chair with Billy and Sharon beside you, all three holding your breath as the vote count rolled in.

It was funny that any of you were still worried Agatha might not win. With both Banner and Rogers under suspicion, who in their right mind would vote for alleged murderers?

Exactly.

It was almost as if it had all been designed. Like Agatha was the protagonist of every story in that room.

The hours passed in a blur. With every confirmed city, every claimed district, the electoral map turned a deeper, bolder purple.

Harkness purple.

And then, at 5 p.m., a notification flashed across every screen:

AGATHA HARKNESS ELECTED GOVERNOR OF THE STATE OF WASHINGTON.

The office erupted. Screams, claps, champagne, hugs, like everyone had known each other their whole lives.

And Agatha?

She walked moving like slow motion toward the center of the room. Calm, dangerously calm. Dressed in a purple gown that hugged her waist just right.

Everyone watched her like she was magic incarnate. The room fell silent the second she cleared her throat.

“I know you expected something inspiring right now. Tears, gratitude, a thank you to God, to my family, to tradition. But I’m not that kind of woman.” She smiled, a sharp smile. One you knew too well.

“You know me. You know I don’t believe in chance. I don’t think I won this election because the others were arrested. I won it because it was mine.”

Your throat dried.

She said it with such conviction, you realized: Agatha had never doubted the outcome, even for a second.

And that was terrifying.

Terrifyingly arousing.

“But I’m not an idiot,” she continued. “I know power alone doesn’t define me. I know that standing here is also… the result of alliances. Of trust. Of people who stood by me when everything seemed to collapse.”

You held your breath.

“This victory has many names,” she said, looking directly at you, raising her glass. “Thank you, all of you.”

The room burst into applause again, but the sound barely registered over the storm inside your chest. Because then, over the clapping, a new sound sliced through the room like a razor.

“Beautiful. Truly moving, Agatha.”

His voice filled the room. Elegant, smug, and unmistakable.

Tony Stark.

That cologne-ad smile, the flawless dark suit. That suffocating confidence that devoured every room he walked into.

You turned slowly, like you were seeing a ghost. Agatha kept her public smile—still standing tall—but her shoulders stiffened.

He walked up to her and took her champagne glass from her hand like it was his.

“Congratulations, my dear,” he said smoothly. “A well-deserved win.”

You were frozen.

“And the speech? Impeccable as always, but can we speak privately?”

He leaned in too close, his hand sliding across her waist like it had no right to.

Agatha hesitated. Then gave the team a small nod and followed him through a side door.

She didn’t look at you.

And you didn’t think, just followed.

You weaved between startled staff, slipping down a narrow hallway until you found a door left ajar.

Behind it... voices.

You held your breath.

“I warned you from the beginning,” Stark’s voice was low and deliberate. “You should’ve stepped down. Stayed by my side. This isn’t who you are. We had a plan, remember?”

A stifled breath.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Anthony.” Her voice was like steel.

She was holding herself back from slapping him across the face, you could feel it.

“Oh, I disagree.” His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. “The photos I have make me believe I hold quite a bit of power over what you do.”

Your body tensed.

He said it. He fucking said it.

The photos.

Nausea punched through your stomach.

Inside, silence fell. But it wasn’t peace, actually, it was that kind of silence that comes right before the explosion.

“You’re blackmailing me on the day of my victory.” Agatha didn’t ask, she declared. Her voice now a glacial whisper, sharp as broken glass.

“I’m saving you from yourself.”

Their voices were tight and restrained. You could practically feel how close they stood, how thick the air was with old history and jealousy started to gnaw at you like acid.

“Don’t you dare talk like you know me.”

“Why not?” His voice dipped, drunk with intimacy. “You used to let me.”

You swallowed hard, bile rising in your throat.

“That was a long time ago, and it meant nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me, Agatha. Or to yourself. We both know what we could’ve been, if you’d accepted the right role in this story.”

Silence again.

And for one terrible second, you thought she might hesitate.

But then came her answer:

“You’re a dead man.”

She said it low, lethal.

You had to physically stop yourself from bursting through the door. You loved her, and you were here, listening to this.

The man who blackmailed her, provoked her, spoke of a past you didn’t know and maybe didn’t want to.

Retroactive jealousy was ridiculous.

But here you were.

Ridiculous and helplessly in love.

You turned back, walking away, back to the crowded room. People whispered, buzzed with excitement—until finally, Barkley showed up.

“Hey there, sweetheart!” She approached with a dazzling smile. Blue eyes and shoulder-length blonde hair that somehow just worked on her.

In all your madness and obsession with Agatha, you’d barely noticed her.

Maybe you should have.

“Hiya. You heard the news?” You asked, even though you already knew Jennifer had moved on to work for another candidate.

That was her thing. Build the winning strategy, then vanish before the victory party. Jennifer liked the climb, the impossible odds.

That’s what made her a monster.

She gave a mock-humble pout, grabbing one of the forgotten champagne flutes.

“Of course I did. But let’s be honest, darling, this was strawberry cake,” she took a long sip and raised a brow. “Soft, sweet and boring.”

You laughed dry, but honest.

Jennifer Barkley said everything with such cutting cynicism that it looped back around into being… oddly charming.

And you wondered if she knew everything. Worse: had she made it happen?

“And who’s your next candidate?” You asked, trying not to look over your shoulder, trying to focus on the woman right in front of you.

Not on Agatha.

“Bobby Newport.”

You wrinkled your nose before you could help it. Jennifer laughed again.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, darling. His father offered over two hundred and fifty grand for six weeks. That’s non-negotiable. Republican or not.”

“So you do have a price?” You smirked.

“Don’t be naive. Everyone does. The difference is I charge enough to sleep well at night,” she downed more champagne, eyeing you now with a spark of something new. “But you… you still have that little flame of morality. It’s quite annoying.”

Oh, you knew.

Agatha never let you forget.

Jennifer looked you over, less judgmental and more intrigued.

“But I kinda like that.”

“Do you?” You asked, trying to sound indifferent.

Exactly that, trying.

“Sweet girl,” she said, stepping closer until your noses nearly touched. “You could be just as successful as I am. I have a good eye for talent.”

The provocation hovered between you, thick and suspended in the air. You felt your cheeks flush, but you didn’t look away.

Then, the murmurs in the room started rising, forcing you and Jennifer to step back.

The two politicians returned as if nothing had happened. And then...

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Stark called out, grabbing the room’s attention. “If I may…”

Agatha tried to move away. Her posture had gone stiff—cold—like a statue built to withstand shame.

You turned slowly, your chest tightening.

And Tony Stark got down on one knee. He pulled a small velvet box from his inner jacket pocket.

“Agatha Harkness,” he said, voice perfectly projected. “Governor, genius, and woman of my life. Will you make me the most honored man in whole America?”

The room erupted in shocked gasps and breathy whispers. No one had suspected how close those two truly were. Even Jennifer squinted in confusion at the scene.

And you?

You turned your back.

You didn’t even wait for the answer. You walked out, your steps sharp, fists clenched, tears hot on your face.

You didn’t know if it was rage, heartbreak, or the kind of love that bruises, but you knew one thing:

You couldn’t bear to hear her answer.

Because deep down... why would she ever choose you?

[...]

You made it home.

The door slammed behind you, echoing through the tile of the small kitchen. You dropped your bag on the floor, heels clattering awkwardly as you kicked everything in your path.

The noise of the world outside still rang in your ears. Her victory, Stark’s hand at her waist, the goddamn proposal.

Fuck.

You actually thanked God—out loud—that Carol wasn’t home. Maybe she was off on a one-night thing, maybe she had class.

Didn’t matter.

Who cared?

You needed to be alone. Alone, and yet… This felt like a different kind of loneliness.

You undressed slowly, as if peeling off the day along with your clothes. You walked naked into the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the hot water punish you.

The steam rose, and with it, the tears.

You cried in silence.

No sobs, no sound. Just tears tracing hot lines down your face, merging with the water running down your hair.

Alone.

Not because there was no one around, but because the one person you wanted... wasn’t yours.

And maybe never would be.

When you got out of the shower, dressed in an old T-shirt that belonged to your dad and soft cotton shorts, the world felt smaller.

Too quiet.

You dimmed the lights and settled into the couch, surrounded by cushions.

Everything felt so… empty. Maybe you should get a dog.

That’s when you heard the knock. You froze. Your first thought: Carol's back.

But Carol never knocks.

You stood up slowly, bare feet cold against the floor.

You opened the door, and honestly, your face showed nothing when you saw her.

Agatha Harkness.

The newly elected governor of Washington State.

Standing right there.

On your doorstep.

Her hair loose in soft waves, makeup a little faded, her ocean eyes heavy with something you couldn’t quite name.

You froze.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice came out low, but sharp.

“Can I come in?” She asked, restrained.

You hesitated.

“Don’t you have a proposal to celebrate tonight?” The bitterness escaped before you could stop it.

You saw something shift in her face. A muscle in her jaw twitched, but she didn’t reply right away.

You almost slammed the door in her face—childish or not, you didn’t care. But you didn’t, you left it open.

And she stepped inside.

The silence between you was unbearable.

Agatha walked a few steps into the room, eyes scanning the chaos—books, empty Snickers wrappers, your damp towel draped over a chair.

You crossed your arms, trying to hold yourself together.

“You here to pretend nothing happened? Or to tell me that what happened between us can’t happen again?”

“I came because you left without a word,” she finally said. Her voice was... strangely human.

“You let him touch you,” your heart was pounding with bitterness. “You let him kneel in front of you, and you said nothing.”

“I also didn’t say yes,” she spun around to face you. “I didn’t say yes. I didn’t laugh. I didn’t take the ring, I didn’t kiss that bastard. But you… you're the one who ran.”

It felt like a punch to the gut.

Your eyes welled up and your mouth dried. You didn’t want explanations. You just fucking wanted to spill the rage you’d been swallowing by a pent-up passion.

“Fuck you, Agatha!” you spat. “I can’t stand there watching him touch you and look at you like that.”

Your chest rose and fell unevenly, a fire burning under your skin. It wasn’t just jealousy, it was pain—raw, pulsing and deep in your bones.

The governor stood frozen for a second, as if your outburst had physically hit her.

She stepped forward, brows furrowed.

“You said you were mine,” her voice was low, gravelly, laced with a quiet fury. “You knelt for me, begged me for this, asked me to take control. You said you were mine,” she came closer until your faces were inches apart. “And now you’re acting like you get to choose when to obey your owner?”

Shit.

You hated how naturally she took the reins. How easily she wore power like a second skin.

“I am yours, your stupid bitch!” you shouted, stepping back, fists clenched, your voice cracking. “That’s the fucking problem, Agatha. I am entirely yours. Every inch of me, every goddamn thought; every lie I told, every rash move I made… every single fucking step I took was just to be near you.”

Now, you stepped toward her, jabbing a finger into her chest.

“But you? You’re not mine. You never were. You disappear, you hide things., and I... I’ve been giving myself to you, over and over, since in the first moment.”

Agatha stepped back, face unreadable.

“Enough.”

The room felt packed with emotion. Too much for even her to handle.

“Oh, what’s wrong? The governor can’t handle the truth?” You laughed, bitter and sharp.

“I said that’s enough.” She tried again, but you didn’t care anymore.

“I don’t give a fuck,” bingo, girl! “You want to control me,” your voice cracked but stayed firm, “you want me to belong to you, but you refuse to belong to me. You want me submissive, obedient, devoted, but you never give yourself in return.”

Agatha opened her mouth, but no words came.

You were gone, driven by a storm of pain and passion, and she took a step back as if it physically hit her.

“You made me love you!” You cried, breath ragged, your chest full of courage and heartbreak. The confession crashed into her like thunder, and the great Agatha Harkness… actually teared up. “And now…I’m sorry, but I can’t unlove you, Agatha.”

“Stop it!” Her voice was sharp, but shaky. “You’re being... dramatic. This isn’t… This is just another emotional lapse.”

Her mouth said that. But her eyes… her eyes were waterfalls—not oceans or storms—just silent, steady waterfalls.

And God, you expected her to reject your feelings, but not like this. Your chest ached, and your throat was a knot of barbed wire.

You were the fool. Hopelessly blind and helplessly in love.

You stared at her, furious, heart about to burst. “Are you calling me weak for loving you?”

“No,” she ran her hands through her hair, pacing like a caged animal. “Because you don’t love me.... You just... don’t.”

It was painfully ironic how desperate she was to convince both of you of that. She pointed at the space between you, as if an invisible contract existed there.

“This should’ve been just another distraction, and now it’s… you’re demanding things I can’t—”

Her ocean eyes—so commanding—now looked back at you with a flicker of panic. Yet still… she stood tall.

“You said I was yours,” you spat, stepping forward. “You said it in my ear while you were inside me. Hard, with confidence. You took control of my life, Agatha. Made me utterly obsessed with you, and now… you’re shocked by the fallout?”

“Because you started wanting me!” She shot back, finally exasperated. “You desired me! You teased me! You knelt and begged me for this with everything you’ve got, and now you blame me for giving you exactly what you asked for?!”

Your chest collapsed with the impact.

“I am yours,” you said again. “But you’re not mine and that tears me apart.”

Agatha had no immediate reply. The silence between you stretched taut, like a wire about to snap. She inhaled deeply. Once. Twice. Eyes red, yet with tears held at bay.

She was too proud to cry.

“I don’t let myself belong to anyone,” she said finally. “Because once you belong, you become vulnerable, and I won’t—” she swallowed hard. “I refuse to be vulnerable until I turn to dust.”

You took another step forward, swallowing your own pride.

“Then turn to dust with me,” you whispered, tired eyes locked on hers. “Be brave with me. Just once.”

She closed her eyes, and in that moment, just a second, the most powerful woman you’d ever met… truly wavered.

The mask cracked.

But before you could reach her heart, she lifted her chin and spoke:

“I choose to stay whole. I have fought too hard to get where I am.”

And that was it.

You exhaled every drop of air, making room for something new.

“Leave.”

“What?”

Agatha’s posture stiffened.

“Get out, Agatha. I am not a project. I am not a distraction. I am a person.”

Her jaw tightened. She shifted her weight onto her right leg, maybe ready to fight, or maybe not.

Your reply came as she turned and walked out your door without another word.

So fast it should’ve been painless—like ripping off a bandage—but it wasn't.

[...]

It was 3:30 a.m. —a cursed hour to many, but you were never superstitious.

Maybe you should start.

Your eyes still burned and puffed from crying yourself raw over Harkness. Sleep felt like a luxury that still hadn’t come, and all that remained was the memory of her rigid face.

You wanted to die.

Your phone buzzed you back to reality. Carol’s name flashed, and you sat up, exhausted.

It was true, Carol still hadn’t come home.

You picked up.

“Bear…” her voice trembled. “I’m sorry. Please… help me…”

You were already out of bed, rifling through your closet for pants, the phone pressed to your left ear.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m at the precinct. I need help, or they’re going to arrest me.”

What the hell was happening?

Carol was being arrested?

Half an hour later, there you were. Rushing through the glass doors of the police station, heart pounding. A sleeping Seattle, unaware you were living your worst nightmare.

You briefly wondered when Freddy Krueger would show up.

After you identified yourself, an officer led you to a small waiting room. Minutes later, Natasha arrived, looking serious, coffee slimmed pupils and all.

“She’s being investigated for fraud and money laundering, and it’s directly connected to Anthony Stark.” She said.

Your blink was loud.

“What? But… she was just an intern. You must have the wrong person.”

Of course, it's always the interns’ fault.

“I wish that were so, but we found files on her laptop. Direct remote access to one of Stark’s companies.”

Your throat clenched. “I… I want to see her.”

[...]

Carol was curled up in one of the holding cell chairs—eyes red, with fear distorting her face.

You barely recognized her.

She lifted her head when she saw you. A sob escaped.

“Bear…”

“Carol. What the hell is going on? Is it true?” Your voice came out lower—and more frantic—than you intended.

She bit her lip as though to choke back more tears.

“No. It’s not like that. I swear… He… he just asked me to take some photos, just that.”

Your mind went into flashback: Agatha’s pained face, Stark’s blackmail, his touch…

“What… kind of photos, Carol?” Your voice rose an octave.

She sobbed harder, shaking.

“I’m sorry. I… I didn’t know how he would use them. He said it was to protect his campaign. That it would help if… if things got out of control.”

Oh my god.

You felt sick.

“So you… you took the photos,” your voice choked on the realization. “And you gave them to him.”

“I didn’t know!” She screamed, desperate. “He said if I helped, I’d get an internship at Fox… Bear, it was my dream, you have to understand—”

“Shut.the.fuck.up!” You demanded with your jaw tense. “You were my friend. How could you?”

“I am still!” She cried.

The epiphany ran through you like electricity—literally making you tremble.

“No. You always used me, always knew how I felt. Always rejected me with indifference. And I let you use me and discard me because maybe, just maybe, you’d come to love me.”

Waking up from the lie had never been so painful. And so liberating. You walked out of that station, leaving behind everything Carol had ever meant. You were free. And now? She would pay for the betrayal.

But as you exited the cell block, you came face to face with Natasha—frowning at a bald, well-dressed man arguing with her.

“Isn’t the first person police should suspect in these cases the wife? I just don’t understand why...” he said.

You frowned and it felt like slow motion when your eyes landed on Anthony Stark being led away by a cop.

Handcuffed.

His once-perfect coif now tousled. His designer suit was replaced with a rumpled white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar.

The bald man—Stark’s lawyer you guessed—voice booming like distant thunder. Natasha didn’t respond; not while your eyes stayed locked on them.

Your heart pounded.

Agatha didn’t do this.

She didn’t.

She couldn’t have.

You knew Agatha. Her rigid rules and the way she controlled everything; her methodical, unyielding and almost moralistic way, even behind that sharp arrogance.

But anyway... you've already lied for her.

Forged.

Manipulated.

And what if all of this was part of something bigger?

You leaned against the glass wall of a commercial building. Tears were already burning in your eyes, but they didn’t fall. It was as if even they were afraid to face what would come next, until the phone in your pocket vibrated.

Black screen.

No caller ID.

Just one message.

“I’m sending a car. Get in and come to me.”

~*~

Who would have thought that Carol was the one who took the photos huh? Stark finally arrested! Thanks for this R! About falsifying evidence… well, we've all done crazy things for women. We can't judge LMAO

Tag List <3

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116 notes · View notes

suhkusa · 10 months ago

Text

Osamu feels the text before he actually gets the chance to read it.

“What the fuck—” there’s a sudden hand on his shoulder.

“‘Samu, what the fuck did you do?”

Osamu is taken aback, but retorts. If anyone asks, Atsumu started it.

“What the fuck do you mean?” One of Osamu’s hands grabs his brother's wrist, trying to pull his grip off.

Atsumu’s eyes are glaring into his own, “You know what you did,”

“If this is about Y/N, you had your chance and you fucked it up,”

Atsumu is pushing his twin into a nearby wall when he says, “That tweet was a lie, I was planning on fixing things with her. Why did you get in the way?”

“I got in the way? It wasn’t just the tweet, Atsumu. You know damn well. You started this with your stupid— truce,” Osamu’s pushing back. But his brother has always been the more athletic one.

“What truce?” a voice cuts through, and it’s yours.

The two of them freeze, still in their awkward position.

You’re stepping closer before you’re nudging Atsumu off Osamu. Osamu looked at his twin, and his facial expression definitely changed.

Atsumu really hasn’t seen you in a while, huh?

“What truce?” you repeat, but you sound more desperate, more demanding.

“It- It’s-” Atsumu begins to try to explain it, but it’s like the words don’t want to come out.

“Seriously? Am I just like a game to the two of you?” your voice is getting loud, but it’s straining. Like you’re hurt?

“I’m tired of this whiplash that both of you give me. You want me and then you don’t. You’re my friend and then you’re not. Can the two of you make up your mind?”

Osamu’s heart is shattering in his own chest. He never realized the weight of his actions until now. And as he glances at Atsumu beside him, he can tell he’s going through the same epiphany.

“I’ve tried, I really tried. You guys distanced yourselves from me after high school and for what? Some quick fucks and attention from girls?”

“You don’t know shit, Y/N,” Atsumu is the first one out of the two to finally speak.

“What? What could I possibly not know?”

“That we both fucking like you!”

Osamu feels his own eyes widen along with yours. The shocked reaction doesn’t stop his brother.

“We’ve both liked you for god who knows how long, and we forced ourselves to try and stop,” he looks to Osamu, “but we both know how that went,”

“Stop criticizing me— and ‘Samu, for that matter, when you don’t know how it feels to give up someone you love for someone else that you love,”

Osamu is still silent. He feels like he should say something, but he doesn’t. He can’t. His twin brother has said enough.

And in the end, Osamu still never got to confess.

Everything is silent. Atsumu is angry, you’re sad. Osamu doesn’t know what he is. Maybe conflicted?

It feels like everything just got way more complicated than it needed to be. Atsumu’s face drops before he runs a hand over his face and through his hair. He sighs before walking off. Osamu doesn’t know where Atsumu’s going. He doesn’t really care either.

His eyes then meet yours. Yours are glossed over. Like you want to cry, but you hold it back. He wants to reach out to you.

But Osamu Miya is a coward. And he doesn’t say a word as you stalk off in the opposite direction.

BOTH AIN’T SH!T — EPIPHANY

PREV | MASTERLIST

CHOOSE YOUR ROUTE. ATSUMU | OSAMU

NOTES.

surprise!!! you get to choose your twin lol

congrats on finishing main story!

#haikyuu x reader #atsumu x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu smau #hq smau #hq angst #atsumu smau #osamu smau #atsumu miya x reader #osamu miya x reader #raeworks

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curtis-brothers-hug · 2 months ago

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Darry Curtis is not an abuser. He’s just not. That’s not who the character is, that’s not what the story is, and if you don’t understand that, then sorry but you don’t understand the story.

I’m sorry if you had an abusive parent, but that has nothing to do with a fictional character who was created by the author to serve a specific narrative purpose that isn’t that one. My defense of a literary character within the context of the story has nothing to do with defending real life abuse, which is a thing I can’t believe I have to say on tumblr dot com in twenty-fucking-twenty-five.

You choosing to project your personal experiences onto a fictional character is not my problem - it’s not even the author’s problem for that matter - and I am not obligated to curate my blog to cater to your emotional baggage. That’s another thing I shouldn’t have to say on tumblr in 2025. And isn’t it funny how the same people who always say that become furious when others apply that rule to them.

Media has no shortage of stories with abusive guardians/parental figures if you want that kind of catharsis and validation from fiction. Seriously there are so many, it’s almost harder to find media without it. Why would you project that onto the one story where one of the most major arcs is the protagonist’s epiphany that his older brother and guardian actually does love him? I’m sorry if a story about brothers healing and learning to recognize each other’s love and learning to show that love, makes you so mad. But you’re mad at how the story is written, not at me for pointing it out. Might I suggest finding media that doesn’t make you mad? Might I suggest not deliberately seeking out blogs just to hate-read them?

If you hate the idea of the Curtis brothers showing love and affection to each other, why would you even click on a post with my username?? If you hate Darry, why would you look at a blog that has “Darry Curtis is my favorite” in the intro? What are you even doing here?? If I saw a blog with the url I-hate-cherry-valance-because-I’m-a-misogynist, I would simply not engage. 🤷‍♀️

Oh, and another thing I shouldn’t have to say on tumblr in the year 5785: I can block whoever the fuck I want. For any reason, or for no reason. You know how you can do that? Other people can too. Infuriating, I know. For example, I’ve blocked everyone who I know would throw a tantrum at this post, and everyone who has thrown a tantrum when I’ve said “non-Jews cannot speak over Jews the same way white people can’t speak over poc.” So they’ll never see it. And if they do, it means they would have had to do some serious digging, which means I live rent free in their head. So for me it’s a win-win.

I indulged this nonsense far longer than I should have. I’m sorry I wasted even a moment of my one and only life on this earth doing so.

Stay gold, motherfuckers

#fandom discourse #fandom drama #fandom nonsense #the outsiders #darry curtis #the outsiders book #the outsiders se hinton #the outsiders movie #the outsiders 1983 #the curtis brothers #“I urge you to think about how this post came across”#bitch you first #I will if you will

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andreablog2 · 3 months ago

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I had such an epiphany last night that we are living at such a nexus point between civilization and what the next evolution from that is. Everything happening right now is going to be in religious texts 3000 years from now. It was such an overwhelming and scary thought but it gave me a lot of relief and put relief to a lot of questions I’ve always had. This also means America will become like a biblical land strife with war and conflict very soon and its relevance will surpass what we ever thought. I really do believe in my heart that America was designed to sort of be the Jerusalem of the new world and that is mostly …for the taking, in that regard.The thing that I don’t get about Israel is that …if it’s so holy why do you even want to live there? I do believe the levant in general is a deeply…seminal region like in terms of it being this cradle for the pillars of contemporary society enforced upon the world.. Like fundamentally, the levant is where this certain model for “civilization” was created, Israel is where much of that was organized, the same way America organizes the new world….…so depending on how you perceive the modern world look at it, it could be a deeply flawed/haunted place. To put it simply, I’d say most people’s general interpretations of society would in fact lead to a logical conclusion that nobody can claim ownership or preferred access to Jerusalem. Whether if that’s because it’s haunted or because it’s too holy or because of some other third thing. I believe in the sovereignty of the Palestinians and I understand the pilgrimage aspect to it but I also think given the predicament of what civilization has currently become, it will always be the host of all all horrors ancient and contemporary. It seems like a place that should be put to rest, given space and left alone. Especially given how palpable the new leaf humanity is turning is, like the gradual collapse of old civilization and reorganization of a new, algorithmic one is evidently upon us.. I think we underestimate the implications the internet and ai and how it relates to history. Whatever cradle for civilization the levant was, will pale in comparison to what is cooking right now honestly. So why even bother dedicating your life to this lost cause? That era of organization of humanity shouldn’t be forgotten but it’s also not one to be revered. There are bigger spiritual battles to be fought currently. But perhaps they are dueling this destiny to erase all relics of humanities first round will be destroyed as the new era rears its head. I don’t even believe in god or anything but I think people 3000 years from now will of think …some people currently alive as like deities just due to the ways which they will absolve humanity from corruption with everything going on in tech. Which makes today a very exciting time to be a virtuous person. Especially because I think everyone is so vapid and cynical now, just due to generations of unfairness. Having a messiah complex seems increasingly rare. I want to meet more people like Luigi Mangione in my lifetime.

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anotherbananasong · 6 months ago

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ugh earth being able to hit the nail on the head that causes alpha to pull away from his family ;;

did earth know how much it'd hurt alpha, and do it on purpose to hurt him the way he's hurt earth(and air), or did he not know and just got insanely good aim to hit alpha where it hurts?? Does he even know HIS words are what caused it?? Surely as a Fellow Dad, he'd have some form of regret from saying it. Not for Alpha. But for Charon, who almost loses his dad bc of it.

I think Earth was conscious of how hurtful his words were; but it’s Alpha, and he doesn’t care what Alpha thinks or feels. That bridge has long since burned.

I ended up spending more time than I should, but I figured with the recent confusion, I’d break down the timeline of events.

Under a readmore because it’s loooooong as shit..

Without revealing too much, @bloodfin had a lovely little blurb that I definitely agree with; Charon wasn’t summoned. Not intentionally, at least. And when Alpha stepped up to the plate, he was already in love with the kit.

He was excited to be a father, especially if it meant he had Dew there with him. There was about a four-day period where the two (now three) of them hid out in their room, just enjoying this new life they were going to have. Charon didn’t leave Alpha’s arms the whole time.

But then, it was time to meet Astra. And Earth is less than thrilled (he doesn’t want his daughter near that asshole).

Earth says he feels sorry for the kit; Alpha’s ruined his life just by being his father. Air, of course, is the only that knows just how low Alpha got, the nights he had to spend with him just making sure Alpha would make it through to the morning instead of giving in to his misery. Though Air is quick to chastise Earth, the damage is done. A perfect example of how you shouldn’t say something hurtful cause you have no idea what someone is going through, or has been through. And, in Alpha’s mind, Earth is right: how could Alpha have possibly thought he’d be a good father?

So he distances. He can’t ruin this kit’s life with his horrid existence. Charon needs a good father, not someone as worthless and cruel as he is. Charon doesn’t understand why the distancing is happening, and neither does Dew. What changed, that made Alpha not love them anymore? What did he do wrong?

After almost a week, Alpha decides he can’t do this. Dew will find someone better to raise their kit. He’s going to ask to be returned to the Pits; Dew and Charon deserve someone better.

Like I’ve said, when Alpha is about to walk, it’s Charon’s cry that stops him.

While he’s lying with Dew and Charon in his arms, that’s when he decides he can’t hide behind “they deserve better” anymore and actually be what he thinks they deserve. He had to come a looooong long way, but that moment made him realize he had more to offer. His kit and his mate love him, and he loves them. Earth can say and think how he feels; Alpha knows he loves these two fire ghouls, and from here on out he will be exactly what he wants to be to make sure they know how much he loves them.

Alpha makes good on his promise that Charon will never cry because of him again. He’s going to protect him as fiercely as he protects Dew.

Sorry, this was long and sloppy… but I figured I’d throw the timeline out there (I forget people don’t know the things @ashthewaterghoul and I talk about and how much lore I haven’t shared…. eh heh). Yes, Alpha’s insecurities and fear pushed him away from Charon for a moment, but he doesn’t stay there. He doesn’t do that to Charon (or Dew) again. I just tend to bounce around when I draw for the “domestic Charon” tag because I bounce all over the place to begin with. Sorry to those that thought it meant that Alpha bounces around between caring for/neglecting Charon… Alpha only pushed him away once; after he had his epiphany, he never shuts Charon out again. He decides to be the father he wants to be to Charon.

#the band ghost #ghost #ghost fanart #the band ghost fanart #nameless ghouls #alpha ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #air ghoul #earth ghoul #era ii ghouls #era 2 ghouls #domestic charon

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mapsthewanderer · 12 days ago

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Maps rambles - LADS x Bridgerton

I can’t rewatch ANYTHING after getting into LADS. Sunday night was supposed to be chill (after yet another horsefly attack this is my forth?!? fml) BUT! I am now obviously deep—deeeeep—in my LADS x Bridgerton AU era and I can’t get out. A spiraling need to write these boiiissss in waistcoats, saying unhinged things in ballrooms, and making me feel like I’m about to swoon straight into a fountain.

FIRST OF ALL: Marquess Sylus. WHY. He owns half the Crown’s cursed artifacts and shows up at secret auctions bidding on haunted objects like, “yes, I’ll take the demon mirror and also your virtue.” Catches you eavesdropping and goes “… careful, milady. Some secrets bite,” like he’s the secret, like he’s the bite. I need him banned from these auctions asap (or the name of his cologne). Sylus sips absinthe, reads scandal sheets, makes grown men cry at cards. Says he’ll read his journal for you if you beg. You ask what’s in it. He just raises a brow and says “milady… if you’re that curious… crawl into my lap and I’ll read it aloud.” Every word is filthier than the last. Every page ends with your name.

Admiral Caleb of her/his majesty’s royal navy CAN CHOKE (respectfully). FENCING AT A GARDEN PARTY. Looks hot obviously. You accidentally interrupt and he scolds you for “fencing proximity etiquette” or whatever regency nonsense. You argue. He smirks. Later he finds you, says “you always this mouthy, or just for me?” You tell him to get bent. He tells you to say it slower. You blackout. From rage. From lust. WHO’S TO SAY. Says he needs to show you a “tactical vantage point.” It’s an ivy-covered tower. You’re gone an hour. Come back flushed. Hair a mess. Reputation: obliterated. Caleb? Smirks. “Thorough demonstration.” WHERE. WAS. YOUR. CHAPERONE.

THEN THERE’S DUKE RAFAYEL. This man is at a ball sketching instead of mingling. In a corner. Muttering about someone’s nose being “criminally interesting.” You step too close. He looks up, grins and purrrrrs, “don’t move.” Then a filthy lil wink. “My lady.” Like it’s a joke. And next thing you know you’re immortalized on canvas and he’s titled it Epiphany and now society is whispering. You’re not whispering. You’re SCREAMING. He makes it up to you by complimenting your soul mid-orgasm. And yea. Forgot to say that: He’s said to have had an affair with the former queen while painting her portrait. Six months in her private solar. Came out every night looking wrecked. He won’t talk about it. Drrrrama

Prince Xavier doesn’t arrive. HE DESCENDS FROM HEAVEN IN TIGHT BREECHES. You lose control of your horse—ofc you do—and just before you eat gravel, he’s there. Steadies the reins. “My lady! Please—Easy. I’ve got you.” My lord or should I say YOUR HIGHNESS? I AM ALREADY IN PIECES. Helps you down, says “ride with me,” like it’s foreplay. You do. Later someone goes “you know that’s the Prince, right?” and you just melt into a hedge. LORD SAVE ME. I’M ALREADY GONE. BURY ME IN THE FOREST WHERE HE RIDES. Prince Xav will teach you how to fence and ride… (his d. what who said that)

Aaaaaaa lastly, my personal favorite: Viscount AND doctor Zayne. A DOCTOR. A VISCOUNT. HOW DID HE BECOME A DOCTOR?! No one knows WHY but its SCANDALOUS. This man BETRAYED the good society by getting a JOB. A job, darling. As in work. With his hands. On common people. Ewww. Anyway: You faint from corset oppression, your fourth dance and general societal bullshit, and this man catches you like it’s his calling. Growls “I don’t usually play nursemaid” while kneeling with ice and water and ABSOLUTE smolder. He mutters something about fashion being murder and diagnoses you with terminal yearning. Yes. Terminal. Zayne checks your breast “for science” under a lantern-lit bench. Hand warm. Eyes serious. Someone sees. Scandal explodes. Worth it. BUT AGAIN: WHERE WAS YOUR CHAPERONE?!?! (Oh right. You didn’t need one. Because Zayne was a trusted family friend. Deeply respected. Personally vouched for by your now-belated great-granduncle. Who clearly had no idea he was leaving you alone with six feet of repressed lust)

Uuurhhhhvhhh NEED TO WRITE A SLOW BURN THAT ENDS IN A GAZEBO KISS. AND THEN ANOTHER WHERE THEY ALL PINE IN THE RAIN. URRHHHH I don’t have the brain capacity for this whyyyyy am I like this):

#love and deepspace #maps rambles #lads x bridgerton

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nyxcreate · 8 months ago

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Personal Epiphany

I had a realization lately that I’ve been focusing more on my unconscious manifestations, decisions, feelings than my conscious ones. By unconscious manifestation I mean, I’m not the one in control- but some unknown thing/universe/God is doing the work. That’s why i’ve been feeling out of control & spiraling. Good things would happen yet I was constantly frightened something would go wrong.

I realized why. I kept ignoring MY voice and listened to everything else. I would give in to the voice of reason and to everything else except for myself. Who manifests? I do. Who creates? I do. My desires are for me to claim boldly. The bible says that your word is gospel. And it is. CLAIM YOUR desires and fuck everything else that says you don’t have it. Neville didn’t care about his doubts and you shouldn’t either. :)

#law of assumption #manifesting #neville goddard #loablr #manifesation #edward art #loa tumblr #loa #loassumption #loassblog

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cherishedproperty · 10 months ago

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A Submissive Origin Story

Most of the time when people ask what made me submissive, I shrug and say it’s just who I am. I don’t believe that submission inherently comes from somewhere; sometimes it’s just who we are.

But lately I’ve been working through a lot, trying to get to a mentally healthier version of myself. I’ve been thinking about the high expectations placed on me as a child and the stressful environment around me. My dad in particular was emotionally unpredictable. He could come home in a great mood, then lecture us for an hour over some small turn of phrase he didn’t like. And as the eldest daughter (yes yes, I fulfill ALL the stereotypes), he was particularly hard on me. I remember in 2nd grade, I brought home a spelling test and was proud that I got a 99%. My dad lectured me for more than half an hour about how I can do better. This is one example of many. A few years ago, my dad told me, “I never had to spank you or anything. I learned early on with you that all I had to do was make you feel like a disappointment. That always worked. And look how successful you are now.” His intentional parenting philosophy was to cause me psychological pain. Thanks, Dad.

And listen, I know it’s all fucked up. I know he was wrong to do all that. That’s why I parent very differently, and why I chose people to coparent with me who would parent differently. But it did shape me. It still does. All of this made me a person who can read people really well and take the perspectives of others. I know what people want and how to cater to their feelings, because I had to. It made me a more effective communicator because I always needed to choose my words carefully before I opened my mouth. It made me an overachiever—yes, very successful, but also someone who feels I have to work twice as hard as a normal person to have a chance at being good enough. Someone who thinks giving 100% means giving until I legitimately can’t anymore. Someone who needs clarity and validation, because I starved for it with him.

Lately I’ve been processing all this and also working through a present day set of issues with my dad. So all of this has been very much on the surface.

Then a few weeks ago, I was getting ready for bed one night, and it was very clear Monsieur wanted sex. Had been thinking about sex all day. Had the toys all laid out. And my brain was just…not there. But I didn’t say no. Didn’t even tell him where my head was at. And unsurprisingly, things didn’t go well for either of us. I was thinking about it after, and I had this epiphany.

I didn’t say no because some part of me deep down believes that if I say no, he won’t love me anymore.

In my conscious mind, I don’t believe that at all. Monsieur is one of the most unconditionally loving people I’ve ever been with. But what I realized is, no matter how many good things I do as a partner, I feel like all of that gets washed away by one wrong step. Because that’s what has happened in the past. Perfection is the minimum standard.

It got me thinking that maybe this is why I find such comfort in a D/s relationship. I know exactly what the parameters are and what it looks like to be a good partner. The rules and expectations are explicit, and the feedback is clear. Do good girl things, get good girl head pats. Basically, I know exactly what it takes to get an A+ in my relationship, which is both normal to want and possible to achieve.

It also made me wonder if this is part of why I haven’t been feeling as submissive lately. I have a partner who truly sees me—all of me—and accepts me. He loves me not in spite of my quirks, but because of them. And every time I get down on myself because I didn’t do XYZ and I don’t feel good enough, he tells me what a wonderful partner I am and recounts all the good stuff I bring to his life. Clarity and validation. Unconditional love. And maybe it’s because I’m so confident in his love that I can finally stop forcing myself to push through when it’s not good for me.

There have certainly been times in the past when I have pushed myself to submit to a Dominant when it wasn’t good or comfortable for me. I prided myself on being able to give even when I had nothing left. And I often got the good girl pats and validation, which made it all feel worth it. But the validation didn’t replenish me; it just made being empty feel a little less bad.

I don’t say all of this to make D/s seem dysfunctional or inherently bad in some way. I know many people in healthy D/s relationships. And I don’t actually think that my submission is just a product of all this insecurity and need for validation; I’ve had submissive feelings for as long as I can remember.

But I do think my past has shaped the kinds of D/s I pursue and how I conduct myself in those dynamics. For example, it shapes my difficulty safewording because I don’t want to be a disappointment. Even though my partner has done nothing but praise me when I safeword. Even though I’ve seen the negative consequences of my failure to safeword when I should have.

So here’s where I’m at with all of this: I need to understand where my submission comes from a dysfunctional place so I can move forward to build a healthy, soul-nourishing dynamic with my partner. I’m not sure what it looks like yet, but I do believe it’s possible.

#personal

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kickbutts-singsongs · 4 months ago

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I’ve had some thoughts about Izuku and his actions in the post-canon chapter that I haven’t known how to voice until this very moment so uh I just wanted to say that I actually saw myself in him and his decisions and here’s why:

(warning: manga spoilers and minor traumadumping)

I just recently turned 20 years old and I’ve been noticing that life feels a whole lot clearer now that I’m out of my crazy house (for the most part) and attending college, but I didn’t realize just how murky and foggy everything had felt up until now.

Like seriously looking back on it, I felt like my head was underwater and I was in a fishtank watching everyone pass me by. Some people would come up to the glass and reach out, but I didn’t really reach back bc I just assumed that since there was glass I wouldn’t be able to truly connect. Instead I kind of acted the best and brightest that I could, almost like I was performing tricks for them, in the hopes that they’d at least stick around, but I didn’t think I’d be anything more than a passing interest to them. But that was okay because I liked seeing the people and it was enough for me, I’d take what I could get.

Also some context: I was homeschooled as a kid and was a pretty isolated child whose only real connection to anyone was with her younger sister (which may or may not have been an unhealthy relationship) so when I finally attended high school, I went through those years thinking that everyone who ever met me wouldn’t really like me or want to stay connected bc if my own lil sis didn’t then who would? And though I did make friends, and they def reached out and touched the glass, I felt like I was this intangible thing that they would soon move on from and forget, once again leaving me alone in the water

Last year, someone came up to my tank and punched straight through the glass

And holy fuckin smokes everything changed

I have this dear friend that I’ve known for quite a long time (6 years now), but I never in a million years would’ve guessed that I had any real impact on her bc she was so well-liked and was surrounded by so many great people. I was just me.

But one night, she told me that I was her best friend.

Did I cry? Uh huh big time

But also?? My entire worldview changed????

Cuz WHAT DO YOU MEAN IM SPECIAL ENOUGH TO YOU FOR YOU TO DECLARE THAT OUT OF EVERYONE YOU KNOW, I AM YOUR BEST FRIEND

Basically, since then I have never felt more alive, and now I’ve decided that my days of being a wallflower to everyone I know and love are fuckin OVER

IM BEING PRESENT AND ATTENTIVE AND INSERTING MYSELF INTO PEOPLES LIVES BC THEY WANT ME IN THEM BITCHESSSSSS

“Wow, Song, congrats on the epiphany? I guess? What does that have to do with Izuku??”

Great question my friend

In my humble and lightly biased opinion, Izuku grew up without a bunch of self-worth and didn’t think very highly of himself. He also didn’t grow up with very many (healthy) friendships, and when he finally attended UA, he got his first dose of seeing people actually reaching out to him

But I think he was stuck in a daze of “Wow they really wanna be my friend? That’s crazy cuz they’re so cool and I’m just. Me.” <- similar to how I acted in hs.

And after all the ✨traumatizing shit✨ he went thru up until the end of the series, I think it’d be understandable if his life felt a bit foggy and murky, like he was existing but not truly living (esp if he never got a therapist or smth, but I sincerely hope he did) and he didn’t feel like he had much of an impact on the lives of his friends in hs other than his heroics (esp after he lost his quirk)

So my guess is that he just coexisted with everyone, counted his blessings, and then let everyone go after they graduated. It wouldn’t surprise me if the only reason he and Katsuki are as comfortable as they are in the epilogue is bc Katsuki was the one making efforts to reach out to Izuku for the past eight years, but again that’s my projections ashajkajaka

Anyways SO when it comes to the point where Katsuki’s driving and tells Izuku “if you treat everyone like they’re special to you, then no one actually is” I was shook to my core because that’s how I’d been living my life (and I still was at that point) so when I saw a lot of people criticizing Izuku for his seemingly uncaring behavior in rejecting Katsuki’s vague agency proposal, I couldn’t help but feel empathy for my boy bc I prob would’ve said and done the exact same thing. I don’t think I would’ve understood the importance of such an ask, or the impact I would’ve had if I’d said no.

And further on, when Izuku looks at Uraraka, someone who was a dear friend of his in high school, and notices that they never talk anymore and grew apart (partially bc he let that happen), he hears Katsuki’s words in his head and realizes that he’s right, and that Uraraka is someone that is special to him, actually special to him, and that he wants to rebuild that connection and put work in to keep in touch.

But I don’t think that means that that’s the end.

I think Uraraka is just the beginning.

My theory (my hope) is that he’ll start to look around at the people in his life (or currently out of his life) and allow himself to actually be in their lives again, to purposefully insert himself back in. To reach out, to connect. He’ll start being more aware of how his life actually impacts others, and how his life has meaning outside of doing things just to help people.

(And maybe he’ll re-evaluate how much he actually cares about a certain someone and notice how much effort they actually put into their relationship and wonder if they’re really just a friend to him but that’s my shipper heart alskllaksk)

Anyways uh I guess I had been neglecting my ‘thinking about Izuku’ duties for a sec so now I’ve just word-vomited a small essay that’s probably mildly incomprehensible but the point is that I care and maybe someone else will too so if u got this far thanks for reading 🫡

#bnha #mha #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #midoriya izuku #midoriya my boy #also bc I wanna be able to find this again and it’s mildly relevant >#bakudeku #bkdk #I’ve been wanting to write a fic based on this premise but #a quirkless boy's guide to loving dynamight #is already pretty darn close to the vibe I had going on in my head #so idk we’ll see #🎶song sings🎶

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queenbeedarling · 2 months ago

Note

for the ask post...

Buffy x Faith

"Is there a reason you're looking at me like that?"

Okay, so... this may have spiraled into 800+ words... oops..

“Is there a reason you’re looking at me like that?”

Faith was leaning back on Spike’s cot in the basement to get some peace and quiet- well as much peace and quiet as she could get with slayer hearing and a whole softball team of girls upstairs- the box blonde vampire off doing whatever he does when he’s not in the dog shelter that is the Summers’ residence. She was leisurely smoking a cigarette, thinking of random things that popped into her head- wanting any sort of entertainment, even if she had to think of it herself, when Buffy walked down the stairs.

The older Slayer stopped in her tracks at seeing Faith, looking as if she were constipated but trying to hide it. She was no doubt looking for the vampire who actually lives down here.

“Like what?” Buffy questioned, arms crossing in defiance at such a ridiculous question. She was looking at Faith so normal right now. Nothing to see here, no way.

Faith scoffed at her. “Come on, B, I’m not blind. You’ve been looking at me like I’m gonna jump ya or somethin’. We were gettin’ along so well, too.”

Buffy couldn’t have this conversation right now. At least not with Faith, she was the whole reason she was looking for Spike in the first place. She had to shut this down, and quick. “Just tell me if you’ve seen Spike.”

Faith’s expression immediately became closed off at the lip gloss being smeared all over her questioning. All she’s been trying to do since she’s got here is, at the very least, try to get the scoobies to be a tiny bit friendly with her. She actually didn’t care about Willow and whoever else that follows Buffy around like hungry orphans begging for food. But she figured for Buffy to even give her a sideways glance, she needed the girl’s friends to somewhat like her. And.. okay, maybe she cares a little about the sidekicks. But that’s definitely only because she hasn’t made any friends in prison, alright?

“No, I haven’t seen your boyfriend all day. Or do you two prefer fuck buddies? I can never remember.”

Buffy let’s her arms fall to her side, sighing. “He’s not- we don’t- I don’t like him like that! Why does no one believe me? I like someone else, okay?”

Faith feels her stomach tighten a little, but hides it behind a smirk. “Oh, B’s got a crush? Well, now you’ve gotta let me know!”

Buffy’s constipated look returned as she walked back towards the stairs, “I’ve gotta tell you nothing.”

Faith scoots to sit on the edge of the cot, hurriedly yelling out to stop the other from leaving. “B, wait, please. I need some entertainment here-”

Buffy whirls back to face Faith again, clearly offended. “So I’m just entertainment for you? I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised-”

“B, no, I didn’t mean-”

“Just drop it, okay?” Buffy turned to take the first step up the stairs.

But Faith couldn’t just let her leave like this. “Buffy, wait. Please?”

The blonde Slayer heard Faith’s small, almost desperate, voice asking for her to stay. She almost started up the stairs anyway, but something stopped her. She didn’t know why, but she had the urge to just let it out. To just tell Faith what she’d been hiding from her, from herself, since before Faith teamed with the mayor.

So, she placed her foot back on the concrete basement floor next to the other, let her eyes drop with it, and let the giant tree in her fall.

“I like you, is that what you want to hear?” Buffy’s voice was smaller than Faith’s when she asked for her to stay. “That, for some godforsaken reason, the feelings I had for you in high school are still inside of me. That I fell for you, and then before I even had the chance to realize it you betrayed us, betrayed me, and then I-” Buffy stopped, she couldn’t say it.

She hated that she had stabbed Faith. She always regretted it. Seeing Faith fall, thinking she was dead, was what caused the epiphany that was her feelings for the brunette.

She really did have a type, didn’t she?

Faith couldn’t see Buffy’s face, but she could hear that she was crying. Throughout the confession, she had been frozen. Still sat at the edge of the damn cot, listening to the one person she had ever wanted more than a one-time fuck from say they felt the sam about her, and she couldn’t get herself to do anything about it.

Then, she heard Buffy quietly sob, cutting her little monologue off. That got her to move. She stood, quickly made her way across the room, and pulled Buffy’s face in for a kiss.

It wasn’t the smoothest kiss Faith had ever had; teeth clashed together, the kiss wasn’t immediately reciprocated due to Buffy’s shock, and she tasted salty strawberry lip gloss.

But it was her favorite kiss that she’d ever had.

#ask game #fuffy #btvs fuffy #buffy the vampire slayer #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic prompt

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pedrocomicreviews · 1 month ago

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Absolute Martian Manhunter #4

“I’m the same man I’ve always been.“

Alright look, I know I’m hyperbolic and weird when talking about this book, but, full disclosure: I had a bit of an artistic epiphany about my tastes when reading this issue, and that is most of what this review is about. Spoilers.

We can all agree that you, reading this, know this book is good, right? This is probably the best, most interesting, better written book DC’s publishing monthly right now, and that is also not hyperbole; you can check. Deniz Camp continues to weave social commentary into pop culture the way I used to go to X-Men for, and the Absolute Martian continues to be god’s gift to man, the perfect being in many ways.

This one’s about the heat wave the entire planet is feeling, represented here by the White Martian making the sun feel insufferable to everyone in town. It leads to riots, violence, fights among friends, the works. You also understand how hot it is, because we’re living in the same boiling pot. I will be discussing the plot when relevant, but what I really want to talk about is the art. Look at the image again, do you see how it uses colors to tell the story?

The entire book is colored harshly, as the white rays of the run color everything in a sickly hue of warmth and uncomfortable brightness. It’s like the characters can’t hide from the heat, and that’s mostly told to us through the colors and art by godking of mankind Javier Rodríguez. The first page of the book is maybe my favorite page this year; no words are really necessary to convey what is happening, but also, the weirdness of the situation is immediately apparent.

But that’s not exactly the point where I started to reevaluate what I was looking for in comic books. It was good, and there are many examples of this technique in the issue, but the exact moment I started wondering why did I like this so much was when Bridget and John start to finally have their big fight.

This all happens while the Martian is trying to fix the sun, trying his hardest to understand what is happening and how can he fix this bad idea. Because of that, color is a big part of the conversation.

These exact pages got to me in such a way that I had to start wondering what was happening, exactly. It’s literally just pretty colors, it’s nothing you and I haven’t seen before, but the way it’s utilized to portray the unspoken part of the story; the things you can’t say out loud, the things you don’t know how to say, the feelings you have inside you that are larger than the universe but can’t be defined by a sentence that can fix everything– shit, I am obsessed with that, and I started to notice it in some of my favorite media.

I am, for example, one of the freaks who enjoys Across the Spider-Verse more than Into the Spider-Verse, an opinion I am more than happy saying is probably incorrect, but reading this book started to make me wonder if I don’t enjoy both these things for similar reasons. And it turns out, I must, because I really adore this exact technique when utilized during Spider-Gwen’s sections of the story.

youtube

You don’t understand, that part where Gwen hugs her father and the entire world goes blank? The way the whole place goes red, blue, whatever, whenever someone says something and it changes their mood? The fact color is a suggestion? I fucking feel that, I feel that wash over me every time I watch that movie, and I never put it into words.

It’s the exact same reason I love JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure’s anime so much, with its decision to change colors whenever they want. It’s the same reason I thought Arcane was a lot more interesting when it was prettier, because every once in a while it decides to change the entire art style for a second, and that’s most of what I remember from season 2.

Absolute Martian Manhunter grabbed me by the shoulders and told me to examine what I was looking for in art, and why is this so made for me, and what I should actually be focusing on when I read it. I can’t even imagine talking about things like the plot or the writing or the sordid capitalistic affairs of selling comic books; like, please, there’s more important, artistic things going on here. I really think this is a cut above every other book coming out currently, and I think everyone should read it.

And, yes, I understand this is a review and not a diary entry, but hey– maybe you’ll have a spiritual experience too if you open yourself up to The Martian, he’s sick with it.

Look at him gooo! He’s a little guy!

#pedro's weekly comics reviews #dc comics #absolute universe #absolute martian manhunter #absolute martian manhunter vol 1 #Youtube

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vaspider · 1 year ago

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Hi 👋 I know we’ve never directly talked, but I had an epiphany recently and you have a significantly further reach than I do.

So I started working for the US Post Office a couple months ago in one of their main regional processing plants, and I discovered something: mail is absolutely filthy. Packages in particular are dirtier than you would ever think unless you’ve worked in the industry. Every single piece of mail is touched by multiple people within a relatively short timeframe.

My epiphany is this: immunocompromised people need to treat mail like dirty bombs, especially if they’re trying to avoid COVID.

Letters are lower risk, packages are higher, flats (magazines, catalogues, junk mail, etc) are highest imo. Message me for details if you want, and granted I’m basing this off the US postal processing system, but. I think this is why some people get sick despite taking all the precautions because no one, in my experience, really thinks about their mail as being dirty. It doesn’t help that mail can’t really be washed or sanitized or disinfected.

So. Yeah. It’s kinda scary when you start to think about it. I’ve never seen anyone talk about this and I’m hoping to help someone somewhere from getting sick.

While I appreciate what you're saying here, and immunocompromised people should definitely take reasonable care with dealing with surfaces of unknown disease load provenance, but... COVID does not primarily spread via surfaces, and the COVID virus lasts a maximum of 24h on surfaces -- usually much less. We've known this for multiple years at this point.

If people are really concerned, they can avoid all possibility of COVID exposure via their mail by handling mail and packages with gloves within the first 24h or by simply letting their mail sit for a day before touching it.

It's far more likely that people are getting sick because many of us are under the impression that COVID dissipates in the air much more quickly than it does. COVID droplets can hang in the air for hours if there isn't good air circulation or filtration.

Mail is dirty, money is filthy (it's covered with poop!), but COVID doesn't really pass between people via surfaces. Other things might, though, so handle your mail with reasonable care if you're immunocompromised.

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willow-journey · 4 months ago

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!DISCLAIMER! If you don't like it, don't read

Jayce x Fem Viktor (Viktoria)

A beautiful, useless thing

Chapter 10

The days went by, and on the surface, nothing had changed.

The lab was the same. The hum of the machines, the scent of chemicals, the quiet clinking of tools—everything was just as it had always been. Viktoria worked with her usual focus, hands steady, voice composed whenever she spoke. And Jayce… Jayce played his part.

He kept telling himself that everything was normal. That the silence between them was the same comfortable silence it had always been. That she wasn’t really avoiding looking at him. That the tightness in his chest would ease if he just kept acting like he always did.

But it didn’t.

That weight stayed, crushing him every time he caught a glimpse of her from across the room. Every time he remembered the way she had walked away. The sound of her voice when she had told him no .

The feeling that he had finally— finally —understood what Viktoria had let go of, what she had freed herself from before he even had the chance to hold onto it.

He had to fix it.

So when they were alone in the lab at dusk, he finally found the courage to speak.

“I’m sorry.”

Viktoria didn’t look up from her work. “For what?”

“For how I handled things.” He inhaled slowly, forcing himself to be honest. “For not realizing it sooner. I know I’ve been…” he hesitated, “…distant. I let the Council consume all of my time. I wasn’t here the way I should’ve been.”

She let out a short sound, still focused on the components in front of her. “And now you want to be?”

“Yes.”

She paused. Then, calmly, she set down the tool in her hand. “Why?”

Jayce frowned. “Because this matters. You matter. I don’t want to lose you.”

Silence.

Then Viktoria turned to him, and this time, there was no unreadable distance in her eyes. No cold composure.

There was anger.

“Do you even realize what you’re saying?” Her voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.

Jayce blinked. “I—”

“You’re a hypocrite.” She shoved her chair back and stood, facing him fully, forgetting even her cane in the heat of it. “You act like it’s some sudden epiphany—like you just now remembered how much this lab means to you, how much I mean to you. But that’s not the real issue, is it?”

He opened his mouth, but she didn’t give him the chance.

“It’s not about the work. It’s not about us as a team. You’re acting like a child whose toy was taken away—a toy you never paid attention to until someone else picked it up.”

His chest tightened. “That’s not—”

“I’m not your toy, Jayce.” Her voice was razor-sharp, full of something that twisted his gut. “I don’t belong to you. You don’t get to treat me like I’m yours just to feed your ego and your ridiculous jealousy.”

“I never thought that.” His voice came out rough, defensive.

She laughed, but there was no joy in it. “Then why are you saying all this now ? Why were you trying to hide it even from yourself with such pathetic lies? Why did you have to lose me to realize you cared?”

The words hit him hard, knocking the breath from his lungs.

He had no answer.

Because she was right. Gods, he’d been so damn stupid. And such a coward. It was incredible how crystal clear everything felt now.

She looked at him for a long moment, then let out a quiet breath and shook her head. “It’s too late, Jayce.”

He swallowed hard. “Vika—”

“No.” The word was soft, but resolute. “You don’t get to rewrite this story just because you don’t like the ending.”

And with that, she turned back to the workbench—shoulders stiff, jaw tight. She limped a step forward and grabbed her cane, clutching it with both hands.

Jayce stayed frozen, the weight in his chest heavier than before. Because now, it had a name. Regret? Yeah, maybe.

His heart pounded in his ears. The lump in his throat, the pressure in his chest—he couldn’t take it anymore.

“I never saw you like that, like a toy ” he blurted out, spitting the word like it disgusted him. His voice was rough, broken. “Not even for a second.”

Viktoria let out a harsh, disbelieving breath. “I don’t care. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

A strange, horrible panic crept over Jayce, iced his blood and locked up his limbs. He was losing her. Really losing her—the one person who had ever truly understood him, who helped him shape what once was just a wild, impossible dream. “Vika, please—”

“Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

That hit harder than anything else. A blade straight through the chest. Viktoria had never let anyone call her anything other than her full name. That nickname— Vika —had been his. Their secret. A small window into her guarded heart, open only for him.

Jayce opened his arms, as if to show her all of himself. “Everything I am, Viktoria… it’s because of you. There was never a moment I believed otherwise.”

The raw pain in his eyes must have been obvious, because for just a moment—just one—Viktoria faltered.

She looked down, biting her lip. “I hate this.” Her eyes burned as she stepped forward, and the anger in her face faded, replaced by something much worse—cold, detached indifference. “Hextech is our priority, our work, our creation, and it always will be. But as for us —”

Jayce cut her off, unable to bear it. “You don’t want to be my partner anymore?”

Viktoria blinked rapidly, and the words that fell from her lips sounded foreign even to her, but she forced them out anyway. “We’ll share our progress. We’ll be associates. Colleagues. Nothing more. It’s the same.”

He scoffed, associates. As if having their names written side by side on the same projects was the peak of what their collaboration could ever be—as if something like that could ever be enough. “It’s not the same.”

She gripped her cane so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Yes, it is.”

“It’s not, Viktoria!” His voice cracked under the strain.

“Why not?”

He held his breath. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

And then—before he could stop himself, before he could even think—

“Because I love you!”

The words burst out of him, raw and desperate, tearing through the space between them.

Silence crashed over the lab like a wave.

Viktoria’s expression broke—shock, disbelief, and something else he couldn’t read. Then, without hesitation, she slapped him.

Hard.

Jayce’s head whipped to the side, his skin stinging from where her hand had landed.

“Don’t you dare .” Her voice trembled with rage. “Don’t you dare say that to me now.”

His jaw clenched. He turned back toward her, breathing ragged, but unwilling to take it back. “It’s the truth.”

“No, it’s convenient.” Her hands curled into fists. “You think you can say those words and erase everything? That some desperate confession fixes it all?” She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Gods, you really don’t get it.”

He swallowed hard. “Then make me get it.”

She exhaled sharply, staring at him like he was a puzzle too exhausting to solve. “You don’t love me , Jayce. You love the idea of me. You love what we were . But you never really saw me.”

His breath caught. His mind raced, reaching for something, anything .

“That’s not true.”

“It is.” Her voice softened, but it wasn’t gentle. It was tired. “If you’d loved me, you wouldn’t have left me behind.”

His heart thundered in his chest. “I never meant to.”

“But you did.”

Silence stretched between them—heavy, suffocating.

Viktoria looked at him for a long moment, something in her gaze fracturing.

Then she turned. She left the lab, the sound of her cane tapping rhythmically against the floor growing fainter with every step. Farther and farther. Until she was gone.

I got the idea and inspiration for this fic a long time ago thanks to a fanart I saw—but unfortunately, I lost track of it not long after. Today, I finally managed to find it again and track down the artist's account!! If you’re curious about how I picture Viktoria, here’s the link to the post! Please show the artist lots of love—they’re the reason this fic exists!

Viktoria's fanart by Rikku

Link to AO3 for this story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64607005/chapters/166026910

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