#but i firmly believe we as people are not supposed to have this much access to other peoples open (and often unfiltered) thoughts.

[sumerus]

twitter is really doing my head in my god

[reallyromealone]

Ganon omegaverse 3

Fandom: the legend of zelda

Warnings: omegaverse, male reader, Zelda isn't good in this

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

(name) wasn't sure what to do, with these new freedoms he previously lacked back at Hyrule Castle, Ganon letting him wander around the palace AND THE CITY! With guards of course but still! He wasn't allowed to leave the grounds back home... Well he supposed this would be his home now.

That was something to get used to, things he was noticing back with his sister that left a sour taste in his mouth...

Why did she do what she did?

Why did she lock him away the way she did?

(Name) didn't know if he would get the answers he wanted to know or at least honest ones...

"Over the years we have expanded the town, it's not as big as Hyrule Castle town but it is impressive on its own" a guard explained as she showed him around the merchants row, before the palace entrance that surprised (name) at how accessible it was "unlike Hyrule Castle, we firmly believe the people should not be barred from visiting the palace-- of course there's times where it's not possible such at night but closing the palace from its people seems unreasonable to us"

"We believe in transparency to the people, of course they can't go anywhere they want in the palace but they are welcome to visit the throne room or see the public areas with the understanding of respect"

(Name) was fascinated by this information, the palace he knew was very closed off and from what he knew, very different from the rest of the kingdom in terms of wealth, the valley was much more forgiving and attentive to their people.

Zelda was a good queen, he knew this but he also knew she often focused on her own adventures and left the responsibilities to her second in command.

"There's so much I must learn..."

"And you will in time, you will have the rest of your life to learn" (name) nodded as he was slowly brought to the private dining area, unlike back home it wasn't stiff and cold, regal still but it felt....warm.

There was a low table with many bowls and plates with delicious looking foods as Ganon waited for his fiance to join him "how was your day, my star?" Ganon had grown to call (name) pet names, my beloved, my star... Many sweet words that made (name) flustered, his body warm with each sweet word.

"We went throughout the city today, one of the vendor ladies gave me this! I tried to pay her but she refused, she said "a gift to our future queen" the piece in question was one the made Ganon nearly blush, it was a fertility amulet.

"It looks very lovely on you" Ganon said as he led the Omega to sit in his lap, the Hylian dwarfing in comparison as they began eating, (name) finding he quite enjoyed spicy foods that the desert offered "try this!" Ganon already knew what all the foods presented tasted like but gave into his mates whims, eating the food presenting "very good, my love" his words rumbled through (name)s body, Ganon liked having his omega perched in his lap, so small and cute...

Ganon liked having (name) accompanying him during his royal business, include him on things and let him know how things worked And have an intimate knowledge in Ganons life.

"Our trade routes should alternate to this come winter months" Uberosa pointed to the map, an alternative map to get to the Bazaar "the merchants coming from the east have been notified through notices at inns and ranches" she explained as (name) looked curiously at the large map "This will also be the route we take for the wedding, I assume?" The concept of the wedding was both nerve-wracking and exciting at the same time, to think they should have been married for much longe...

Ganon gently pumped out pharamones as to calm the Omega, knowing he was nervous about his sister but Ganon knew she wouldn't try anything as to not disrupt the peace.

Going to war with the Guredo was a death wish after all.

"The wedding will be held at the temple of time now that it's been restored" Uberosa pointed to the map and (name) seemed excited, having never gotten to see it repaired.

Ganon worried (name) would grow bored when Ganon had to leave him, but the Alpha was pleasantly surprised to see (name) helping the teachers with the pups, the little girls wanting (name) to play with them the second they saw him as he was the only Voe outside of Ganon himself who they were allowed to look at, omegas were always deemed safe to the Guredo people.

"He will make a fine dam, brother" Uberosa said as Ganon gazed from a window, a soft look on his face "he will raise wonderful children if they get his attitude... God help if they turn out like you" the elder teased as Ganon huffed with false annoyance "he will be wonderful"

"Any word from the princess?"

"She's been quiet, she made many people upset with her actions and is most definitely doing damage control" he said methodically and Uberosa laughed slightly "she could have started a war, thankfully her brother is less selfish"

"His priority is always those around him, like a true Omega"

"You better spoil him to make sure he cares for himself"

"I already have things on the way"

Ganons clothes were going missing, mainly his shirts, thankfully he had an abundance due to needing to change from the heat.

Something Ganon took notice of was that (name) hadn't started nesting while here, weeks passing and the Omega seemed nervous when offered nesting materials "I-im allowed...?"

"Why wouldn't you be allowed, little one?" Uberosa asked the other who bit his lip, Ganon having a bad taste in his mouth as (name)s words confirmed his suspicions "w-wouldnt it be an inconvenience? I'm a royal Omega, it's unsightly for us to nest, no?"

"(Name), nesting is a basic instinct for all omegas, it doesn't matter what status you are, not nesting can affect your physical and mental wellness" Uberosa knelt down to the sitting Omega who seemed uncomfortable "I... I just don't want to inconvenience you all with my Omegan problems..."

"You have never and will never be a problem to us" Ganon was serious as he was half ready to start war over this but knew better, soon (name) will never have to deal with that again, he would be free to do as he pleased.

It took another week for (name) to try and make a nest, shy and nervous about it though happy Ganon gave him a spare room connecting to the bedroom "such a beautiful nest my Star" Ganon comforted (name) who looked at him for approval, his mood something new to Ganon compared to the others he was used to "we will get you even more nesting materials if you desire" he would have the finest materials sourced for his mate, anything for him.

[lightwise]

“Remain calm. Cooperate. And you might survive.”

A character study on Dr. Emerie Karr

I’ve had a post about Emerie wandering around the back of my mind all season, but haven’t really been able to pull anything together yet that I felt would do her character justice. In addition, I believe there are other people who can speak to some of her position and experiences in a cult-like environment where she has been raised with bounded choices and lack of agency better than I can, but I will still touch on those things here a bit.

Many people have been frustrated at Emerie’s character, even going so far as to say they hate her for not acting in ways we wish she would and for working in the Empire, conducting horrific experiments, and going along with Hemlock’s plans. While I understand the frustrations, there is nothing that Emerie has done that truly exceeds anything that Crosshair or Cody or Wolffe ever did under the Empire, especially when considering that her actions and choices are all very firmly rooted in a very chaotic, traumatizing, and lacking environment that she was raised in. She may not have had a chip (we don’t know), but regardless, she has not been given the amount of free will and expansive thinking that her clone brothers and Omega experienced during the war and after. Even still, her Jango Fett genes are showing through, with a natural affinity and compassion for children tugging on her latent moral compass the more and more she is around them. 

“Remain calm. Cooperate. And you might survive.” We first meet Emerie in season 2, when Crosshair is transferred to Tantiss after killing Lt. Nolan. She notably uses his name immediately, and seems to have a slightly more caring nature to her than any of the other medical assistants (like Dr. Scalder) that we have seen on Tantiss. She is focused and seems content and dedicated to her work, but wants Crosshair to survive and not be harmed more than is necessary. She seems to have traces of both Tech and Dr. Hemlock in her, with a dedication to science and the tasks assigned to her, and a mind that is obviously adept and capable of accomplishing various procedures. While she follows all of Dr. Hemlock’s orders completely, she shows traces of compassion to Crosshair along the way, and begs him not to try and escape. At this point, her own access card doesn’t even allow her to get outside, and we’ve never seen her on any of the landing platforms. She seems to have an intimate knowledge of how impossible it is to escape the facility (has she tried to herself?)

“She is a clone. And therefore Imperial property.”  Hemlock is talking about Omega here, but the camera pans to include Emerie standing beside him, looking at him. This cinematography choice will occur several times, where dialogue from Hemlock or Omega is overlaid with a shot of Emerie’s face to show that comments about freedom and clones and specimens and choice all have double meanings that include Emerie, even if she has the supposed station and respect of a doctor’s position. At this point it is unclear whether she fully understands how she is just as much a prisoner inside these walls as Crosshair and the other clones are. 

“A prisoner? You are no such thing. It is far safer in here than it is out there.” This is but one of many times that Emerie uses the word “safe” in regard to being on Mt. Tantiss, following the rules, and doing what is expected. She comes to retrieve Omega every morning, mostly chipper and focused on including her in her tasks for the day. She shows care for Omega but is fully absorbed in her duties and what to her is normal daily life. An empty room that locks from the outside is probably the norm for her. For Omega, it is decidedly not, and Omega’s curious but justice-oriented nature begins to tilt the axis of Emerie’s perceptions. When first meeting her, Emerie acknowledges her as her sister and wants her to trust her. It’s clear that she maybe knew of Omega at some point, even though Omega had never heard of her until now. We get a slight glimpse of why that would be, when Emerie tells Omega that she was on Kamino initially but was “sent elsewhere until Dr. Hemlock took me under his wing.” There is a LOT embedded in that sentence. Sent away by Nala Se? Why? What was her initial purpose in being created? Why was she discarded? Was Omega a “better” version of her? Where did she go, and how and why did Hemlock find her and bring her up as his medical assistant, seeing “potential” in her. It’s obvious Emerie’s sense of self-worth, while relatively strong, also hinges on following Hemlock’s orders. All of this screams abandonment and grooming even if not of a sexual nature, and Emerie certainly seems to show the submissive, trusting, and yet fearful disposition one might expect from someone whose life has been defined by those circumstances. 

 “You don’t know she won’t survive. She deserves a chance.”  A conversation about letting a domesticated Lurca hound out into the wild to fend for herself is clearly paralleled with Emerie’s fate. Emerie tries to act as a mediator between Hemlock and Omega, hoping that the girl won’t be hurt or punished. Hemlock scoffs at Omega’s decision to let Batcher go, and her impassioned statement above. He sneers “the flawed logic of an idealistic child. Emotion and sentiment have no place within these walls. You would do well to remember that.” Emotion and sentiment have seemingly been lacking in Emerie’s upbringing, yet they continue to have an influence on her impulses and actions more and more. A testament to this is the fact that she keeps Omega’s straw Lula doll after it is found during a midnight room inspection, and eventually gives it back to her even though it breaks protocol. She will later keep this doll hidden after Omega escapes, and give it to one of the Vault “specimens”, Eva, in an attempt to comfort her. In that initial confrontation with Omega, Hemlock had added a final warning: “Actions always have consequences. Sometimes not in the ways we imagine.” What will this mean in the future for both him and Emerie? Their choices until recently have seemed in line and coherent, but they are diverging more and more.  

“It’s best not to ask questions.”  Emerie once again demonstrates the dichotomy of her perspectives as she affirms the authority and deference that she believes she owes Dr. Hemlock, while also being attentive to Omega’s shift in mood after being told by Nala Se that she must escape. Emerie tells Omega to get some rest, thinking she isn’t feeling well. There is no reason for her to do this other than the fact that she cares about Omega, as against protocol as those feelings are.  

“You’re not thinking clearly. Escape is not possible. This is for your own good.”  After finding Crosshair and Omega ready to escape through the Lurca hound tunnels, she begs both of them to see what to her is reason and sense. She doesn’t want either of them to get in trouble or be hurt, and would have covered for them if they would simply surrender and return to their cells. She affirms again that escape is not possible, from her perspective, and that what is best is quiet acquiescence. We see this continued struggle between her own budding moral compass, her sense of duty, her fear, her belief that it is safer to stay and to be quiet and to stay small. After they escape the facility, she finds out that Omega’s blood is the binder they have been looking for all along, and partly out of scientific duty, and partly knowing that this knowledge is the only thing that will save Crosshair and Omega’s escaping ship from being shot down, she informs Dr. Hemlock. 

“Do you trust me? I’ve spent years working by your side. I could be more useful.”  Before Omega is recaptured, we get an entire episode from Emerie’s POV (which also establishes her as a very important character for the remainder of the season). Here we begin to see more of her conflicted moral compass, and also her budding sense of self esteem. “You wish to be the new chief scientist Dr. Karr?” “I believe I’ve earned it.” This fully encapsulates the dynamic that these two “doctors” have shared over the years. Emerie knows that Hemlock only values things that are useful, and probably only sees her own value in the light of what she can contribute, due to how she was raised and the circumstances she has been trapped in. Hemlock’s tone of voice implies that he has never considered her as being the new chief scientist, and yet he acquiesces quite quickly, almost as though he’s just too busy to think about it and if it means things are brought back up to production standard then he’s fine with her taking Nala Se’s place. His utter disregard for Emerie as an actual human and someone with merit is disgusting, but to Emerie it comes across as respectful benevolence (as long as she follows the rules). It is good to see her start to stand up for herself, although she has no idea what she is getting herself into.  

“You’re safe SP-32.”  Emerie’s experiences watching over the children in the vault begin to chip away HARD at the beliefs she has grown up with and the perspectives she has kept herself sheltered behind. She initially tries to connect with one of the children, Eva, but Hemlock quickly stops her and tries to force his perspective that these are simply “scientific assets. Specimens.” The children defy this characterization at every turn. Eva compliments Emerie’s glasses, shares her name. Jax reiterates that his number is not his name when he tries to escape, and Emerie spends the entire sequence of him trying to escape torn, worried for him, and disgruntled at how violently Scorch and the other commandos treat him. Her conflict continues to grow as Eva asks how Jax is after the escape attempt, and she has to face her duplicity in telling Eva everything would be fine, when it is not. 

“They’re children. Like I was. Was your plan to discard them too?” Finally, Emerie confronts Nala Se, and we get more of a glimpse into the circumstances of her childhood. Emerie obviously carries enormous bitterness and resentment for however Nala Se treated her and the choice to abandon her in favor of Omega, and she throws this back in Nala Se’s face asking why the rest of the children in the Vault haven’t been protected either. “The Empire will keep them in order to control them” — once again a layered statement that includes Emerie’s own position. “They don’t belong in here” — Omega’s hopeful and determined perspective has gotten through to her on some level, just as it did with Crosshair. However, despite her growing sense of guilt and remorse, Emerie still feels powerless and at the mercy of her environment. “I don’t have that kind of power.” But Nala Se challenges her that she does, and that her choices going forward will need to be hers and hers alone. 

“And where did this child come from?”  Emerie starts to take small steps towards more independent choices when she insists on accompanying Scorch to pick up the next force sensitive child. Whether her plan was to try and fudge the results so he could be returned to his home, or just find out more information about how these children are procured and how many are being kidnapped, she can’t change the outcome of Bayrn being brought in. But her dismay at how young he is and how much worse this situation keeps getting is evident. Just as telling is Hemlock’s misinterpretation of her hesitation of taking in another “specimen.” He thinks she’s afraid of them harming her in an escape attempt. He doesn’t see that her personal convictions have started to become louder in her mind and heart than his commands and manipulation. She continues to take steps toward autonomy by comforting Eva, using the girl’s name, and bringing her Omega’s straw toy, that she had kept against orders. The situation is wearing on her more and more. But there’s hope for her yet.

“Emerie, you don’t have to do this.” Once Omega is back on Tantiss, Emerie retreats back into her shell a bit as Hemlock orders her to test Omega’s blood again. She knows what will happen and where Omega will be taken when the sample comes through, and she looks utterly defeated and cornered, sighing, her shoulders slumped like Crosshair’s when he was still imprisoned. Yet even as far as she’s come, she can’t see a way around completing this task. “I’m sorry, but I do.” She tries to soften the blow with “for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re safe.” But Omega is not having it. “Am I??” Emerie knows she’s not, sighing in fear and resignation again as Hemlock takes Omega away to the vault. She tries to console herself by giving the children better games to keep their minds engaged, and pointedly asserts her rank and decision to keep Omega in contact with the other children even when Dr. Scalder disagrees with her choice. Her confidence is still growing. Her sense of right and wrong is slowly becoming more and more defined. She is now starting to show a split front between her attempts to placate Omega vs. the questions and doubts that have been festering inside her. Will she finally be able to push through her fears and use her influence and position to help the children, the clones, Omega, and the Batch escape by the end? Or will she remain trapped in a life that she didn’t choose but that she has long since begun to question and pull away from?

Just like the rotating dial of test vials that she oversees every day, Emerie’s moral compass continues to inch closer and closer toward a resolution, until hopefully it will click fully into place. And when it does, Hemlock will (hopefully) regret every ounce of trust he’s ever placed in her. And Omega will hopefully be fully justified in the trust, pleas, and examples that she has been giving Emerie, her big sister, this whole time. Emerie’s sense of identity, justice, and conviction hang in the balance. She can be an agent of change for everyone’s fates, if she chooses to step into her own.  

✨ Tag List ✨

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[genericpuff]

ok as someone disabled with severe motor skill issues i really hate the argument that "anyone can learn art" and that it's completely accessible to everyone. it's not. there are lots of disabled folks who are getting left out of this discussion with the ableist argument that anyone can do art and if you can't you're just not trying hard enough (which is an argument a lot of abled people tend to use against disabled folks in general). i'm against ai art and will never use it but we have got to stop acting like art is an accessible hobby to everyone because there is unfortunately a lot of people who would love to become artists but will never be able to because of our disabilities.

nah you right! I try to be mindful of that sort of thing but it does admittedly fly under my radar at times because I'm not someone living with a physical disability (and thus it's not as front-of-mind as someone who is) so thanks for catching me on that, many apologies. My argument was regarding the people I've seen who have exclusively used "well I've tried to learn how to draw and it's hard / took too much time / etc." as their driving argument (of which there are just. so many) when like. these are realities for many artists who have been doing this for years, too, including those who are disabled. yeah, making art takes time and practice and a lot of hard work! welcome to the party LOL

but I also understand how keeping that argument so simplified can be exclusionary to those who do genuinely face barriers when pursuing art due to living with disabilities. I've met and observed the work of many disabled artists - webcomic artists, game designers, musicians, etc. - who are out there making their stuff and it comes with all its own unique struggles that shouldn't be forgotten about or overlooked in the discussion regarding AI art, struggles that bar many people from even getting into making art from the starting gun.

I do genuinely believe that art can come from anywhere, that anyone is capable of expressing themselves through whatever medium that compels them... but you're right that many artistic mediums in and of themselves are not wholly accessible to everyone. And I hope to god that more tools are developed to help those who are both working artists as well as aspiring ones.

But AI, in its current state, just isn't one of them. And I'm seeing this sentiment being yelled from the rooftops by many disabled artists who firmly believe that the ends do not justify the means - that they don't want the medium to become more accessible if it comes at the cost of other artists (many who are disabled themselves!) whose work and livelihoods are being replaced with cheap carbon copies. AI art doesn't allow anyone to actually participate in the joy of creating straight from the heart, it just takes from others' joy and spits it back out with an impression of what it thinks the joy of creation is supposed to look like through lifeless pixels. That's not even getting into just how much damage it's already actively causing to our environment, and how quickly AI has started to replace other surrounding industries as well.

Separately from that, you're right, paying for art is a luxury for many, but that's all the more reason why we shouldn't be supporting the current climate surrounding AI IMO which is the crux of what my argument was in that previous Simpsons meme post. Many people do face severe limitations in trying to create their art; the people I'm referring to who are heavily pro-AI are often not those same people and only face the limitations of their own entitlement, which is destroying the livelihoods of many human artists. Is it worth participating in AI art to save money if that same participation perpetuates a growing system that's costing people their livelihoods?

Maybe some day we'll get AI tools that are less predatory and destructive and help those who want to create art do so. Maybe we'll finally get some stricter regulations around what companies are allowed to get away with in their respective industries. I'd like to think also that the rise of AI art will, by extension, make human-made art all the more valuable. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't wish for tools that made making webcomics just a teeeeny bit more efficient without being completely unethical LOL But until any of those scenarios prove to be true, we're dealing with a monster of our own design that will never stop eating even after we've all been consumed. The toothpaste is out of the tube.

[crimeronan]

Oh, the great maker of trauma for the beans that are part of Princess Luz Au, heed my query and answer me:

Did Luz get any big bad evil guy energy or skill from being raised by the waste of space previously known as Belos?

I mean as we all know Luz is a precious bean, but I think she deserves to be a little evil towards bad people, like I assume that Hunter is already planning how to murder (or worse) Amity's parents, even if he isn't fully aware of it/is in denial that he is planning the horrors on the for making Amity, but I stay with me for a moment and imagine the verified cinnamon roll Luz Noceda Wittebane putting the fear of Titan into Odalia after learning that she abused Amity.

Also, her snapping out of it after Odalia faints out of fear (and pain), and panicking that she is just like below only for her parteners to be like, 'nooo~ it was hot normal and perfectly sane thing to do'.

this answer Might be disappointing in some ways, mainly: i don't Think luz would be physically violent with them without provocation, and i also don't think she's likely to lose emotional control around them. she'd want to be just as poised around amity's parents as she always was around belos and always is around the coven heads.

HOWEVER. as for the questions of "does luz know how to be scary" and "did she learn that from belos": UNEQUIVOCAL yes. to both.

i've been wanting to play with luz in this space with amity's parents for A While, actually, so. have a little fic :)

-

"Oh, Amity is my pride and joy," Odalia says, placing a hand over her heart. "I taught her everything she knows."

"Yes, I did get that impression." The Empress smiles, rising to her feet. "It's incredible how much she's accomplished in spite of you."

Odalia's breath catches around a shocked, bitten-down laugh. "Your Majesty, begging your pardon, I believe you meant 'because of-'"

"In spite of," Luz repeats, very firmly. "It's fortunate that Lilith Clawthorne has taken such an interest in her wellbeing."

Odalia's smile doesn't waver, but it does remain frozen for several seconds before she says, "I suppose Amity feels the need to invent an adversary. Some great trial she overcame to earn her place here. It's understandable. Children often lack the foundation to understand the sacrifices their parents make. She had a very privileged upbringing."

"Amity has never spoken unkindly of either of you," Luz says, although this she seems to mean more for Alador, whose face may give more away.

She steps lightly down the stairs from the throne, joining the pair of them on the ground. "Amity rarely speaks of either of you at all, actually. That isn't why I've called you here."

Odalia's voice turns cool, corporate. "Then how can we help you, Your Majesty?"

"Did you know that Blight Industries has a higher rate of workplace accidents than..." Luz slides a folder out of her tunic, flips it open, and raises her eyebrows. "...any other company on the Isles?"

This time, Odalia's laugh covers something else. "That's - that's preposterous. Our workplace safety records are excellent. Why, we haven't needed a single intervention by the Healing Coven in... oh, is it three years?" She taps the side of her mouth, frowning. "Four? Five?"

"That's fascinating," Luz says. "Not even for a scrape?"

"Abrasions heal quite well by themselves, given time."

"Absolutely fascinating," Luz repeats. "Did you know that it's illegal to purposefully deny people healing services?"

Odalia scoffs, incredulous. "For scrapes?"

"I know," Luz says pleasantly, "I was surprised, too. There are a lot of laws like that, it turns out. Text on paper that hasn't been enforced in half a century. From what I understand, this one is a holdover from early Empire anxieties. People were terribly worried about not having access to personal healing magic anymore. So healing services had to be protected."

Odalia's smile has become more teeth than pleasantry. "What a fun little history lesson. I'm sure you know all sorts of facts about the early Empire."

"It turns out that it's very easy to put laws in writing," Luz says, "without the intention to enforce them. My father, may the Titan bless him, had precious little interest in the rights of individuals to be seen by healers. But this isn't his Empire anymore. And I find the topic just captivating."

Odalia has stopped trying to hide her impatience, now. "So you'll fine us for not having healers on hand to wave away every little paper cut. That's fine. I apologize for the oversight. We'll settle up and make sure that going forward-"

"Mr. Blight," Luz says, ignoring Odalia entirely, "would you kindly remove your gloves for me?"

Alador startles.

Odalia doesn't glance at him. Her eyes are fixed unblinking on Luz. She speaks through her teeth, nearly a hiss. "Don't feel compelled to do that, dear."

"I assure you, I can compel him to do that," Luz says. Then, in a tone that would almost pass for apologetic if it wasn't so practiced, "I am sorry to compel it of you. I try not to compel my subjects very often. But if you find it difficult to remove your gloves, my scouts would be happy to assist you."

The scouts around the base of the throne don't move. Odalia's eyes slide uneasily over them anyway.

"That won't be necessary," Alador says, speaking for the first time. He pulls the gloves off without fanfare, holding up his hands.

Half of his left ring finger and pinky are conspicuously missing.

If Luz is uncomfortable with this revelation, she sure isn't showing it. "Oh, that's so interesting," she says, leaning forward to get a closer look. "The Healing Coven keeps meticulous records, and I'm certain a partial amputation was never reported to them. You were born with all five fingers, yes? I'm sure Amity will attest to that."

"This was from an accident in my personal lab," Alador says, with the mechanical precision of something rehearsed. "The severed digits were not... salvageable."

"It's so amazing that you were able to make that determination," Luz says, "without even needing to consult the Healing Coven. You must be a very proficient magician."

Alador blinks.

"Regardless," Odalia interrupts, "it happened outside of Blight Industries. The company isn't liable. You haven't 'gotten' us."

"Do you ever test Blight Industries products in your personal lab, Mr. Blight?"

"Prototypes," he says.

Odalia makes a sharp, exasperated gesture. "Alador!"

"That seems like company business to me," Luz says, still pleasant, still conversational. "Now, I will be fully transparent, before you accuse me of anything with regards to prejudice - it is true that I hate you both. It is true that I've hated you both for a while now. If you feel like I'm targeting you because I hate you, then you're very astute."

Odalia's fingers twitch, threatening to curl into fists.

Luz continues, "However, it's also true that there is no bias where my judgment is concerned. Not legally, anyway. So it doesn't matter whether I hate you or not. Whatever I decide to do with you is the Titan's will. Government is amazing."

Odalia exhales sharply.

When Luz doesn't waver, she shakes her head. For the first time, her voice cracks - properly cracks. There's a tiny tremble in her hands.

"Amity won't forgive you if anything happens to us," she says - but there's no bravado, no power, only pathetic uncertainty. "Regardless of any... petty grievances she may harbor. Family is everything to a Blight. She won't forgive this."

"I know that," Luz says. "I promise, I have no intention of doing Amity any unkindness. It's not her fault you two have chosen to be what you are."

Another sharp exhale. Odalia's breathing is ragged, audible. She's clearly not a woman accustomed to fearing for her own safety.

"That's fantastic news!" she chirps.

Luz's smile is beatific, magnanimous. The serene expression of someone who's never questioned the divine right of kings.

"Unfortunately, I'm not wholly opposed to doing an unkindness," she says, "if we can't seem to reach an agreement. It's really up to you how this goes."

She looks from Odalia to Alador and back, tilting her head.

"So. How badly do both of you want to live?"

[i-still-mask-because]

hi! i'd just like to first say thank you for this blog! it's been a very valuable resource and i appreciate what you do and the information you make available!! this ask is sort of a vent/just my thoughts and general feelings i feel like i need to share somewhere. i don't have any resources to get a better mask at this moment, and the masks i do wear give me sensory issues and are generally not ideal. i can't really do anything else about this except wait until i get financial independence, which is relatively far off. it's been...becoming a bit more difficult to look forward to the future. i don't acknowledge this often because it feels like so many people already have but i have some difficulty accepting that things will never truly be the same again (until capitalism and colonialism are abolished and the world can focus on fixing pressing issues and actually improving people's lives but that's a different conversation!) and that not only does it feel that i'm missing out on a majority of my teen years but also that i may not even get to enjoy my twenties, thirties, and so on because of circumstances generally not in my control. i know that joy remains present in my life and things will improve if i just hang on a little longer but it's still difficult when i spend day after day watching my masks irritate my skin while i'm not even safe from covid because so few people mask. i firmly believe some protection is better than none but i suppose that can tie into why i am glad other people mask, as uncommon as it has become. i still mask because i want to do what i can to care about the safety of others and to combat toxic individualism.

Hey! Thank you so much for sharing this 💛 I appreciate the vulnerability. And thank you for your patience; I wanted to be sure I was in a clearer headspace before answering this. I hope you can see this, and I hope you're doing alright!

If you want, let me know in another ask what masks you've already tried. I'm happy to compile some recommendations for more comfortable ones.

I genuinely recommend finding online spaces with other covid cautious people you can connect with, find support & validation, and find access to tools & resources (be it through Facebook groups, Discord servers, IG communities, Tumblr communities, etc.)

Take a look at these links [Link 1: Worldwide Mask Bloc Directory] and [Link 2: Covid Action Map] to see if there's any mask blocs and/or covid action groups wherever you live that can provide free masks for you (I know some give away free rapid tests & other tools too). They may even be able to give better suggestions for the first two things I mentioned! See if you could find their social media accounts too to keep up with their updates.

I absolutely feel for the younger generations right now. Knowing how hard going to school was as a minor in and of itself, I cannot imagine how difficult it is to go through Pre/K-12 being one of the only, if not the only, one masking to protect themself from a virus that the majority of the population doesn't even think is a big deal anymore. I'm so sorry the systems in place have let you down. I 100% understand how bleak the future feels right now; trust me, I'm right there with you. Navigating life in a covid-denying world is extremely difficult, to say the absolute least. I personally did not expect the first half of my 20s to go like this 😅. I try to remember that there are communities out there that aim to support us, validate us, and get us the resources we need. Being in community with other covid cautious folks online has been tremendously helpful because it makes going through this feel a lot less lonely.

Things will take a turn at some point; it's inevitable. Just keep protecting yourself and taking precautions. You're doing the right thing 💛😷

If anyone has additional supportive things they want to say and even suggestions of their own, please feel free to share!

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

I’m not sure if I ever asked you this question or not, but I’ve always wanted to: how do you come to the conclusions you do about the characters in Twilight and other works?

Actually I guess my question is how do I learn to do it myself lol

Is there a way I can train myself to? Is it just that you take a story and start digging? Did something just seem off about the characters and you took a bigger look at it?

I’m an aspiring writer, which is why I want to know; I feel like it would make me better in my own writing if I could do the things you do, because, well… you’re rather good authors, you and Vinelle I mean.

Frankly, Painting Red Madonnas is one of my favorite books ever.

Anyway… thank you lol

Look, @therealvinelle, praise!

It just seems to be the way I'm wired. I don't even realize it's heresy until I hear other people talking about the same thing and realize "well, shit, I can't talk about this at Christmas parties". There's a lot of, "Muffin, what did you think of X?" "... I thought generic normal things that wouldn't offend anyone's blorbo."

I guess I can give some pointers on how I end up in the bizarre places I do:

Completely Ignore the Existence of the Author

Much of the time it's obvious why Character X does Y in a piece of media and you can point fingers at the author. The author loves this trope, the producers wanted to draw in a certain audience, doing Z would be much too spicy for the viewership, etc.

In the @therealvinelle and Muffin world, that's not allowed. The work has to make internal sense with internal logic. Which means that if something doesn't seem right or doesn't match up, you have to find a reason for why it is what it is.

More, you can't take the author's word for what a character is supposed to be or what they're supposed to be doing and thinking.

As a rough example, JKR clearly tells us that Dumbledore is a good man and a firmly moral character. However, within the story, he does very questionable things all the time (I'm actually struggling to think of anything he did that is remotely moral).

So, you can't take the author's word for anything.

Characters Can and Do Lie

All narrators are on some level unreliable. They each have an agenda, their own biases, their own goals and desires that sometimes conflict with what's actually happening in the world. You view things through the narrator so always take what they say with a grain of salt.

Take Bella Swan, she tells us that Jessica Stanley is the worst. That Jessica is only interested in Bella to further her own ends and is, at the end of the day, a cheap friend who is envious of everything Bella has and is (such as Mike's attraction to Bella).

However, if we discount Bella for a moment and really take a look at Jessica. While the girl is chatty and does talk about things like the Cullens, her gossip is the normal amount I'd expect if someone looks incestuous in high school and she always makes an effort to be with Bella.

What Bella conveys to us, the readers, is a very skewed perception of Jessica framed entirely by Bella.

We hear only what the narrator wishes for us to hear.

Another is the Tom Riddle memories. We later learn why Dumbledore is doing this, he is dying and needs Harry to eventually kill himself so as to rid the world of Voldemort. To this end, the memories are very carefully selected and narrated to show Tom Riddle as the worst human being on the planet who is irredeemably evil and must be killed at all costs.

Harry doesn't ever question this, though, because he takes Dumbledore at face value and eagerly considers himself a Dumbledore loyalist. And so, if you don't think to question Harry, you'll never question just why Albus would ever do this.

Similarly, characters can be wrong and misinformed. They have access only to certain information, covered by bias, which means it's entirely possible they could be incorrect about something even if they firmly believe it.

Look at What the Characters Actually Say and Do

Ignore what you're supposed to think about the characters (either from other people, the author, or the characters themselves) and instead look at what they say and what they do to inform your opinion about them.

What does Edward actually say about his grand love with Bella Swan? What is it that actually seems to draw him to her from his own perspective and from what he tells to Bella?

[f0point5]

Yeah it was basically confirmed in the most recent article Peter Bayer did that RB weren’t considering Daniel for a drive in any way shape or form it was Bayer who had the idea and kept on asking about the possibility of Daniel. I think things developed that led to them using the silverstone test to evaluate Daniel. I’ve always gotten the impression that RB have plans upon plans for drivers and the different paths they can take.

I mean for Liam it was sending him off to super formula and seeing how he got on. Personally I think RB were never considering Liam for a seat until they were forced to when he subbed for Daniel.

I do however take ire with people who firmly believe drivers are in there for marketing only especially the RB team who are suppose to be ruthless and tough. I mean drivers don’t say if you can make it through the RB academy you can make it through anything become it is notorious of how tough it is but that organisation who easily give a seat to dudes who laugh a lot or because the engine supplier are pushing him. There’s sm we don’t know. We don’t have access to data from track, sim etc

I’m intrigued by the mid season swap though 👀👀

I KNOW somewhere in Milton Keynes there’s a cork pinboard with all the drivers, RB, AT, and the development programme drivers, with strings mapping out the different scenarios in which they can use certain drivers lol. I just know. They’re lucky they have talent in the wings that they can plan for.

I think, like everything, it’s a mix. I think they brought Daniel in as “third driver” (what even is that) so clear the stink of Brazil 2022 and the cost cap. They took him in the same way rich people took in orphans in the 1800s (“we’ll feed him, we’ll cuddle him, and we’ll be recommended by sainthood by the end of the year”). I don’t think they were anticipating being impressed by his sim times, or how much desire he rediscovered for racing. And with Nyck flailing, I think it all just came at the right time. They definitely weren’t thinking of Liam, he was third choice for that seat. But again, circumstances came together to give him a chance to impress them.

I’m guessing at the mid season swap because of Helmut saying he is sure Liam will drive a few races next year, and that he will have a seat in ‘25. For me, the ‘25 RB seat is Daniel’s to lose. Now, could they be angling at Checo out mid season? It’s his last season, the payout would likely be considerably less by the mid season point…

Plus, I don’t think RB will be able to afford another season of Checo like he was in 2023. Christian says he knows what’s expected of him but you never know.

[skarlette1]

Swinging Too Far: Positive Affirmations

--The next chapter of the series Swinging Too Far.

I can do this, Satin Swinger thought to herself. I can definitely do this. The heroine took a deep, cleansing breath. How hard could it be to convince a supervillainess that you were cheating on your husband?

Not that she was actually cheating at all. Satin and her husband Steel had devised this plan together. Their work of rehabilitating the supervillainess Sersi Salivaria had hit a snag. They were running low on the special formula that protected them both from the enslaving pleasure of her super-powered saliva. To extend their supply, the Swingers had agreed to take turns teaching her the pleasures of pro-social behavior, one-on-one. To help seduce Salivaria, they were playing to her fetish for rule-breaking and letting her believe that each of them was cheating on their spouse.

From a logical point of view, Satin could see all the advantages. She even had to admit that last night’s inaugural session was really, really hot. Knowing Steel was having sex with Salivaria apart from Satin gave her quite a thrill. Plus, the taste of his still-saliva-damp cock when he returned in the morning was utterly divine. She wasn’t going to mind the repeated exposure to the villainess’s enthralling juices that would help her build up natural immunity.

Now, Satin just had to hold up her end of the bargain as well as Steel had. She didn’t expect a problem seducing Salivaria, the woman’s high sex drive had made her a prime candidate for the rehabilitation program. The problem would be convincing her that Satin was actually cheating on Steel. The two were so devoted to one another, how could anyone believe they would cheat? Satin supposed that if Steel had convinced her last night that it couldn’t be too hard. Steel had many talents, but he wasn’t a great actor. Maybe a villainess like Salivaria was used to people not being trustworthy and expected the worst of everyone. No matter, her rehabilitation would also help Salivaria with her trust issues.

For the tenth time, Satin made sure that her key-card to Salivaria’s airtight cell was fastened firmly to the lanyard around her neck. She smoothed her denim skirt, adjusted the ruffle on her flower print blouse, and took a single dose of the protective formula. One more deep breath to settle her nerves, and Satin headed in.

Salivaria had just finished her lunch. The dishes were neatly stacked in the corner of the cell to be retrieved by the helper robot. Satin had to admit it was a big improvement from the early weeks when Salivaria’s resentment at being imprisoned had her smearing food all over the transparent walls of her airtight cell. The rehabilitation was under way!

Satin punched in her twelve digit access code, stepped inside the airlock, then swiped her key-card to enter the cell itself. “Good afternoon, Sersi. I hope you had a nice lunch.”

Salivaria shrugged, lounging on her cot. “Better than the food in prison. Where’s your ball-and-chain? I thought we had a rehabilitation session.”

Satin sat across from her on the only seat in the small cell. “I’m so glad you’re keeping track of the sessions. That shows you’re invested in the program. Unfortunately, Steel won’t be joining us this afternoon. He’s, um … well, he’s resting.”

“Oh,” Salivaria’s lips curled into a pout. “Is resting code for he’s given up hope of reforming me?”

“No! Nothing like that. We both believe in you. It’s just that Steel didn’t get any sleep last night. He didn’t get to bed until nearly dawn. He’s sound asleep now.”

“He needs a nap so my session gets canceled? Just like a man,” Salivaria muttered, not letting on how much she was responsible for Steel’s nocturnal exertions.

Satin saw her opportunity to mention some supposed tension in her marriage. “Steel would never admit it, but I bet he was up all night playing one of his video games. It really bothers me how carried away he gets with those things!”

“Video games?” Salivaria raised an eyebrow. “You believe that? He left us high and dry for a game? That’s insulting to both of us!”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by—”

“What he meant was to leave you to handle all his work, plus all of your own. And what about me? How am I ever supposed to be rehabilitated if he cancels my sessions so he can goof off?” Salivaria shifted closer to Satin. “It’s just like a man to depend on the women in his life to clean up after him. Honestly, Satin, I don’t know how you put up with him!”

You weren’t complaining about “putting up with him” last night, Satin thought. But the snarky comment faded from her thoughts as Salivaria licked her lips. The heroine had to swallow before she could reply. “He means well ... mostly.”

“Meaning well isn’t nearly enough. We need partners who actually do well. You asked me to think about my future after I’ve been rehabilitated, Satin, and I have. I think I’m going to swear off men. You’ve shown me that what I really need to turn my life around is the love of a good woman.” She reached out and laid her hand on Satin’s knee.

Satin could smell the sweetness of her breath. “It’s, um, good that you’re, um, thinking about the future. Real, um, good.”

Salivaria leaned closer, her fingers creeping under the hem of Satin’s skirt. “You could teach me all about how to please a woman, Satin.”

Satin could feel Salivaria’s warm breath on her face. Her heart pounded in her chest. “I … I, um, shouldn’t … not without, um, Steel.”

“You know what they say: You snooze, you lose.” She pressed her lips to Satin’s.

Every session, Satin couldn’t believe how good Salivaria’s lips felt. It was like her brain just couldn’t remember pleasure that was so profoundly intense. Satin knew that to be convincing, she should make some other weak protest of staying true to Steel. If she succumbed too easily, Salivaria would know this was a setup. Satin decided to pull away and say something … after just a little more kissing.

Then, Salivaria’s tongue touched hers. Satin moaned, her own tongue seeking out the warmth of Salivaria’s mouth. It held a whole world of pleasure to explore. As fingers slipped under her panties, Satin was surprised how wet she was already.

When those irresistible kisses moved to her cheeks, and ear lobes, and throat, Satin finally had a chance to speak. “Oh, Sersi. Ohhhh,” was all she could get out, each lick and nibble sending waves of bliss through her body. When those divine lips fastened around Satin’s nipple, she shrieked as an orgasm ripped through her body.

The next thing Satin knew, she was on her back gazing up at Salivaria’s naked pussy. She didn’t remember lying down on the cot, or taking off her panties, or spreading her legs, but the feel of the villainess’s tongue on her inner thighs was beyond words. If she didn’t protest soon, she didn’t know if she’d ever have the strength to.

When she felt the first brush of Salivaria’s tongue across her pussy lips, Satin couldn’t even scream. Her whole world just went white, hot, and silent with pure ecstasy. Each lick was like another climax, another step up a staircase of bliss that had no end. Over and over and over she came and came and came.

Satin awoke nestled into Salivaria’s bosom, her hair being gently stroked. “Um?”

“Thanks for the private session, Satin. Don’t worry about it. I’m certainly not going to tell Steel.”

Her eyes shot open at the mention of her husband’s name. She had to get back to him quickly. “Right. Right. I, um, need to go. He’ll be up soon.” She fumbled into her skirt and top, not even bothering to look for her panties.

Even with her superheroic strength, Satin found her knees rubbery as she rose from the cot. Staggering to the airlock, she swiped her key-card on the second try. She entered her numeric code wrong three times. Finally, she had to mutter each number to herself to be certain she was pressing the right keys.

Upstairs, Steel waited in their bedroom. “Are you okay, Satin? You were gone for hours.”

She flashed her husband a just-been-fucked grin. “Never better, lover boy. Kiss me.”

“I thought you said we needed to debrief before—” Steel’s words were cut short as Satin flung herself into his arms and pressed her lips to his.

The musky sweetness of his wife’s kiss sent a thrill of lust through Steel’s body. His knees went weak as his cock went hard. Satin guided him down to the bed and straddled him. Without breaking her lip-lock, she eased down his pants down and guided his rock-hard shaft into her dripping pussy. As Salivaria’s remaining saliva coated Steel’s cock, he moaned helplessly into his wife’s mouth. Within moments, the bliss shattered the hero’s self-control. He erupted with undeniable bliss, spurting his hot cum deep into his wife’s cunt.

As Satin shifted up to straddle her husband’s face, he luxuriated in the lingering taste of Salivaria’s kisses on his tongue, even as his softening cock twitched helplessly. Satin smiled as Steel licked and nibbled her tender pussy. Yes, she smiled to herself, I can definitely do this.

---

Like what you read? Will you buy me a coffee and request something rich to sink my teeth into? Or peek into the depths of my longer fiction?

My newest erotic novel, Libido League #13: Panther’s Passion is now available at Smashwords and Amazon.

[multiplicity-positivity]

Hey, I think I sent an ask a few days ago about headmates you're afraid of, not sure if it got eaten or you just didn't have enough time / info to respond, but I'm feeling a little more stable now so I'd like to elaborate if that's okay?

So. I'm a fictive of a character from an anime/manga, and the host of my system. This past weekend, we had a very traumatic incident happen. I don't want to put too many details that might trigger people, but the short version is that an event we were attending got swatted. It was all a false alarm, no one was hurt, and we were back to usual activities within an hour or so.

We knew.. Pretty much immediately that we were splitting over it. The symptoms we have for traumatic splits usually line up to a pretty consistent order for us so we were just braced for it. What I wasn't expecting was that we would split.. My grandmother.

We never met properly, in source. She died before I was born, and I grew up being told by my father and then my.. caretaker, for lack of a better word, that she had abandoned us, didn't care about her family, didn't care that we were hurting, and put the lives of strangers above her family. I only ever saw her.. Spirit? I suppose? In a few instances, and it obviously wasn't a happy reunion because I was so full of hate that I didn't care what she said.

I know from an objective sense that she was doing what she thought was best. I read our source and the longer it's gone on, the more I've realized just how much of my life was lies and fabrications from the people around me who wanted me to be hateful. I can see as an outside viewer that she wasn't pure evil like I thought. But that doesn't change the immediate gut feeling that I'm dealing with now that she's right in front of me again.

I panicked really badly when she first showed up in headspace. I'm usually a frontstuck host, but I fully switched out and hid in a corner of headspace for a few hours until our gatekeepers were able to pull her back into a different corner of the world that I don't have access too. She.. Looks a lot like I did when I was a kid. I wasn't expecting that.

I'm still not entirely sure how to react to all this or how to get comfortable with her being here. I don't want to panic and run every time she needs to front, but I also have no idea how to even approach her without all the heaviness from source crushing me completely. Sorry if this is really heavy. I'm just hoping you guys or someone else has some advice on coping with this.

Hi! We genuinely think your first ask got eaten, we’ve never seen an ask like this in our inbox… I’m so sorry!

It sounds like you’re dealing with a really tough situation. I guess we’d like to remind you that what you’ve heard from others may not align to what’s actually happened in your source’s past. Sometimes emotions can get the best of people, and situations can be misinterpreted, especially when tensions are high and family is involved.

Have you spoken to your grandmother in the system directly to hear from her what happened before you were born in your source? Maybe she had a good reason to leave, or thought she was acting in your family’s best interests at the time.

Additionally, she may not come with source memories, and not feel attached to her source at all. We firmly believe that introjects are their own people and cannot and should not be held accountable for events that happened in their source, even if they feel extremely connected to their source.

If it’s difficult to interact with her directly, perhaps try writing her a letter, or asking another headmate to pass a message along. Beginning to communicate, even if it’s hard, is the first step towards building trust. I know it won’t be easy, but unfortunately, it’s probably necessary in order for the two of you to come to an understanding and exist happily in the same mind.

We’re so sorry you’re going through something like this. If it’s easier for you, please remember that the grandmother in your headspace is an introject, just like you. She can’t help being formed and did not choose this - sometimes the brain makes internal choices that can’t be helped. We hope y’all can grow together and learn to coexist, and we’re wishing you the very best!

🌸 Margo and 💫 Parker

[therisingdarkness]

Lack of Critical Thinking and Reading Comprehension in Fandom

I'm not the first person to write about this, but something happened over the weekend that finally hit at some part of me that just had me boiling over out of this weird rage and incredulity.

And I'm probably not going to be very kind, but I am going to try and be coherent about this because it's something that weighs heavily on me and makes me feel like a Boomer or something when it comes to the younger generation of fans (though not just the younger generation; I've seen older fans perpetuate this nonsense too, but it seems to be most prevalent in the newer gens).

So, full disclosure, I firmly believe that we, as a society, have waaaaay too much access to Creators--writers of shows, movies, comics, producers, directors, actors, etc. I don't think it's a good thing that we can just pop onto Twitter and ask writers or actors to confirm or deny headcanons. In fact, I think it's absolutely bonkers that anyone would feel that entitled.

It bothers me because on some level, it's people begging the creator of a thing to basically tell them how to think. Like...they're so scared of coming up with a single headcanon that, God forbid, is at odds with canon.

The particular example I'm going to use is the thing that set me off.

One of the most recent issues of one of the newer X-men titles has a scene where Rogue, Gambit, and Wolverine defeat a dragon; in the aftermath, Rogue happily jumps on Gambit, her husband, and says something to the effect of 'I'm gonna kiss my man, and if you don't like it you can look away...or don't, I don't really care,' and Wolverine is scratching his head like 'Where's my bike,' or something like that.

Now, just looking at the picture drawn and the words written, you can very obviously take this interaction at face value: Rogue wants to make out with her husband and she doesn't really care who sees.

However.

The way people flocked in droves to Twitter, to ask the writer of the comic if she intended for Rogue to sound like she was propositioning a threesome with Wolverine by not radically and firmly telling him to look away....it broke something inside of me. For the record, the writer was like 'Yeah that wasn't what I meant at all, I just meant that Rogue wants to kiss her man and she doesn't care who sees.'

But like...so fucking what?

Again, not to be a big fucking Boomer over this but like...back in my day, if we had even the inkling of a thought that a very obvious scene might have been hinting at something more, we called that 'subtext' and we made these nifty things called 'headcanons' and we either subscribed to them or didn't, and we went about our day.

But it feels to me like now, people are terrified of misinterpreting text. Like they don't want to have the wrong idea about a thing--and yes, this ties very much into purity culture and I'm gonna get to that in a fuckin' minute, but right now it's like this fandom-wide inability for people to read something on their own and come to their own conclusions, prompting them to belly crawl into the writer's DMs to beg for enlightenment.

I have a degree in literature. Every single class was spent dissecting books and discussing themes and then trying to make connections. The best of my professors gave us so much leeway when it came to writing papers and told us that we could write about how Jane Austen intended her readers to associate Darcy with the rise of the capitalist empire and Elizabeth was supposed to represent the underprivileged worker vying for union's rights, as long as we could make a compelling argument from the source text.

Like...does the younger generation of fandom not do that anymore? Is this part of a larger problem in fandom, tying back in to purity culture, where the only True and Good thing is the canon text, and everything that doesn't follow canon to the letter is an aberration?

I had a disturbing interaction on the X-men subreddit (rookie mistake #1: reddit is a cesspool) a while back where I commented on a post about the new X-men '97 show and said something about how I really enjoyed the drama of the love triangle between Rogue, Magneto, and Gambit, and how I could totally understand why Rogue was into Magneto, because he's drawn as a kickass silver fox of a man with a tight ass body and gorgeous flowing locks.

And friends, you'd think that I had just stepped up on a pedestal with a megaphone, wearing a sign, and defending pedophilia to the death. I immediately got called a weirdo and a creep for trying to 'normalize' unhealthy age gap relationships and as I tried to defend my stance (rookie mistake #2: never engage with antis, just block and move on), I realized that the person I was arguing with had never had an original thought in their life. Somehow the education failed them, and was failing the rest of the youth.

They cited how one of the writers of the popular Age of Apocalypse comic event had said something about how he didn't like the direction parts of the story took, but he was only one of the writers and that's just, like, his opinion, man. I keep seeing the way this person insisted that loads of people didn't like certain details of the comic (namely Rogue and Magneto get married and have a child together), and therefore, because the majority didn't like it, it was Bad and therefore should be forgotten or ignored, and certainly shouldn't be replicated in newer material, ie X-men '97.

And it comes back to...why do you care what a writer thought about the comic or a show? Like...I don't know how to say this, but why does anyone give a damn so much about what the writers think when we're perfectly capable of forming our own headcanons and pushing our own narrative? Like why does their opinion matter and carry so much weight to the younger generation, to the point where they track writers and creators down to harangue them for The Truth behind a scene or a page? Come up with your own damn headcanon and move on with your life.

I hate how easily it is to access people who, before, you either had to find in person at comic book conventions, or sit down and handwrite a letter and put in an addressed envelope with a stamp, and then hope they weren't too busy to reply. It used to take effort.

Now all it takes is the click of a button and you can beg your favorite writer to pretty pretty pretty please tell me what you meant by using this word instead of this word because I don't want to think the wrong thing because what if it's BAD and people make fun of me or harass me for being wrong.

Because some fans will harass others just for having a different opinion; this isn't a new or novel phenomenon, this has been ongoing since I was a teenager. The only difference is people's capacity for being shitheads is now amplified by the power of internet anonymity and the Fandom Purity Police or whatever. New fans are so terrified of having a single thought that contradicts the majority take on a character interaction that they have to go and annoy the writer to beg for an answer to a question that should have never existed.

What should happen in these instances, is you, as a fan, should ask yourself: Do I want Rogue to have been lowkey propositioning Wolverine for a threesome? The answer can be yes or no; if it's no, then you take the text at face value and don't think anymore of it...but if it's 'yes', then you call that a headcanon, you tuck that inside of you, or you make a post and then start looking for fanart and fanfic.

All that to say, please stop pathetically begging creators to tell you what to think.

Please exercise your brain and come up with your own thoughts.

[neverluckygoldfish]

27 -

Life creeps up on you - I’ve slipped back into it and have gotten a little disconnected from my greater She.

Too much worrying about the future & unknowns, caught up in trying to control it. True, there have been a ton of changes in the past few weeks and there are more still to come (hello big cross state move in two weeks!!).

I feel a little numb. Also I’m on welly b and let me tell you that the increase in anxiety is so REAL. I feel on edge and a sense of foreboding. I haven’t slept for more than 4-5 hours a night in weeks. And those hours are spent tossing and turning. I keep waking up in panic mode, having nightmares. But we just adjusted the dosage so hopefully things improve. They have to.

With that being said, I recently hit 60 days of sobriety. I barely even acknowledged it because we were busy flying back and had gotten some really awful news that day. In fact, I’ve felt more of a craving to drink. But I don’t want to start the clock over and that keeps me going.

I feel stressed. And I don’t know how to let it go. It’s just sitting in my chest, heavy and tight.

The hospital slammed me with a $35k bill for 3 days because that’s our healthcare system. Fuck, I don’t know how I’m going to manage that seeing as I’m unemployed and living off of savings. But I’m allowing the fear and stress to enter me and sitting with it. What will it show me?

Part of me feels like I’m going to implode. Like I’m teetering at the edge of a cliff.

I tend to focus on the negative - negativity bias, I think it’s called. I’m always searching for something to fix within myself, my life. And I’ve stopped prioritizing my mental wellness.

Once I get something down, I move on quickly to the next thing. Before I know it, I’m eating skittles for breakfast / not drinking water / feeling tightness in my chest / ignoring meals / pulling out my hair / unable to sleep all over again. I need to give these things time to form habits that will actually stick.

Blame ADHD and the dopamine rush lol

So a gentle reminder for me to pause, slow down, focus on the good because I have so much to be thankful for.

Gratitude list:

My rock, my life partner, my best friend - my husband. Our love is full of understanding, compassion, trust, laughter, kindness, honesty & affection. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Life dreams. We are moving to the PNW in two weeks! It’s really happening. I’ve dreamed of living there (maybe romanticized it a little lol and no, not because of twilight *rolls eyes*) my whole life and now I am doing it!

My body. It’s not as skinny as it was but that is a good thing. I have been waging war against it - filling it with poison, not supplying its essential needs, neglecting it. But it stays true to me and has not let me down health wise even through addiction. I have more energy these days and my thinking isn’t so cloudy.

Therapy. Having access to therapy & finding a good therapist is a privilege.

My mom. We don’t agree and she drives me nuts. But truly, she wants me to be happy and although overbearing at times, she protects me and anchors me.

Friends - I have some really good people in my life. I must not be so terrible as I think I am in my head if so many people love me LOL. But I have friends who have shown me grace and understanding as I try to navigate who I am now.

Recovery. I’ve been sober and am committed to staying sober. What a beautiful blessing and something I used to think was totally impossible.

Good food. Been cooking my own meals with loads of veggies and fruit - let me tell you that quality makes a difference. I firmly believe in a holistic approach to healing, not just taking a pill and calling it good.

Haven’t felt much of a desire to journal. Have spent way too much time trolling social media and it’s slowly having an impact. Pulling me back into the black, the space of self-loathing and hopelessness.

So I am making some changes. Going back to the basics. To be continued I suppose.

[tiny-katara]

So I made a post a little while ago questioning whether or not Aang's sacrifice of the Avatar State was supposed to be a romantic sacrifice and @sofia-t-g made a comment that I had simply too much to say about to keep within the limitations of a replying comment.

I will not argue the fact that Katara doesn't know. If I'm being perfectly honest, I don't exactly remember what I meant by that as I also had much more to say that than fit within the comment space. Katara does not know Aang did that, however, saying she does not need to know is absolutely absurd. Everyone on Team Avatar deserved to know that Aang could not access the Avatar state. That is a huge problem. Their plans hinge on Aang beating Firelord Ozai and using the Avatar state. Lying to them about what happened is not only irresponsible but could have been a potential detriment to the world. Yes, everything turned out fine, but the characters do not know that.

I also would like to point out that Aang only sees Katara although he loves the other members of the Gaang. They're his friends and family. If letting go of attachment was really just giving up love for the greater good, we should have seen them as well. However we don't see anyone else. We only see Katara, which in my opinion shows that Aang in his current state of mind, is not able to love Katara selflessly.

As I said in my original post and earlier in this one, giving up the Avatar state basically dooms the world. If we didn't have the deus ex machina  rock, no more Aang and no more Earth Kingdom. I hate to bring up Frozen but Olaf saying "Love is putting someone else's needs before yours," is true from my experience. Yes, Katara was in danger, but she is objectively more without the Avatar state.

Another thing is that Iroh is not the objective guide to morality within Avatar. I am a huge Iroh fan, but the man had absolutely no context for what Aang was asking. Now we can't say for sure, but I'm pretty sure Iroh would prefer that Aang saves the world than indulge his crush at 12. Also sorry about the wording in that sentence, I just can't find a nicer way to say it.

Additionally, when speaking about choosing love over power, it posits that the power is tempting and provides an equal if not stronger tug than love. You have to care about power to choose love over power. You don't choose soup over cereal if you weren't even considering eating cereal in the first place. Aang has never been about the power of being the Avatar, if anything he likes his social perks, not his bending abilities, but that's neither here nor there. The point is that Aang has never put Katara and power on the same level so giving up power for her is not a sacrifice. He's just chasing what he's always wanted.

Aside from your rude tone, the thing that I hold the most resentment for in your comment is your assumption that I would attempt to spin this into Aang potentially manipulating Katara into a relationship. That is not the point of my post at all. My point was that people romanticize Aang giving up the Avatar state. Unfortunately for you, I care about Aang and I think that he deserved character development. I do not think he's a horrible person, I think he's a stupid kid just like literally everyone else was/is.

My thoughts on what would actually happen if Aang told Katara what he did are very different from your bad faith fantasy version of them. I firmly believe that Katara would not feel guilty, rather she would be angry. Katara's entire life has been disrupted and changed by this war and Aang just let the ability to end it pass him by?! Yeah, there's no way Katara is sitting on that one. She's turning the ship around and driving it right back to the Eastern Air Temple and Guru Pathik.

[wornoutmouse]

Ayo... DOM! Deku with a choking and overstim kink. Like the baku AND DekuSquad both thinks that the reader leads the relationship and is top in bed cuz the difference in personalities and PDA. But the reader just goes along with it cuz she knows that it’s the exact opposite and she wanna get fucked fucked. So in the end the next school day they see the reader limping to school and Deku smiling cheeky. Bro Deku makes me😩 May you do a request to that? It’s ok if you won’t 😊

Question of the Day: What nicknames do y'all find not cringy during a steamy moment?

Cursing, squirting

It wasn’t your fault that people viewed you as the one in charge when it came to the sexual side of you and Izuku’s relationship. You were naturally more energetic and rivaled Bakugou in the terms of attitude and prowess, meanwhile, Deku was one of softer energy. Always smiling awkwardly and blushing at every little joke and jab. Very few people have seen Deku in his prime when he is focused on a goal and will do anything to get there. This attitude graciously carried over to his love life, something you were faithfully reminded of on one faithful day.

As usual, You, and the usual majority of class 1-A sat around each other during lunch. Deku being the nerd he was, sat leaning against you while writing something in his notebook, dusting it every so often when the wind blew flowers off the tree above you. An ethical argument between Mineta and Denki is what started the whole ordeal.

“What do you mean, Mineta?! Deku is totally the submissive one in his and Y/n’s relationship, no doubt about it!” Mineta shook his head adamantly. “I’m telling you, dude, it’s the super nice ones you have to worry about.” Denki gasped, offended, “I can’t believe you are saying this right now, have you no shame!”

Jirou rolled her eyes as she had no choice but to listen to the boy’s stupid conversation. “You do know Y/n is sitting right here right?” Based on the wide look on both of their eyes, they did not in fact realize that. Quickly looking at each other with narrowed features they dig in their pockets in order to retrieve their wallets. “20 bucks that say Y/n is topping Deku.” Mineta scoffed, “40 says you’re wrong.” they both shake on it before scooting closer to you. “So Y/n, which one of us is right.”

Looking between the two boys you open your mouth to answer the truth until you feel Deku shift his weight. He was looking at you, everyone was looking at you, all eager to hear who was right. A hand placed subtly on your back makes your smile widen, for a different reason than everyone else would guess. “Well, I can’t exactly say Denki is wrong, but I can’t say that he’s right.”

The blond whines in annoyance, “Oh come on what does that even mean!?!” While his attention is distracted, Mineta snatches the money from his hands, “That means you’re wrong now pay up.” Denki snaps out of his stupor in order to chase after his smaller classmate, “No the hell it doesn’t!” Now, with everyone’s attention being distracted to the slapstick comedy the two ensue, you realize that the hand you previously felt is gone. Deku is back to scribbling away in his notebook, giving you a false sense of relief.

“Man, Snipe is so aggressive when it comes to history!” Kirishima slouches in his chair knocking Bakugou’s hand as he eats out of a Yogurt cup. “Watch it shitty hair!” is the usual response, as the class congregates together. Asui calls you over to show you something but Deku steps in front of you before you fully stand. “Y/n since we have free time right now, I was hoping you could come and help me with something real quick.” He scratched the back of his head and looked over your head.

On the outside, it was just Deku being shy Deku, nothing suspicious about the ever-present blush he always sported was in full bloom. But from your point of view, it was obvious there was a different intent behind those eyes. “We’ll be back guys.” Deku mutters a hand settled comfortably on your waist as you walk out the door. From the corner of your eye, you could see Jirou watching the two of you leave with an eyebrow raised.

Deku guided you down the school halls, thumb rubbing shapes into your side. He said nothing as you walked, only waving and making small conversation with any familiar face you two passed by. After a long time, you two reach an unfamiliar classroom that Deku curiously peeks inside of. “So what are we doing?” “You’ll see.” Deku ushers the two of you inside before closing and locking the door shut. The mood seems to shift almost immediately.

Deku has a lazy smile on his face as he tugs on his school tie, “So what was that conversation you and Kaminari were having earlier?” Your arms tingle with goosebumps, “I don’t know what you’re referring to.” While Izuku talked, his uniform coat is placed neatly on a nearby desk table, the sleeve of his collared shirt was rolled up and out of the way. “Yeah, I figured you would say that, that’s why I wrote it down to help refresh your memory.”

Deku sits down on a desk, motioning you over to him with a twitch of his fingers. A small notebook you hadn’t noticed till now was pulled from his back pocket before being flipped through. When you stood in front of him, his hand resumed its place on your waist so he could pull you much closer. “According to my notes, Kaminari and Mineta were debating on who was in charge of our relationship.” The more he spoke, the more aware you became of his fingers tapping randomly on your back, each touch tickled your spine, “And in response, you encouraged Kaminari’s theory that you were the one in charge.” Deku snapped the notebook closed with one hand before placing it on the other side of your waist forcing you to face him. “Is that right?”

You are silent when Deku’s scarred hands undo your shirt buttons from the bottom up. “I just thought it was interesting that your answer was different from what my memory recalls.” Izuku sucks in a breath when he sees your black lace bra. The fabric covering your chest conveniently hid the faded hickeys he knew he left 3 weeks ago. “Take this off for me?” The soft tone took you off guard making you pause confused as Deku gently tugged off your shirt and tie. He stands up folding your clothes as you fiddle with your bra straps. “I’m done?” You turn around to hand him your bra but squeak out in surprise when his hand grips your neck.

He keeps his hand there as he backs you up, forcing you to sit on the desk he was previously on. “I’m curious….” Deku trails off in his speech, using the time to kiss you deeply, hand never leaving your neck. “Since you are always the one in charge, I figure that maybe I should finally put in the work and make you feel good?” Deku pulls the chair from underneath the desk and sits down, legs spread. “Well, what are you waiting for, come here?” Your stomach flips as you slide off the table, the stale cool air of the classroom makes your skin prickle with goosebumps as Deku faces you the opposite way in order for you to sit comfortably in his lap.

“Deku what if we get caught?” You nervously glance at the classroom door, the lack of a peeking window putting you somewhat at ease. You were the only one exposed and if someone were to come through that door, they would see your half-naked body in all its glory. A hovering hand grabs the ends of your faux locs to pull your head back so he could whisper in your ear. “I’m sure they’ll understand that I’m just trying to pay you back for all my laziness.”

You bite your lips coyly. He was annoyed, you could definitely hear it now from his sarcastic remarks. But that didn’t make you regret your earlier choice, not one bit, and Deku knew that. The real excitement came from seeing how long it would last.

The gentleness returned when he grabbed your chest, massaging and pulling at them for his own enjoyment before releasing them in order to slide down your stomach. As expected he pinches the skin hard between his fingers and then releases before you even have enough time to complain.

“Just relax okay?” Deku places each of your thighs atop of his, successfully spreading your legs apart. You suppressed laughter whenever his fingers grazed your skin just lightly enough that it tickled, there was no need to give him a reason to be more upset. “Wearing briefs again today?”

Your pussy is palmed without restriction as deft fingers rub at the soft cotton protecting it. “Now how am I supposed to get to you now huh?” You knew the unspoken answer, and Deku knew you hated it as he clenched his fingers into the fabric until it ripped, “Oops.” You shook your head pouting at the unfair treatment, “Why do you always have to do that, now I have to be extra careful of my skirt!”

Strike one was raising your voice.

The touch was quick but still ever so stinging. Deku slapped your pussy in response before using his other hand to hold your neck, firmly tipping it up to the ceiling. “If you would have stopped wearing underwear entirely we wouldn’t be having this conversation, you know I like easy access.” The lack of visible reaction meant nothing since you could almost feel the blood rushed to your face. Deku kisses your neck determined to add marks that you could never hide. Your dark skin peppered with purple bruises while Izuku simultaneously rolled your skirt up to your waist.

You were already wet, the small nibbles here and there were enough for your clit to twitch excitedly as Izuku’s fingers danced around it. “Please touch me!” A warm chuckle vibrated from his chest at your desperate plea, “Calm down and relax Princess. I’ll get you where you need to be.” Deku continues to ignore your clit. His fingers, ever precise, slide between your folds in order to collect your arousal. The feeling adds some pleasure but only enough to make you more desperate. “Look at you.”

Deku observed your hips buck every whenever he got close to your clit. The small nerve swelling with blood and begging to be touched, and who would he be to deny that. It was heaven on earth when he finally put pressure on it. “Mhm!” His fingers combined with your wetness as extra lubrication provided the most pleasurable feeling. You wanted to clamp your legs shut and trap him there, but his much thicker thighs kept you wide open and on display.

Deku was never one to do anything half-assed, so while his fingers flicked and pulled at your clit, his other hand got to work. However, your twitching made you clench down whenever his finger barely pushed inside, “You gotta calm down baby, how else am I going to make you cum?” Soft soothing words made you just enough for him to push his index finger inside. Your cunt was tight, warm, and irresistible. The steady pump of his fingers has you closing your eyes as you relax against him like jelly.

Deku knew your pussy like the back of his hand at this point, every ripple, nook, and cranny he knew how to touch in order to make your toes curl. He adds another finger to the mixture, then another, and a fourth one until you are gushing around his digits and onto the floor. You were a slutty mess and no intelligible words could leave your mouth but “please” and “thank you”.

And while exhibitionism was one thing he had no problem with, Deku respected the fact that you would probably not be too keen to it. “You’re being too loud puppy.” Deku retracts his hand in favor of shoving his fingers in your mouth. You could taste yourself as he pushed them in further, rubbing it along your tongue as drool rolled down his forearm.

The sound of his finger fucking your pussy was wet and sticky, It took a large effort on his part to hold you against him every time your back arched away. “I’m cumming!” Your stomach contorted beautifully against his estranged wrist. “There you go.” Izuku kissed on the shell of your ear as you adjusted past your orgasms. “Are you done?”

You turn your head to kiss him, “Yeah..” He nodded, patting your cheek, “That’s good.” Izuku helps you stand up, helping you when you wobbled ever so slightly. You look at him unsure of the constant smile adorning his face, “Now what?” Izuku slouched a little bit more, “Now you get on your knees of course!”

You only have a moment to ponder what he said before a hand on your shoulder is forcing you down to your knees. It was quick enough for you not to feel the pain of your knees slamming down, but not quick enough to see the smirk crossing your initially sweet lover.

He was already hard as a rock when you pulled him out, cockhead with a steady stream of pre coming out the tip. You admired it with a small kitten lick around the edge, pleased when it bobs from your ministrations. “You are taking too long now put it in your fucking mouth.” Your head is pressed down less than gracefully and you are forced to open your mouth less his dick be smeared against your face.

Your mouth spreads as best it could while Deku sheathed all the way down to the base. He pulls out once again as if testing the waters before letting you up for a quick breath. “For someone in charge, you aren’t very good at this.” Deku uses a patronizing finger to wipe stray saliva off your chin before gripping your chin. “Maybe this will help you learn.” Using one hand Deku uses his cock to tap your mouth expectantly. Your mouth opens on reflex and his cock is pushed back in. Deku sighs with satisfaction, “Fuck, your mouth has always been good for this.” The tempo isn’t as bruising as it was in the beginning but it was still harsh.

Tears collected in your eyes ruining the mascara Momo had put on your eyes. Your throat burned from the constant friction and lack of air. “You hear that? This was what you should have said when they had asked you who was in charge.” Deku looked at you, his curly green hair covering his eyes as shook from his arm movement. “Look at those pretty lips.” Deku flinched after you swiped your tongue on the underside of his cock.

His voice sped up in the momentum and pitched in tone, “Y-You tryna make me cum fast huh!?” You bobbed your head faster despite the tight grip on your scalp trying to pull you away, “F-Fuck Y/n stop it!” Izuku’s voice caved and his hips jerked against your chin as he emptied his balls. You wipe your face with a large grin, brown eyes daring green ones. Izuku laughed, “You wanted this huh?” You don’t respond, skin tingling in the thought of what would come next. Deku stared at you, hands gripping his knees as his dick continued to spurt cum. “Fine.”

Deku stands up before dropping to his knees in front of you. Your calves are grabbed and raised until they are placed on his left shoulder. He slides inside of you with little to no resistance and you both groan at the intrusion. “I try to be nice to you.” Your neck is grabbed again with much familiarity, “But you always test my patience.” Deku leans over you to make sure you are listening. His eyes were a light green as sunlight cast itself inside of the classroom. The sound of your hips meeting is sloppy but neither of you are bothered by it.

You moaned as his abdomen rubbed against your clit the faster he went. “Deku!” Your voice is ragged and you’re practically wheezing at this point from the tight grip he has on every inch of your body. “Shut up.” He releases your neck and spreads your legs apart resting each on its respective shoulder. With entranced eyes Izuku watches you suck him in, sneering at how unintentionally greedy you were. The sound of spit startles you as it hits Deku’s cock before being pushed inside you.

You spasm at a particularly hard thrust, you didn’t know what it hit but your spine lit to flames each time it was grazed. “D-Deku!” You reach a hand out near any piece of skin you could reach, switching from his hands to his stomach. It was too much, the feeling of pleasure made it damn near impossible to think. Deku didn’t want you to think. Every time you seemed to think, you always caused him trouble. “I told you to be quiet.” Your mouth is covered almost completely by his hand only giving you the grace of air between his index and middle finger. You cum and you cum hard, so hard that Deku slips out and almost slips into your opposite hole.

Your leg is dragged back and Deku enters you again, this time only focused on himself. You feel him piston in and out of your cunt grunting obscenities as he closed his eyes with bliss. “Come on, I want one more like that. I need you to break for me.” In the distance, you hear the hour bell ring and the sound of students leaving their classroom. You have no energy to warn Deku, not that it would have mattered. Based on the pleasured look on his face and the heightened sound of his whines, the idea of getting caught only made him feel better. “I’m gonna, o-h fuck I’m gonna fucking cum.”

You let out a scream when a thumb finds your clit and your weak hands could do nothing to keep him from forcing another orgasm from you. “Don’t fucking run from it, cum for me puppy, oh god!” He covers your mouth to stifle your noises and that’s when the sensation begins.

The sensation is strange, it starts in your lungs like air before trickling down to your loins. The feeling of holding it back is painful but you still do it for only a moment of sanity. When it releases, it gushes like a waterfall, and for a moment you wonder if you had peed. When Deku feels it, he too is unable to hold back and finally cums inside of you with a reserved grunt when he realizes the danger of discovery.

Wasting no time and feeling no fatigue, Deku moves fast to find his own pants and shirt taking barely any time to pull your skirt down before giving you 4 minutes tops to learn how to breathe again. “Stand up.” You huff as you prop yourself up on your elbow, “You could at least help a girl out after fucking me an inch of my life.” Deku shrugs, “Logically speaking you did this to yourself.” “Logically speaking I should shove my foot up your ass.”

On the way back to class, Deku took pleasure in watching you walk bowlegged. You of course didn’t share the sediment as you did your best to hold in any cum Deku graciously left behind. He opens the door for you and you walk in doing your best to walk right but the limp was clear and true. Bakugou looked bored, the rest had blushes on their faces as you struggled to sit down properly. Denki, of course, was heartbroken as he handed Mineta back his part of the bet. “I told you, dude, it’s always the silent ones.”

From the back of the class, Asui and Jirou shoot each other an impressed look as they eyes the dark lovebites traveling below your shirt collar.

[therenlover]

In Fleeting Touches & Airy Sighs Chapter One (A Three Chapter Helmut Zemo/Reader Fanfic)

(Thank you to the wonderful anon who requested angst and smut between Zemo and the reader because Zemo had to be away from her on the run!)

Synopsis: A year after working together with Zemo in the events of Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Sam and Bucky seek him out once again in need of shelter from John Walker. Meanwhile, Zemo’s wife resents his absence and prepares for guests.

Tags: Flashbacks, Depression, Alcoholism, Separation Anxiety, Arguing, Struggling Marriage, Reunions

Rating: T (E in future chapters)

Warnings: Guns, Swearings, Reader shows signs of alcoholism/alcohol abuse, Reader uses a hot shower as a mild form of self harm

Word Count: 5000~

This fic has been crossposted under the same title to my AO3!

----------

Helmut Zemo was not often a man backed into a corner.

He was smart, resourceful, and had nothing left to lose. If it came down to the line, he would do whatever had to be done within his morals to achieve his goals, even if that goal was simply staying alive. The Baron bowed to no man, and made his enemies, no matter their size, fall to their knees with sheer wit instead of brute strength. That’s why, when he stood backed into an alley with the barrel of James Barnes’ gun to his forehead as the Falcon watched on, it was strange that he didn’t try to weasel his way out.

“We need answers,” Sam said, hands in the pockets of his dark hoodie. Bucky wore a similar one, only he wore a baseball cap instead of keeping his hood up. “How the hell did you break out of prison for a second time?”

Usually, Zemo would have replied with a clever quip. He had never been one to back down from a fight. This time, though, he looked almost frightened as he raised his arms in defeat. “I got in contact with friends on the outside during our short adventure together. They decided to help me out once I was re-incarcerated, willingly I might add. I had no part in the plan, but who would look a gift horse in the mouth?”

“And I guess I’m just supposed to assume you had no part in getting my pardon revoked?” Bucky spat.

“If you hadn’t noticed, James, I’ve left you alone,” A hint of his usual mockery slipped into Helmut’s tone, but he quickly pulled it back, “Believe what you want about me, but I’ve had some time since last year to… re-evaluate my feelings on the world. You had no choice but to do the things you did as the Winter Soldier, and as long as you pose no threat to society now I have no qualms with you,”

Despite the strangeness of Zemo’s response Bucky remained unphased. Sam, on the other hand, was less stoic.

“Man, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but the government is looking for Bucky and I harder than they’re looking for you, and it’s kind of all your fault, so excuse me for not giving a shit about your supposed sudden change of heart!”

“Can we get to the point? I’m afraid my flight leaves in an hour and I would hate to be late,”

“Cut the bullshit!” There Bucky went, pushing the cold metal closer to Zemo’s furrowed forehead.

“Bucky...” Sam warned.

“No, Sam, I can do this. Did you or did you not actively attempt to get my pardon revoked when you took us to Madripoor? Because thanks to you, a worse symbol than Sam is now standing unchecked with the title of Captain America AND he has access to the last of the new super soldier serum AND he’s trying to get us killed so we can’t tell the world about the awful shit he does,”

“I-” Zemo went to speak and, for the first time since he had met him, Sam believed he was being genuine. There was a tremble that made its way through him, all the way to his raised hands and even his voice. It was enough that Bucky even lowered the gun minutely. “I understood that by following my lead, the both of you were risking a lot. I didn’t intend any specific malice with my actions though, no. If I may… the two of you have attracted a lot of attention here in the past few days. I assume Walker is very close to finding you?”

Sam and Bucky shared a look before Sam responded. “Maybe, why?”

“I have a safe house,” he continued, “I don’t stay there often so the location isn’t compromised, but it’s my next stop. Might I suggest we take this conversation on the road? I would hate to host your reunion with Mr. Walker in an alley over my corpse,”

There was a moment of complete stillness. Zemo remained, face dark with that strange deer-in-headlights look, a perfect statue, as the barrel of Bucky’s gun remained pointed firmly in his direction and Sam shared what seemed to be a completely silent conversation with Bucky. It was true that they had been burned before. Zemo was a man with his own agenda who did what it took to fulfill it. That being said, he had returned willingly with them back to prison before he was broken out, and without his help, the band of freshly minted super soldiers would still be running around Europe causing chaos. In the end, Bucky lowered his gun slowly before tucking it away into his boot holster.

Zemo grinned.

“Don’t think this means we trust you,” Sam groaned, pointing a finger at the man.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Now, gentlemen, I believe we have a plane to catch,”

As the trio began to make their way out of the alley Bucky and Sam fell to the flank of the group. “Do you really think this is a good idea?” Bucky asked, eyes darting between his two companions. Sam shrugged.

“At this point, I’m doing whatever it takes to get home to my family in one piece. If that means I have to ride in Zemo’s stupid private jet again and lay low for a while, then that’s what I’m gonna do, because Sarah and those kids don’t deserve to lose me all over again,”

“But don’t you think he’s acting a little… weird?”

“Don’t worry, I have my eye on him. If he tries anything we can just throw him out front when Walker tries to shoot us,”

“You’re doing a very poor job of concealing your conversation,” Zemo shouted.

Bucky stormed ahead as Sam laughed.

“Oh, shut up!”

Surprisingly, the drive to the airstrip was mostly uneventful, as was the relatively short flight from Zurich to Avignon. There was, of course, the usual cutthroat banter and tension so thick you could feel it like a fog hanging over the group, but in an unusual twist of fate, the baron did very little to initiate. Of course, he wasn’t fully innocent though. He never was. That being said, even as his chauffeur carefully navigated the stone roads to the dropoff point he was strangely quiet. He had texted someone earlier to have the house prepared for their arrival but he kept looking down at the phone as if a response would come. It didn’t.

Sam appreciated the break from the noise. To him, it was a moment of peace after a few months of constant opposition. For the duration of the trip, he had chosen to shoot a few choice quips Bucky’s way before taking a long nap. Bucky, on the other hand, was only growing more suspicious of Zemo by the minute.

After his time with Hydra, Bucky had become intimately acquainted with the type of man that Zemo was. He was ruthless, driven by ideals that couldn’t be changed by any amount of debate or theory read inside a prison cell, and willing to do whatever it took to fulfill those ideals no matter the cost. There was remorse but no regret. A man like that doesn’t just stop believing in the thing that led him to kill dozens if not hundreds of people, because once the impetus is gone so is the only thing upholding their sense of self.

In basic terms, he was hiding something. Bucky was intent on finding out what that thing was, a thing important enough to make Zemo of all people shut the hell up and tell his enemies exactly where his safe house was, and he wasn’t going to rest until he did. The answer came easily enough in the end, but not before Sam and Bucky were forced face to face with the strangest thing they had ever seen, even when including aliens and wizards. That thing was Zemo buying flowers.

The trio had gotten out of the car somewhere around the center of the city and continued towards the safe house on foot. A few minutes after they started, though, Zemo had spoken.

“I apologize, but I’ll have to stop for a moment,” He said, holding up a hand to alert the two men trailing him to the fact that he was about to stop. Sam quirked up an eyebrow.

“At a flower shop?”

There, to the right of them, was a small fleuriste. The window was a burst of bright color. Pinks, reds, whites, purples; a certain bunch of spring blooms had caught Zemo’s eye. He shrugged. “It’s rude to arrive at someone’s house asking for a favor without a gift, Mr. Wilson. Excuse me,”

With a comfort that said he had been into the shop many times, Zemo walked through the door and began conversing with the shop owner in perfect French, even referring to her as tu instead of vous as he made his purchase.

“Did he just say someone’s house ?” Sam asked Bucky, eyes widening.

Bucky gritted his teeth. “Yeah, I think he did,”

“So, we’re just showing up at someone’s door,”

“Yup. Not to mention they’re someone who aligns themself with him,”

A groan escaped from Sam as he ran his hand down his face in disbelief. “I didn’t expect much from Zemo, but damn,”

“It’s your fault for expecting anything from Zemo in the first place,”

“For once, you’re right,”

They dawdled for a moment. As their conversation stilled, Zemo returned, now burdened by a sizable bouquet from the window. Around them, the city was starting to get off of work. Families walked together as businesses had their 5 o’clock shift change. Somehow as the world around them came to life it didn’t look at Sam and Bucky with anything more than a passing glance. They were tourists, nothing more. For a moment Sam understood why Zemo would go to a place like this for safety and anonymity.

Without ceremony, the trio began walking towards their destination once again.

“I apologize for the delay,” Zemo said, keeping his pace brisk and remaining about a foot ahead of his companions, “I suppose it’s become a bit of a habit that I buy Y/N flowers whenever I come back. We shouldn’t be long now, though, the house is just a few more blocks away, maybe 3 minutes by foot,”

“Y/N?” Bucky asked. The name felt heavy on his tongue, familiar. That had to be a coincidence though. Zemo would never align himself with anyone who had worked for Hydra, and there was no other place he could have heard that name and had it hold any significance. Right?

Zemo chuckled. “Y/N is our host. I’d appreciate it if you tried to maintain some semblance of respect when we arrive, she tends to have quite the temper and it would reflect badly on me if she believed I was asking her to indefinitely house two people who would happily send her to prison,”

“About that,” Sam chimed in, “Who the hell are we about to be staying with? It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I don’t, and by extension, I also don’t tend to trust people who trust you,”

“I assure you, Sam, Y/N is more trustworthy to you than I will ever be,”

“That doesn’t answer my question, nor does it make me feel any better,”

“She’s American, and like you, she is seeking shelter from the government. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“Man, at this point I feel like you’re not telling us because she’s actually some sort of crazy Sokovian sleeper agent who’s gonna stab us in the back while we sleep. Am I crazy, Buck, or am I right?”

Bucky, who had been trying his best to stay out of the conversation, replied. “You are being unnecessarily evasive, Zemo, though that’s nothing new…”

“Right? Like, I’m really grateful that you’re lending us a hand, but I’ve gotta be honest, if I think for a second things are going south-”

Sam never got to finish his sentence.

Suddenly, Zemo stopped short, turning around and looking Bucky in the eye with a madness neither he nor Sam had ever seen before. His whole body was stiff, rigid. The hand that wasn’t cradling the flowers delicately was gripped in a fist at his side. He looked angry, but underneath the anger, he really just looked scared. “You will not touch her. Do you hear me? Do what you’d like with me, I have made choices worthy of punishment, but you will not touch Y/N. If you so much as think of it, all bets are off. Do you understand me?”

Bucky nodded, sharp. This was certainly interesting. Sam just smirked.

“Is there something else you want to tell us?”

Zemo walked up a small set of stairs towards a home to their right. “No, Mr. Wilson, I don’t believe so,”

The building was a nice one, all tan stone with dark wrought-iron fixtures on its many windows. It looked, for all intents and purposes, like a normal midtown manor-house for some upper-class member of the community. The normalcy of it all hid its true purpose in plain sight. It was genius, really. Over a dividing wall made of the same yellowing stone, Sam could see a small sliver of vibrant green garden space and a pool at the side of the building.

With a steadying breath, Zemo knocked on the door.

“You have to knock on the door of your own safe house?” There was a hint of incredulity in Bucky’s voice as he crossed his arms. This was going to be a disaster. Why had they agreed to this again?

“A little etiquette goes a long way, James, especially when you’re already in the doghouse,” Then, the door opened.

Bucky froze. There, standing in the doorway with a pistol in her hand and a fire in her eyes, was a woman he thought long dead: you. This couldn’t be right! He had killed you back in ‘02 with the rest of the AAHR...

You quirked up an eyebrow at Zemo.

“Give me one reason I should let you in and not shoot you on the spot,”

They were so fucked.

________________

The day, on your end of the world, had gone by much slower.

It started off like any other, with the alarm on your bedside table blaring as you opened your eyes and your arms reached out into the emptiness in the sheets beside you. Sometimes, when Helmut’s flight got in late enough, you would wake up and reach to the side only to find that he had appeared beside you in the night. Those were the best kind of reunions. They were free of pretense, no bitterness or resentment clouded your sleep-heavy brain when you opened your eyes to his peaceful resting face, and you could simply fall into the comforting rhythm of husband and wife. If you reunited with a clear head things tended not to go as well.

You groaned. It wasn’t as if there was even a guarantee he would come back, especially not after the way you’d left things last time. The philosophy of attendre et espérer, waiting and hoping like an Edmond Dantés type, wouldn’t do you any good, at least not anymore.

Maybe it was time to start moving on…

Tomorrow. You could start thinking about the next steps tomorrow. For today you’d enjoy what you had.

Getting out of bed was difficult but you managed. The sun streamed through the curtains that billowed gently in the breeze near your balconette, brilliant gold beams illuminating the dust that danced in the air. The first thing you did was shuffle along to the corner and pour yourself two fingers of brandy from Helmut’s private collection. It was like a morning ritual these days, a numbing agent against the loneliness. Once the drink was downed you moved on to the closet to get dressed.

Dressing yourself wasn’t of much importance these days. You couldn’t exactly leave the house, and nobody was visiting, so more often than not, it was easier to just wear the same pajamas for a few days until you knew Oeznik would be around to drop off groceries. Today, though, you felt… filthy. Not dirty in a physical way, just sticky and filthy and unclean under your skin and in your very heart. Maybe a shower would help.

You looked around the closet with a clinical eye. It was difficult to be in there, surrounded by lavish dresses and expensive suits that you and your husband had worn arm in arm while plotting the downfall of the Avengers before your unsteady alliance had turned into so much more. Everything still smelled like his cologne. In the small, often-closed, walk-in closet, the scent had only intensified, covering every article of clothing with a fog of cedarwood and sage. It made you sick, choked the air from your lungs and left you gasping for even a single breath that didn’t sit heavy on your tongue with the bitter taste of that familiar musk.

The alcohol had helped. It always did. The remnants of its burn in your mouth formed a sort of guard against the scent of the closet as you searched through a pile of shirts for something soft and easy to wear. Your hands suddenly stilled.

“Zemo, I’m gonna be honest, this is the ugliest sweater I’ve ever seen in my entire life,”

“I’m hurt! That’s one of my favorites,”

“Where did you even get it, a 90-year-old grandpa’s closet? Jesus Christ, it looks like something out of a shitty 70’s flick about family values,”

“I’ll have you know that I thrifted that sweater. It’s very eco-conscious you know,”

Your heart hurt. Well, no, your whole body hurt, but your heart ached a little more prominently as you carefully picked up the sweater and held it to your chest. It was terribly ugly, 4 sizes too big even on Helmut and covered in an olive and forest green argyle. Somehow he was always able to pull off the oversized thing no matter how ridiculous you had always insisted you found it. When was the last time he’d worn it again?

The memory evaded you.

Still, it was a happy relic, happier than most of the monuments to a failing marriage that lined the shelves of your beautiful personal prison. It wouldn’t hurt to hope that by wearing it, you might rub just a little bit of that lost happiness off onto your present-day, right? With one last forlorn glance around the closet, you gathered up the sweater and a pair of jeans before getting out as fast as you could. With the scent of cologne clinging to you, the shower wasn’t just a good idea now, it was necessary.

So, you showered. You took the stupid foot-long exfoliating brush Helmut loved so much and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed yourself under the near-boiling stream of water until your skin was pink and raw. Disappointingly, even the new skin felt filthy. It was better, though, less intense. With some lotion and a little bit of Neosporin on the fresh patches of blotchy red, you were able to feel okay. Not good. Not clean. Just… okay. At least you didn’t smell like him anymore. The clock read 12:14 when you finally made it out of the bathroom in search of some real food.

Lunch, if you could call it that, was a silent affair. The fridge was almost empty and the pantry was only a little less bare, so you threw together a cheese sandwich, not even bothering to waste butter and grill it. You ate it plain with another glass of brandy out on the pool deck. It was gone sooner than you hoped it would be.

Oh well.

You finished your brandy with a sigh. Only seven or eight more hours until you could finish your day with a few more drinks and pass out in bed until nine or ten once again. Ah, dreamless sleep. That sounded divine. Now if only you could fathom any non-depressing way to spend the time between sleeping and waking. Swimming was out, the chemicals would burn your freshly eviscerated skin. Playing solitaire for the fourth day in a row sounded like absolute hell on earth. Even watercolors, a usual calming respite from the torturous and neverending monotony of life trapped alone in a house you had no help in stocking, were off the table ever since you’d run out of paper.

Somewhere inside the house, your phone dinged.

The second the sound hit your ears you jumped, dropping your glass and letting it shatter into a thousand tiny shards on the stone of the patio.

Phones were a difficult thing to own for someone who was trying to stay out of the eyes of the government. They were too easy to track and could tip off enemies to your location with very little error needed on your part. Even searching the internet for innocent things was too risky. If your search history was too similar to that of the alias you had used before Helmut went to prison, it would have been easy for them to find a connection and send someone to track you down. Still, you kept a cell phone charged and ready on the kitchen counter despite the risk for one reason and one reason only: Emergency contact with your husband.

He never texted from the same number on more than one occasion, always switching from burner phone to burner phone as he flew across the country doing god knows what, but if he was ever in a situation where emergency contact with you was needed, he was able to reach you at your number immediately. It had only happened a couple of times, and each time he had been in a considerable amount of danger. So, when you suddenly heard the sound you dreaded more than anything else in the world, you were quick to rush inside, even ignoring the shattered glass at your feet as you shoved through the doors and found the phone.

The small, LED display was lit up with the notification. It made your heart both soar and sink.

Flying home with two guests. Prepare the two rooms for their stay. We will be there by 5 at the latest - B

You read over the message several times before letting the phone fall from your hand and back onto the counter with a dull thud.

That absolute asshole.

Three months. Three months you had spent sitting alone. Three months without a call, or a text, or a letter, or even a word of when he was coming back by way of Oeznik. Three months! And after three months of loneliness and sleepless nights and empty bottles on the drink cart he reaches out through an emergency line of contact that almost certainly means he might be dying only to tell you he’s bringing two strangers into your safe house, the place even he refuses to stay in too long in order to not give its location away. The scar on your spine was starting to burn as you leaned up against the counter and cried.

It was ridiculous to think you had ever believed him capable of more tact than that.

Really, it was your fault. From the beginning, you’d had too much faith in a man incapable of being trustworthy, even to those closest to him. You knew that, and yet you had married him. Maybe the soft touches and sweet lies he had spoon-fed you had made you weak. Maybe you always had been.

“I’m not a child, Helmut, I know what I’m doing!”

“I don’t think you do,” he shouted. He was a few drinks in now, you both were. The nights before his departures never tended to end well when you both drank. “Because no matter what I do to protect you, you have the need to disobey me! Have you considered that I do the things I do for your own good!”

“Oh! Oh yes, the things YOU do!” You slammed your glass down on the table as you stormed over to Helmut, “I sit here all day like a fucking dog in a cage while you fly to fucking Ibiza and flirt with supermodels, but YOUR story is just so fucking tragic! I’m your wife, Helmut! I’m not an animal or your property, I’m your goddamn wife! You can’t just order me to sit and stay like a dog,”

He glared down at you, eyes hawkish and glinting in the low lamplight. For the first time in years, he looked threatening, “You may not be a dog, or a child, or my property, but you are a weapon! It’s my job to keep you here, away from the-”

“Excuse me?” You interrupted. The two of you stood, inches away and yet miles apart. Slowly, the drive in Helmut’s eyes faltered. “Say that again. I dare you,”

“Schatz, I-”

“No, Helmut, you meant it so say it again. Call me that again. I fucking dare you,” Tears were streaming down your face now. He took a step towards you, hand extended to wipe them away, but you were quick to take a step back out of his reach.

“You misunderstood me,”

“I don’t think there was anything to misunderstand,”

You swept the shards of your glass tumbler into a dustpan, hands still shaking even ten minutes after you’d read Helmut’s message to you. As you worked, your last conversation before he’d left echoed in your mind.

How had it all devolved into that? It wasn’t hard to remember Helmut before prison, jaded and broken and lonely. He had been so much like you and yet so different. Each of you seemed to be the perfect balm for the others' wounds. In the end, despite all of his flaws, you had found yourself in love. Now that he was a different man, was that love gone? You couldn’t say. All you knew for sure was that you weren’t nearly drunk enough to be facing the confusing feelings in your brain. With the last of your energy, you emptied the dustpan of glass into the trash can and returned to the house, sweater itchy against your irritated skin, to ready the guest rooms.

The job wasn’t a long one. You had never used the guest rooms in all the time you’d spent at the Avignon property, so the sheets were already clean. There was just a thin layer of dust on the furniture that needed to be swept away as you checked to make sure the dressers were bare and the bathrooms were stocked with amenities. Then, when that was done, you were left to your thoughts as the hours ticked by.

Most of the time you spent sitting on the couch doing absolutely nothing. It sounded terrible, and in all honesty it was, but what else could you do? The house was already spotless so cleaning wasn’t an option, and you didn’t quite feel like doing much of anything as you stared at the clock and tried to remember a time when your life was less of a disaster. As it got closer to five, though, you started to get antsy.

You had tried your best to not think about the obvious issue of the guests. Zemo was not the type to threaten his home, even if he wasn’t happy with you, so usually having anyone who wasn’t Oeznik or another paid lackey aware of the location of your safe house would be a big no in his book, but then you started thinking of the implications of him bringing people into your home. Your home, not his. Was he on his way to kill you? It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Or maybe he was bringing your replacement.

Now that thought made anger bubble up in your throat. You were no stranger to the idea that when your husband was away, he could be doing anything. There was no guarantee when he slept in lavish hotels or drank the night away in elite lounges that he kept his wedding ring on. The fact that there were two guests meant it was unlikely he was bringing two mistresses, but never impossible. Nothing was impossible when it came to Helmut.

No, it was more likely he had finally decided it was time to end your suffering. The shouts and boisterous laughter that started to sound directly outside of the front room window only confirmed the for you. Slowly, you crept towards the door and grabbed a small pistol from its place in the umbrella stand. If he wanted you dead you weren’t going to go without a fight.

Through the curtains on the front door, you could just barely make out the trio. When you saw them your blood ran cold. It was one thing if he needed help to take you down, but getting the Winter Soldier on board? Your rage only grew by the minute.

Helmut said something, probably planning the best course of action to catch you off guard, and you sneered. Two could play at that game. When he knocked on the door you opened it calmly and held the gun with your finger just barely ghosting over the trigger.

Everyone froze.

“Give me one reason I should let you in and not shoot you on the spot,” you said, rage coursing through every nerve in your body. You may have been in retirement for quite a few years, but you still knew how to handle a gun. Everyone there, except maybe the Falcon, knew that. As Zemo went to open his mouth, you prepared for a firefight.

“Because I brought you flowers,”

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

a/n: Sorry that only one chapter is out! The fic is just getting very long and complicated and I wanted to make sure you got as much as possible before the next episode drops lol. I’ll be working pretty much nonstop from now until then, though, so the next parts should be out soon!

TAGLIST: @tatestripedsweater​ , @elaineygrace​, @multiyfandomgirl40​ ,  @lovelymischief​ , @rami-malek-trash​ , @dazzlingseb​, @avgravy​ , @sarahsilver , @wh0re-4-techno​ , @forcebros​ , @sugarsweetkiss​ , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff​ , @killsandthrills​ , @novasstudy​ , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp​ , @inmate-marmalade​, @alanathedeer​ , @mossybank​ , @simsiddy​ , @xxspqcebunsxx​ 

Please do not post my work on other sites, thank you!

[whythinktoomuch]

attempt #37

This was the 52nd formula that Lena had come up with, the 45th solution that she had to wait several hours to synthesize, but only the 37th time she was injecting her shoulder with the resulting concoction. 

It was bright green this time, which only made it seem all the more promising.

There’s a rush and some mild nausea that Lena had come to expect with the experiments, but everything else felt the same. For now. Setting the syringe aside, Lena called out, “Hope, think of a number between one and a million.” 

Then, for the 37th time, Lena tried. She cleared her own mind, practiced the meditative mantras, stared intently into Eve’s eyes, bright blue yet blank with Hope’s quiet disinterest, and... nothing. Not a single digit came to mind. 

No matter how hard Lena tried, the only thoughts in her head were her own. 

With an exasperated sigh, Lena rolled her sleeve back down and directed Hope to log their latest attempt as yet another failure before storming off to start her day. 

// 

Lena emerged from the laboratory with wrinkled clothes and dark circles sunken around her eyes, which was probably why the first thing she heard as she stepped out of the elevator was her personal assistant’s hushed commentary of, Oh sweet Jesus, she looks tired. 

“Oh, I’m well aware, Hector,” Lena said, lofty and without much malice. “Nothing a little coffee can’t fix though.” 

Hector stared at her blankly. “I’m sorry, Miss Luthor?” 

“Never mind,” Lena said, rolling her eyes. She took the outstretched coffee in question as she walked by the assistant’s desk. “Just hold all my calls until the afternoon, please.” 

This time, when Hector grumbled under his breath about wow, she must be grumpy too, Lena ignored it. There were better things for the CEO to tackle, after all; as for example, some fitful sleep on her couch, perhaps? 

Hours later, Lena was relatively well-rested, so she pored over her notes again, trying to pinpoint the exact variable she must have overlooked in her carelessness. Because by all accounts, the formula should have worked—Lena had been certain of it. But then again, she’d admittedly thought that of almost every attempt thus far. 

When Hector walked into her office at some point in the late afternoon with a handful of contracts to be signed, Lena felt no closer to the solution and a slight headache coming on.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” 

“Another coffee would be great,” Lena said, as she sifted through the documents. 

“Oh my God, if she takes in any more caffeine, her heart’s going to literally explode...” Hector muttered to himself. “Well, maybe she won’t notice if I get her decaf instead...?” 

Lena dropped the papers onto her desk with a scoff. “You know I can hear you, right?” 

Hector appeared startled, which seemed rather appropriate until he slowly said, “So... was that a yes on the espresso?” 

“What?” 

Hector maintained his slow cadence, carefully enunciating every syllable as if he were repeating himself, “Did you want to stick with your usual order... or maybe go with an espresso... because it’s a little stronger?” 

But in a normal cadence, also in Hector’s voice and somehow clear as a bell in Lena’s head came, “If this woman doesn’t get another nap in pronto, she is going to drop dead, and everyone’s going to think I poisoned her coffee, because she’s always in—” 

Absolutely stunned, Lena continued to stare up at Hector in silence, eyes narrowing as the assistant’s slightly panicked voice droned on and on in her head. Until a louder remark broke through the reverie. 

“Whoa, did she just fall asleep with her eyes open?” 

Lena blinked quite obviously, and her mild shock was accompanied with a loud and clear, yet unspoken Oh, thank God! from Hector. 

But the Hector standing before her hadn’t moved his lips once, only watching the bewilderment play out on Lena’s face with some polite concern. 

“The usual’s fine,” Lena interjected before her assistant could press again. “Or the espresso, or whatever. I don’t care, as long as it’s still hot and caffeinated.” 

“You got it,” Hector said. 

“Definitely getting her decaf,” Hector thought as he turned to leave, but Lena hardly minded. She was too busy restructuring the rest of her day around this most exciting realization. 

After some quick bit of arithmetic in her head, Lena set a timer on her watch for five hours, which was presumably the amount of time it would take for her body to break down the serum and render it useless. Then she logged on to her private interface and happily directed Hope to re-record attempt #37 as a success. 

//

The ability to read minds was, quite simply, quite the advantage. 

Though it wasn’t so much “mind-reading,” as mind-receiving. The serum seemed to have granted Lena access to the loud and active thought processes of everyone around her—their inner monologue, if you will, everything put into words but left unsaid. 

Lena had been hoping for more, to be able to break into other people’s minds so as to hack secrets, determine why supposed close friends would ever betray her, and the like. Maybe that would come with time and practice. 

But as it turned out, there was rather plenty to be gleaned from the forefront of someone’s mind, as people often thought about the things they weren’t supposed to say before choosing more palatable means of expression. Which made the rest of Lena’s workday somewhat informative, if not a little fun. 

For one thing, Lena found out that a lot more of her employees enjoyed working for her than she had thought. All of them respected her, several feared her, and quite a fair few entertained invasive thoughts about her décolletage before swiftly directing their attention elsewhere. 

She also found out there was one board member in particular who liked to fudge the numbers during meetings, and that his face took on a very unappealing shade of off-white when Lena could inexplicably confront him with the actual results of his findings. 

But most importantly of all, what Lena found out was that... she actually enjoyed this heretofore inaccessible sense of control this ability afforded her. She had taken on the experiments for a very specific purpose, but now, it was difficult to even imagine going back to how things were, even after the fact.  

// 

Lena walked into the DEO, and for the first time, the outpouring of distrust attached to the Luthor name was all but imagined. The disparaging thoughts followed her, even as the people who had them smiled or averted their eyes as she passed. 

Nothing she wasn’t used to though. 

Alex’s voice slid into Lena’s head in a whisper—... the hell?—one whole minute before she actually greeted her, “Lena, hey... Well, can’t say that I was expecting you.” 

“Yes, that’s what it sounds like,” Lena mused, and Alex gave her a slight frown. 

“So, did you need something?” 

“Where’s Kara? I want to talk to her.” 

Alex’s carefully composed face betrayed no emotion, but her thoughts sighed heavily, “Of course...” before ebbing away into something entirely indistinct and indecipherable.

Lena blinked. She hadn’t encountered anyone whose thoughts weren’t immediately accessible to her before. But here Alex was, giving directions to Kara’s current whereabouts, all the while muttering some underlying commentary in tones so hushed that Lena couldn’t quite make out any of it. 

“... Is there something on my face?” Alex swiped her sleeve across her forehead. “What are you looking at?” 

“What? No, nothing,” Lena said brusquely. “Thank you for telling me where Kara is. Bye.” She turned on her heel, headed for the hallway that would eventually lead to the training room. 

“Well, that was weird...” Alex’s voice drifted after her, a literal afterthought. “But I mean, I guess she has a nice ass, so—”

Lena shot a dirty look over her shoulder, but Alex was already back on her computer, mind rattling off coordinates and running through tactical drills like a well-oiled machine. 

// 

Kara was wearing short shorts and a sports bra, panting, and absolutely drenched in sweat when Lena stepped foot into the training room. She looked over at Lena, her skin glistening against the dimmed green of the kryptonite-lined walls, and smiled wide. 

“Oh, hey! What are you doing here?” Kara asked, giving the punching bag one last jab before tugging her gloves off.��"Did something happen or...? I mean, not that I’m not happy to see you, of course.” She flashed Lena another bright grin before pressing a towel to her face and neck and chest. 

It was enough to stop Lena in her tracks, and almost enough to put a damper on her plans. Almost. 

“I need to talk to you,” Lena said evenly, eyes glued firmly to Kara’s forehead. 

“Yeah, sure! Jeez... I’d give you a hug, but I’m like sweating in places I didn’t even know existed. Alex says that this is the only way to learn proper form and all, but wow. I can’t believe there are humans who actually do this for fun—” 

“Kara,” Lena cut in, lips pursing in exasperation. “I’m serious. We need to talk right now.” 

Kara blinked, then slowly nodded. “Okay, yeah, let’s talk... You wanna sit down?” 

“I prefer to be standing.” 

“Okay.” Kara remained standing as well, towel now crumpled in her hands. “So, what’s going on?” 

Lena took a deep breath, quickly running through the meditative techniques meant to keep her mind clear and open, then asked, “Why did it take you so long to tell me that you’re Supergirl?” 

Kara’s shoulders slumped. “Lena, I...” 

“No, why did it take three years? Why didn’t you trust me?” Lena continued, her pace steady and firm just like she had practiced. “I trusted you. I trusted you with every part of me, which is extremely difficult for me to do, and you just... didn’t care, I guess.” 

“Of course, I care. Lena... I never meant to hurt you,” Kara said insistently. Her voice was loud, emphatic, and at the moment, the only thing Lena could hear.  

“Don’t!” Lena snapped when Kara started to approach her. “Don’t come any closer. And stop talking! Just listen.” 

Kara exhaled sharply through her nose and raised her hands in tentative surrender in absolute, utter silence. Lena even paused for a beat or two, just to see if any of Kara’s thoughts would breach the surface, but none did. 

“Why couldn’t you just trust me, Kara?” Lena asked, and regrettably her voice trembled on the last syllable. “Why did I have to hear it from Lex?” 

Kara’s eyes widened. “Lex? Lex told you before I did?” 

“Shut up. Do not talk,” Lena hissed out, waiting for Kara to snap her jaw shut before continuing with a bitter laugh, “Do you, do you even trust me now...?” Kara stared, gaze hardening. “And how do you expect me to trust anything you have to say for yourself now?” 

Lena’s questions—all of the above and beyond—were met with silence, strained only by the sound of Kara’s heavy breath and Lena’s own thoughts. 

Scoffing, Lena threw up her hands. “Do you even care that you hurt me?” 

“... Can I talk now?” Kara demanded, seething like she had any right to it. But when Lena shook her head furiously, she held her tongue and apparently everything else as well, because Lena couldn’t hear a single damn thing. 

When the alarm on her watch went off, Lena left, slamming the door on her way out. She contacted Hope through their private channel and had her re-log attempt #37 as just another failure. 

Back to the fucking drawing board. 

(next part here)