#all i can think is 'there is something to be said' but nothing worthwhile comes out

[thedevotionaltour]

I SHOULD HAVE GONE INTO RADIOOOOOOOO

[lynxalon]

there is something to be said

days pass nights pass

but this remains

there is something to be said

it rings ceaselessly in my head

weeks pass months pass

but this doesn't change

there—where is it, why is it there—is something—something, but what? a feeling? emotion? thought? ideal? dream—to be said—how could this ambiguous amalgamation, this monstrosity of feeling both powerful and unkind, be said in any worthwhile capacity

there is something to be said

you watch it pass i feel it pass

but we won't—remain/change

[ilions-end]

i finished statius' ACHILLEID. thoughts thoughts thoughts:

i knew going in it was a VERY short unfinished epic, but i didn't know it would be FUN?? if i ever get that time machine, FIRST THING i go back and find one publius papinius statius, i lock him in a room, and i'm NOT letting him out until he's finished the achilleid!

achilles is statius' BLORBO in a way neither homer, quintus nor virgil have blorbos. statius likes achilles to be strong and pretty and graceful, but most of all ENDEARING even when he fails. and he fails a lot, because this is him still figuring out how to be an adult, not to mention a prophesied legend literally everyone is waiting for to step up

the one thing that gets tiring is just how many prophecies permeate the achilleid. nothing's left to chance, there are so few unknowns. even ODYSSEUS was aware that from peleus' wedding there would come a child destined to be a central warrior in an upcoming gigantic war.

as it stands, the achilleid is more of a... thetisiad? she is very centered in the narrative (we spend more time looking at things from her point of view than achilles') and there is SO MUCH SYMPATHY for her, oh my gosh!! she loves ONE person, her son, the only worthwhile thing she got out of a traumatizing marriage, and she despairs that he's fated to die young in a silly human war.

also i'm a deidamia defender forever now. so three-dimensional, so clever!

aughhh i love how much characterization statius puts in, even in the small scenes! my favourite example is odysseus and diomedes as they walk up to lycomedes' place (literally just moving characters from A to B). diomedes teases odysseus, and odysseus is delighted to be teased. that night we're told odysseus CAN'T SLEEP because he's too excited about showing off his plan the next morning!

the unveiling of achilles is completely different from the chagrined defeat/"achilles is a fucking idiot" ways i've heard it retold! i love that it's collaborative, it's a mutual triumph. it's just as much achilles (who's been suffering in gender dysphoria hell for a year) longing to be exposed as it is odysseus LIVING for showing everyone (especially diomedes?) how clever he is. it's not just the shield and the spear and the bugle, it's odysseus playing the part of the siren, whispering in achilles' ear that he knows who he is and describing how glorious he will be on the trojan battlefield. it's achilles' grateful relief at being ALLOWED not to pretend anymore as he rips off his own dress even before the bugle calls

also it's very important to me that the moment he's no longer hunching over trying to make himself look small and inoffensive, we're told achilles is taller than both odysseus and diomedes

i KEEP IMAGINING how good statius would have made the rest!! especially because as book ii ends, achilles regards odysseus as a cool uncle; he's the guy who rescued him! i want to think statius would have put in the big mystery quarrel achilles and odysseus are said to have had early in the war, something to drastically change that affection. i want to know how statius would have handled troilus, and the gods. augh statius you roman BLUEBALLER

an assortment of story beats still revolving in my head:

chiron is such a sweetheart!! he's SO gallant with thetis, he's so affectionate with achilles. he HIDES HIS TEARS when achilles leaves, awww

statius writes out phoinix completely. as a phoinix stan i object. sure chiron can raise young achilles, but i NEED phoinix to tend to him as a baby

i enjoy how achilles EXPLODES into a mess of teenagerly hormones when he first sees deidaima. it's so funny that thetis is looking on (and we get my favourite simile of the achilleid, of a herdsman delighting in a young bull snorting and foaming at a beautiful heifer) like "aaaaand there's my son's sexual awakening. i see! well, we can use that" and THAT explains why achilles is so willing to commit to the female disguise

(listen. listen. few things mean more to me than the love between achilles and patroclus. but achilles is a teenage boy at the age when a fucking breeze will give him a boner, and deidamia is the most beautiful and the cleverest of her sisters. i really enjoy a story where achilles and deidamia are neither "fated eternal true love" or one's a sneaky opportunist. it's much more compelling that they're both knots of budding emotions and bodily feedback)

i notice that statius never uses the name pyrrha, he doesn't seem to have a fake name at all, just "achilles' sister"

lycomedes is SO honoured and proud that thetis is entrusting her daughter to him. i feel sorry for lycomedes, he seems so earnest and hasn't done anything to get tricked

the one thing i can't forgive statius for is that after spending SO much time establishing that achilles and deidamia (who knows he's a guy) are genuinely into each other, it feels like statius goes OUT OF HIS WAY assuring us that their first sexual encounter is rape. sure they talk right after, deidamia forgives him, AND i understand there are social rules that makes deidamia more "honourable" and "worthy" when she resists, but like. sigh.

aLONG with the previously mentioned interplay between odysseus and diomedes as they walk up to lycomedes' court, there's a simile where they're both starving wolves on the hunt. so sexy it's almost illegal

the feast scene is SO FUNNY omg. all of achilles' careful feminine training dissolving because odysseus and diomedes are there with their boundless masculinity for him to feed off of. deidamia practically WRESTLING achilles back down on the couch every time he forgets himself and behaves too much like a man. odysseus chatting with lycomedes SPECIFICALLY trying to rile up achilles, and then after the women have left (achilles dragging his feet and looking back, YEARNING for their male company) odysseus specifically praises the maiden's "almost masculine" beauty (because ohh he suspects. he just needs to prove it in the morning. he can't SLEEP for it)

when they depart, achilles earnestly swears to deidamia that no other women shall ever bear his children. i find it interesting as a reminder of the social rules of its era. neither of them expect achilles to be sexually exclusive, just not fathering potential heirs. which again makes me wonder about the contraceptives in ancient greece

on the ship towards aulis, diomedes begs achilles to tell them all about his feats and training with chiron, and achilles is so shy about it! who can blame him! diomedes has a WAY more impressive track record

odysseus is SO good at firing up achilles' outrage at paris even as he's just catching him up on what the war's about. and he's so pleased at how easily achilles' outrage can be directed! you KNOW that would have developed in such an interesting way AUGH THE REST WOULD HAVE BEEN SO GOOD.

[dollypopup]

but can we talk about the fact that Colin really truly has NO IDEA Penelope loves him? It broke my heart when at the end of the episode, he was there basically going 'If you got caught up in the carriage and you change your mind, I understand' when she left for a while at their engagement ball and constantly said 'I have to tell you something'

like he's of the belief that what she wants to tell him may be that she doesn't reciprocate his feelings and that it's a love match just on his part. he thinks she's settling for him because he's the one who mucked up her chances for a different proposal but he cares for her so much he can't let her go

both of their sexual encounters so far have been Colin giving her pleasure partly to prove that he's worth holding on to, reinforcing his belief that he's only worthwhile if he can provide something. he truly doesn't believe he's loveable just for who he is, but for what he can do. in the carriage, he asked if she accepted Debling's proposal and she said Debling didn't propose at all because of the scene Colin caused, thus eliminating the choices for her. It was him or nothing, basically. Colin said he had feelings for her, but she said she wanted to be more than friends. It makes sense to me that, in part, his motivations in that carriage were threefoldfold: to show her he was serious, to revel in her pleasure, and 'let me prove how nice I can be to have around'. Then in the first time scene, they had sex after he stood up for her to Portia, providing a defense and informing he loves her and that's why he proposed. He complimented Pen, talked about how much he wanted her, and said aloud repeatedly that he loves her, but she tells him that no one else had defended her like he did before, and that she appreciates it. Not that she loves him back. He wants to be intimate with her, of course, but also he wants to prove himself a good candidate for her affection, because he doesn't believe he already has it. 'Don't you want to keep me around? Don't you see how good I can be? The good I can do?'

And it just gives added weight to his 'Then what good am I to you?' because he genuinely, from the bottom of his heart, doesn't know that she loves him for him, but that her agreeing to marry him is conditional on what he can provide for her

for Penelope, her love for him is a constant, like her heartbeat, something she feels she doesn't have to announce because to her it is so obvious and so strong, but for him, it's not at all obvious, and he knows she wants something more than friendship with him, but does not know that's because she returns his feelings.

I know she's got a lot on her plate right now but Penelope please come tell this man that you love him body and soul, I am crying

[gay-dorito-dust]

Soft cregan with his betrothed? Literally any scenario you can come up with but i need him being soft and sweet and flirty with his girl(reader)🥹

Cregan was the sweetest man you’ve ever known, for every morning he would attempt to wake you up with kisses to your face, starting from the top of your head and working his way down the slope of your nose, across your cheeks and finishing with your jawline and lips. His kisses were the softest and sweetest you’ve ever felt and yet so uniquely his that they made waking every morning worthwhile, especially if this was the treatment you’d be on the receiving of his love and affection.

‘My love, you must awake and allow me the opportunity that is looking into your eyes sooner or later.’ Cregan said softly as you only groaned and tried to hide your face in his neck, only for the man to have the audacity to pull away, much to your distain at the lack of bodily warmth to ease you back into your slumber.

‘Cregan.’ You moaned dejectedly, lazily reaching a hand out for him.

‘Open your eyes and I shall obey to your every wish thereafter, I promise it.’ He replied as he reached a hand to intertwine with your hand, kissing the back of it with a smile.

‘Why are you so eager to see my eyes my beloved? They’re just like anyone else’s.’ You tell him as you finally opened your eyes to look at the beautiful man that you were lucky to have share a bed with, you envied how effortlessly handsome your Cregan was even early in the morning, with tussled dark hair and sleep still laced in his gorgeous eyes that looked back at you with nothing but love and utter admiration.

‘For there is no one in all of the seven kingdoms with eyes like yours.’ Cregan said with the upmost seriousness. ‘The colours that make up your eyes have to be my favourite, they’re unique and beautiful in their own right and I could find home within them without trying.’ He adds and you couldn’t help but want to look away from him, but Cregan must’ve read your mind as his hand lets go of yours and instead latched onto your chin, keeping your head in place so that you’d only look at him.

‘That sounds a bit much, don’t you think?’ You asked as you never had someone talk so passionately about your eyes before, it was a feeling that you weren’t use to but it felt as though it was something that you had wanted to hear for a long, long time.

Cregan laughs. ‘Not to me it is not my beloved.’ He rests his forehead against your own to stare deeper into your eyes, smiling almost on instinct at the intrigue mirage of colours that made up your eyes as a warmth spread throughout his chest. ‘It couldn’t be more than the truth as when I am lost, I look into your eyes and I see home, I’m found and I have you to thank for that.’ He then moved to plant a kiss to your forehand before pressing his head back against yours.

‘You’re too sweet for me my love.’ You told him softly as your hand reached to caresses his jawline slowly. ‘Far too sweet that I can feel my heart burst whenever you speak such honeyed words to me in the comfort of our shared bed.’ You shuffled closer to Cregan until you were practically pressed against one another. ‘Who’d knew that my betrothed would be such a master of words.’ You added, smiling at him.

‘You need only look into your reflection and find the reason.’ Cregan said as he stole a kiss from your lips. ‘Now that I have seen your eyes, what is it that you wish to do today?’ He then asks as you pretended to think it over when the answer was made obviously clear.

‘I only wish to be spared a few more moments with you in this bed.’ You tell him as you batted your eyes at him, hoping that you could use his soft spot for you to your advantage for the most harmless thing you could possibly think of. Cregan scoffed softly as he pulled you somehow even closer to him until you were the only thing he could feel. ‘You could spend the rest of your life in the end if you could.’ He tells you playfully, pinching your side as you swatted him in the arm. ‘I don’t see you complaining.’ You say as you felt him tighten his hold on you.

‘You’re right I don’t because I get to spend the rest of my days with the most beautiful soul in all of Westeros.’ Cregan utters as you both soon drifted off back to sleep within the other’s arms, much like lovers did.

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Yandere Euron Greyjoy w/ Siren!Reader

Euron grew up hearing the tales of the children of the sea; the sirens who sang their songs and all the men they lured to their deaths, along with their ships. He’d always dreamed of coming across one, catching it and having it for his own.

The thought of having his siren never strayed far from his mind, everytime he was at sea it was all he could think of. He would swear he felt something deep in the water watching him. Following him. Studying him. Teasing him. He knew they were out there, waiting for him. And this only ignited his need to find his siren all the more.

Usually most ironborn take a share of the plunder from their pillaging, especially the captains but not Euron. No, he knows there is a much more valuable treasure out there. Something far more worthwhile. Something only for him.

When the day finally comes and Euron hears that hauntingly beautiful song, he knows he’s got his siren and he’s not going to lose them. Whatever plans, whatever destination there was before is quickly forgotten in place of finally getting what belongs to him.

And what a sight you are to behold when he does finally catch you. You’re beautiful, so frighteningly beautiful. But he’s not scared, after all this is Euron we’re talking about, on the contrary he’s excited. Very excited. You have him feeling euphoric and he loves it. The look of complete shock, anger and fear at finally being caught that washes over your mesmerizing face has Euron feeling even more euphoric. He likes that look on you, he likes it a lot.

As much as Euron has grown so accustomed to this drawn out game of cat and mouse, a game that he has come to take much excitement and anticipation in, he couldn’t be more thrilled to have finally caught you. A part of him almost wants to throw you back into the sea just to be able to chase after and catch you all over again but he’d much rather finally claim what’s been rightfully his all this time.

People said he was mad, that the seas had corrupted him but he knew better than to listen to them. After all he’s got you now, the proof to his unrelentingness. And he can’t bring himself to take his eyes off of you. He doesn’t want to miss a thing; every part of your being, Euron wants to memorize it all.

He’s already prepared a place to keep you, a tank he had specifically made just for you. Quite a well crafted and spacious enough little home where he can watch you whenever he pleases and you’re entirely unable to hide away from his prying gaze. You are his trophy, his gift from the sea that he has waited so long to receive. Of course he wants to be able to look upon you whenever he wishes, it’s his right after all. After everything he’s done to get you in the first place the least he deserves is to see his catch in all its maddening glory.

And maddening you are. He thrives on the hateful look you send his way, the gnashing of your teeth whenever he gets too close, the way you thrash your beautifully scaled body against the thick cage-like glass of your new habitat trying to free yourself. Euron isn’t stupid, of course he’d have your new little home be thoroughly enforced. He may not exactly know what all you are capable of but he has a few ideas and your immense strength was certainly one of them.

After all this time it’s no surprise that Euron would be addicted to your voice, to your song. He’s only ever heard it a few times in his life but he saved it to memory, he would’ve been a fool not to. Euron even took up whistling a similar tune, primarily to draw you out but it was something that just stuck and he never let it go but nothing could ever compare to the real thing. So once he finally had you that song, your song, was all he ever wanted to hear. And he had nothing to interrupt it, no other noise to take away from it. He’d made sure of that when he cut out all his crewmens’ tongues. You may not have necessarily been the sole reason behind his decision but you were one of them. And if he didn’t have to bark out orders he would have taken their ears too.

As much as Euron would love to have his precious little siren wrapped around his body, he knows they’d break him without a second thought. They’d rip his throat out and spit it back in his face with a sharp toothed grin. Don’t even get him started on the drowning bit, not like he isn’t use to it given his being an Ironborn, if anything it excites him more. But none of these things could possibly strike even an ounce of fear into Euron, I mean he’s committed so much worse with his own bare hands, instead it all captivates him all the more. You truly were meant for him and only him, weren’t you? He’ll make sure to take real good care of you, his Queen of the Sea.

[flowercrowngods]

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 (these make one big story, you won't understand this part without the others)

day 04: here come the tears

a/n: the people have requested a surprise eddie pov and i have decided to pull a eurovision and ignore the public vote, just a little bit. but you get a tiny eddie pov, as a treat 🤍

Steve is crying. It's 1:07 a.m. and Steve is crying. And there is nothing Eddie can do about it as he's lying in bed, his heart breaking further with every passing second that they lie there in silence, quiet sniffles carrying over the phone. 

Steve is crying and Eddie is breaking. Steve is not talking to him and Eddie is breaking. Steve is not okay, and neither is Eddie. They're both breaking. 

And Eddie doesn't know what to do about it, how to fix it. How to make it better. How to tell Steve that he misses him, how to ask him to talk to him, how to keep him. To stop him from slipping through his fingers further and further until all there is is silence. 

"You know," his mind wanders back to years ago, his heart cracking at the memory. "I had the biggest crush on him for the longest time. Forever, really."

He remembers the way Steve's eyebrows shot up, his eyes round with... shock? Surprise? Or maybe something bad? 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah," Eddie had chuckled, fiddling with the straw in his drink to give his hands something to do. "Remember that kiss?" Steve nodded. "Well." Another chuckle, awkward this time, and possibly too revealing. 

Steve grinned at him, a self satisfied smirk that wavers just a little. "So you're saying you did fall madly in love with me, Munson?" 

Eddie's breath had hitched a little because Steve remembered those words so perfectly that had since doomed Eddie completely. But he covered it up with a laugh so easily, he was sure Steve didn't notice. 

"Maybe," he grinned. "But eh, that's in the past." 

It wasn't a lie; not really. But wasn't the truth either. 

The truth was that Eddie had moved on. The truth was that it's the kind of crush that was never really a crush. The kind that is a Forever more than anything else. 

The kind that will always be there, a flame burning inside my chest that carries your name and keeps it alive, keeps me warm. The kind of flame that will always be ready to become a bonfire again. Just say the word, Stevie. It's written in the universe. Say the word and I'll be yours. 

"Good," Steve said after a while, and Eddie remembers frowning, remembers that he wanted to ask what that tone was, what Steve was thinking. If he was worried or disgusted or felt betrayed that Eddie's been so hopelessly and helplessly in love with him. 

But all he said was, "Yeah. Remember Chrissy? We're kinda official now." 

And Eddie had known then just as he does now, that he'll be a happy man with Chrissy. She's his best friend, a sunshine on bleak days. She's no Steve, but she makes him happy. He had to move on from Steve – to try – and allow himself his own kind of happiness. He'd never expected to find it with Chrissy, but he loves her so much. He's grown to love her in the past years – not the movie kind of love, not the all-encompassing Steve kind of love, because that flame inside his chest can still only carry one name. 

But life is not a movie. And love is not always a fire. But he's still warm, still content, still happy. And so is Chrissy. She knows about his flame, says she understands. Eddie thinks he has one of her own, but he never asked; just held her that night, creating more of that silent happiness.

…Is he happy? Lying in bed, listening to Steve's quiet breaths that are barely audible over the phone, remembering the kiss, the confession, the Forever that he tried to move on from, he wonders what he's doing. Wonders if that contentment is worthwhile if it somehow lead him to losing Steve. 

Did he miss something? Did he fuck up without realising? 

He can't ask; Steve won't talk. 

All he can do is lie there and feel that flame that still carries Steve's name after ten, eleven, twelve years scorching his insides. 

All he can do is wonder if the whispered, "Good night, Stevie. I miss you," is some kind of goodbye. All he can do is lie awake all night and wonder where they started losing each other. 

~*~

Missing Eddie is worse than loving him. Missing Eddie makes it feel like all the heartbreak songs are written for Steve and his pain that will persist.

It’s been three months since the engagement party, and the sharp, biting heartache that cut into his lungs every time Steve tried to take a deep breath has dulled now, turned into a constant ache, an emptiness, the sorrowful traces of where an I love you turned into an I miss you. 

He’s barely talking to Eddie anymore, and with every passing day he just misses him more. 

Steve types the words I miss you over and over and over again, but never hits send. Just stares at them, wondering if Eddie knows. Wondering if he’s doing the right thing. He isn’t. There is no right thing. Nothing is right. Not without Eddie. 

He scrolls up in their chat, past Eddie’s questions if he’s okay, past his very own I miss yous, up and up and up to the strings of hearts, to the inside jokes, to the gentle teasing, to the You’re my favourite persons, to the happiness and joy and good, good times. 

He scrolls and scrolls until his phone vibrates and tells him there’s a new message in the chat. Steve frowns, his hollow heart racing as he scrolls down again to see Eddie’s new message. 

Eddie Munson: — Can I come over? 

Steve frowns. 

— why? are you okay? 

Eddie Munson: — No. — Nothing is okay. You’re gone and you’re not talking to me and I miss you and I’m losing you and I don’t know why — I dont know anything. — I just wanna know, wanna talk, wanna understand — I wanna fix this. I fucked up, I think, and I wanna make it better. — I need to talk to you — Please. Please can I come over 

Steve swallows hard, as he reads the incoming messages over and over again, watching the little bubble that says Eddie’s typing still. Watching as it disappears and reappears, reading until his eyes begin to sting and his vision is blurred with tears for the first time this week. 

Letting them fall as he types, 

— no. please dont 

Eddie doesn’t reply to that, and Steve breathes out long and hard, throwing his phone to the side, not caring where it lands on the couch as he slumps over to the other side, turning up the music even louder. 

Oh, can you tell I haven’s slept very well Since the last time that we spoke. I said, ‘Please understand I’ve been drinking again And all I do is hope.’

It consumes him, this song and the way it was written for him. The way it was written about him. Because he has no right to ask Eddie to stay. He’s the one who’s leaving. He’s the one not telling Eddie what is wrong, why he’s pulling back so suddenly. 

I’m not strong enough for the both of us. What was I supposed to do, You know I love you. Please, stay.

Please stay. Please, please, please stay. It’s about him. It’s about Eddie. About them. 

And Steve listens to it over and over again, not caring that his neighbours will know it by heart by know, will be so tired of him wallowing for weeks and months, and will come knocking soon. He doesn’t care, not when Mayday Parade are singing, All the love’s still there, I just don’t know what to do with it now. 

He types that into Eddie’s chat. Doesn’t hit send. Sends it to Robin instead, and gets a shaking hands emoji in return. It makes him smile as he re-starts the song. 

~*~

That night, he wakes around 2 a.m. to a missed call an hour ago and one new message on his mailbox. He lifts his phone to his ear with shaking hands and bated breath, a pit opening in his stomach when he hears the Judas Priest song that’s been in his Sad Eddie playlist since the beginning. 

His heart cracks open when he hears Eddie’s sniffle, a heavy sigh, and another sniffle, followed by a little, Fuck. 

“Stevie? I’m… You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to just— to just disappear. To slip through my fucking fingers, or float away like a— a dream, when you wake up, and you wanna go back to sleep because it was a good dream, and you— I don’t wan’ you to be a good dream Steve. You’re like… Fuck, man!” 

Eddie’s voice is breaking, and so is Steve’s heart as his hand begins to tremble and he sits up in bed, closing his eyes, squeezing them shut because he doesn’t want to see the world as Eddie’s rambling at him. 

“I miss you. I miss you so much, and I don’t understand what’s happening. I don’t… I don’t wanna miss you. How do I get you back, Stevie? Please just… God, please just talk to me. I’d do anything for you, you know that. Just tell me, just say the word. Just… Just say the word, please.” 

There’s silence after that, only Judas Priest’s Here come the tears over and over as the song is ending. Steve is crying as he listens to Eddie’s silence. 

“Just. Just… Please, Stevie.” 

The call ends then, the line cutting to the staticky voice instructing him to save or delete the message. Steve saves it. He doesn’t know why. 

He also doesn’t know why he’s scrolling through his contacts with trembling hands and hits Call when he reaches Eddie. 

The call doesn’t even get to the second ring before it’s picked up already. 

“Stevie?” Eddie sounds breathless, wild, and just a little hoarse. Like he was still crying. 

“Hi,” he says lamely, still shaking, a little breathless himself, and with absolutely no idea what he should say. 

“I’m… Hi.” 

Silence falls, and Steve wipes at his eyes. He’s still in bed, just sitting there with his phone pressed to his ear, and the ball that’s coiled inside him is growing larger and larger with each passing second that he doesn’t say Sorry, that he doesn’t say I miss you, too. That he doesn’t say I love you. 

“Can I come in?” 

He blinks, the question throwing him off his thought spiral. “Huh?” 

“I’m sort of… outside your building right now.” 

Why, he wants to ask. No, he wants to say. You’re gonna see, you’re gonna know, you’re gonna hate me forever. 

“Okay,” he breathes and climbs out of bed, blanket around his shoulders despite the summer heat, because suddenly he’s freezing. He buzzes Eddie in, listens to him on the phone as he walks up the stairs, neither of them thinking of hanging up, and opens his doors with shaking, trembling hands. 

tagging: @sexymothmanincarnate @mcneen @livsters @eddiemunchondeeznuts @abstractnaturaldisaster @steddie-as-they-go @hyperfixationgoddess @goodolefashionedloverboi @stxrcrossed186 @imzadidragonfly @eddiemunsonswife @bidisastersworld @ghost-ly-s @romanticdestruction @walkingaftermidnight07 @anaibis @rainydays35 @mightbeasleep @sunfloweringstories @korixae @tuesdaycats @totoroinatardis @ilovebookshowboutyou @musical-theatre-gay @theluckyalien @copingmechanizm @srra @changelingbaby @sassygoop @obsessivelyme @r0binscript (sorry if i missed anyone just give me a shout if i did <3)and thanks to everyone who said nice things about this 🤍🌷

come back tomorrow/later for [redacted] | read here

[prettygirl-gabi]

Seaside Hearts

--- ESESESESESESESESESESES

Rating: General Audiences

Warning:Fluffy fluff, even more fluff

Category:F/M

Fandom: Eric Sohn (The Boyz)

Relationships: !idol-boyfriend Ericx !non-idol f reader

Summary: You and Eric are true soul mates

--- eseseseseseseseseseseseseses

It's been three long months since Eric left for his world tour with The Boyz. Being in a long distance relationship with an idol isn't easy, especially when we're both always so busy but knowing he's living his dream makes the days apart worthwhile. We did our best to stay connected—late-night video calls, endless texting, and sending voice notes filled with our laughter. But nothing beats being together in person.

Now, our reunion is just a few hours away. Eric suggested a private vacation, just the two of us, away from the fanfare and flashing cameras. I can't wait to wrap my arms around him and feel his warmth again.

---

As I stepped out the taxi and onto the sandy pathway leading to the secluded beach house, my heart pounded with excitement. I took a deep breath, feeling the salty sea air filling my lungs, and broke into a run. There he was, standing on the wooden porch, his eyes lighting up the moment he saw me.

"Y/N!" Eric's voice was a melody I had missed so dearly. He dashed down the steps and caught me in a tight embrace, spinning me around as I laughed. He makes me feel as a Disney princess finding true love all over again, every time we are together.

"Eric, I've missed you so much!" I buried my face in his chest, inhaling his familiar scent. It felt like coming home.

"I missed you too, more than words can say," he murmured into my hair, finally setting me down but not letting go.

---

The beach house was everything we had hoped for. Tucked away from the world, it was our little slice of heaven. We spent the first day exploring. The quaint kitchen, cozy living room, and that spectacular view of the ocean from the bedroom window—every detail made the place feel like an escape just for us.

After unpacking, we decided to take a walk along the shore. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden hue across the water.

"Remember the first time we talked about doing this?" Eric asked, holding my hand as we walked barefoot in the cool sand.

"Yeah, I think you were in Tokyo, and I was at that little café near my apartment," I recalled, smiling at the memory. "We both dreamed about a getaway like this, just you and me."

"I still can't believe it's real," he said, stopping to look at me. "Being with you, openly like this, it's everything I needed."

I squeezed his hand. "Me too, Eric. Me too."

---

The next few days felt like magic. Mornings started with lazy breakfasts on the porch, where we’d talk about everything and nothing. We had picnics on the beach, built sandcastles, and played in the waves like kids. We hiked through nearby trails and discovered hidden spots perfect for quiet moments.

One night, as we lay on a blanket under the stars, Eric turned to me, his eyes sparkling.

"Y/N, there's something I've been wanting to ask you," he said, tracing patterns on my hand.

"What is it?" I asked, my stomach fluttering with nerves.

"Even though my life gets crazy with all the traveling and schedules, I want you to know you're my constant. My home." He paused, taking a deep breath. "Would you… would you consider moving in with me once the tour's over?"

Tears welled up in my eyes. "Eric, are you serious?"

"As serious as I’ve ever been, plus it was discussed as a group, as a team that we wanted separate living spaces." he said, his voice soft but sure.

"Yes," I whispered, throwing my arms around him. "Absolutely yes."

---

Our private vacation gave us more than just a break from the world. It reminded us that no matter the distance or the challenges, our love was resilient. And now, we had a new step to look forward to—building a life together.

As the sun rose on our last day at the beach house, I knew that our hearts were more intertwined than ever, ready to face whatever came our way.

"To our future," Eric said, raising his coffee cup with a grin.

"To us," I echoed, clinking my cup against his, knowing that no matter what, we would always find our way back to each other.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

Thank you for reading! 🩵🩶

-Prettygirl-gabi🎀

[steddieas-shegoes]

Aww okay I'm sorry sweetheart. Let's try and make it better a little bit: they are sitting out with the ruined decorations and on the steps to the sliding door. Eddie leans into Steve's side "I'm so sorry Steve I was just, it doesn't matter what I was trying to do. I shouldn't have." "No you shouldn't have." "I wish I could take it all back." "Mmhm. Yeah, uh, I wish I could unhear it." "I really didn't mean it Steve. Really." "I thought you meant everything you said to me, when it was just us. All the goofy things you said about my eyes being hazel, and how. How smart you thought I was." "I do. I DO!" "Eddie, just. Stop. Let me say this. It finally felt like someone I was falling so hard for, wanted me just as much. It was like someone looked at me and saw someone worthwhile, outside of things I could give, or do. And you say you didn't mean what you said to your friends but, god Eddie, you think that wasn't the first time I've heard something like that? It was every moment of my life where I felt like I was nothing, echoing back to me. Like you reached inside me to pull out every fear I had, every time people I love would put me down and act like it's all just a joke." "I regret it. I really do, I was trying to make them laugh, it wasn't true." "On some level you had to have thought those things, why else would they come to mind so quickly? I used to cover it up,times people hurt me, all the time by trying to be big enough that no one could see that they did. But it gets so exhausting. I'm so tired of pretending. There's only so many times you can smile and pretend it's all okay,scoff and walk it off. But I've been doing that since I was little, and I'm too tired to do it anymore. I thought I was finally safe, with you. I love you Eddie, but I don't know if I can trust you when you say you didn't mean it. I still want to be your friend, so badly, but I need space for a while." "Okay, I love you too Steve. If you need space I'll give it to you,but you have to promise, if you get lonely, you'll call me."Eddie..."" You don't have to talk to me and I won't say anything either. I'll just come right away to hold your hand. We'll just sit like this." Eddie grabs Steve's hand and rubs his knuckles with his thumb. "Yeah?" "Yeah Stevie, I'll always hold your hand."

Crying in the club

I also just had a thought of Wayne finding out what happened and making Eddie write an apology letter and at first Eddie is like “he won’t even read it why bother” and Wayne’s like “because even if he never reads it he deserves to know you tried”

And Steve ends up holding onto that letter for months before he reads it. It’s pages and pages long full of some of the nicest things anyone’s ever said about him. It should feel fake but he knows it’s not

He goes over to Eddie’s and just sits down on Eddie’s bed, back to the wall, and Eddie joins him. They don’t talk, Steve just reaches for his hand and he falls asleep with his head on his shoulder

🥹

[amuseoffyre]

I got thinking that the most honest and raw details about Ed and Stede's past are revealed in Stede's fever-dream and Badminton hallucination and Ed's coma, when they're confronted by their own subconsciousnesseseses (too many esesesss didn't know when to stop).

I had a pick over some of Ed's dialogue from the Gravy Basket the other day, which was barely even scraping the surface, including his expectation of violence when he's vulnerable, anticipation of hurt/cruelty in a domestic sphere and from a caretaker, desperate need for validation and approval and more.

While rewatching episode 1-4 today, it hit me how much Stede's demonstrate his belief that:

he was and remains nothing more than a disappointment to everyone around him, fit for scorn and derision (covering the parent, spouse and child for his fever dream)

no one would care if he was hurt ("Yeah, congrats")

he was insufficient ("you are such a disappointment")

he was a coward/weak ("He was scared of geese, for god's sake," say the man who shows up holding the goose he forced his son to watch him kill)

his choices, thoughts and fears would be laughed at (All of the above + Nigel)

no one cares about his physical well-being (Standing over him, taunting and laughing while he's in pain)

he was a terrible father by choosing to leave ("They'll never see papa again")

his children would hate him and wouldn't care if he was dead ("scoundrels spare no one")

Messy, emotionally-repressive autistic lad hasn't had anywhere to let out his distress for a long time, because he's never felt safe to do it. Mary says she knew he was unhappy and thought she heard him crying alone and, in a flat monotone, he denied it and said the crying was the wind.

He was conditioned to believe anything he said would be shot down. He wasn't allowed to express opinions and thoughts and his father made damn sure if he did have any, they were scoffed at and ridiculed, whether it was Stede's belief he was fortunate to have comfort and wealth or derision about his belief that he could marry for love. Mary's anger at his ship plan comes in there too, even if her reaction is warranted - he still sees a rejection of him, his ideas and the things he cares about.

It says it all that the only time he really does lose his temper in S1 (not including the meltdowns over things not going to plan) is when Jack is deliberately smashing all his buttons, treating him like his peers and dad used to and then, to rub it in extra hard, pissing on his shoes.

Stede tried to do what he normally did in stressful situations: he was going to go back to the ship so no one would see anything, because Conceal Don't Feel is that man's watchword. He bottles so finely he has an entire wine cellar of Trauma.

Ed catches him before he can leave and Stede's all out of control of his emotions and lets opinions fly and next thing he knows, Karl is dead, the crew are upset and Ed is leaving with Jack. So he learns Do Not Show The Emotions Again and boy, how that spectacularly backfires.

And on that note, watching S2, ohhhhhh there's an eruption coming at some point. He has been pushing it all down, shaking the bottles and stacking them. We've had his flashbacks again. We've had him kill for the first time. We've had him almost lose the love of his life multiple times. He's not dealt with any of that and a storm is a-coming now there's nothing to distract him from it.

Also, in case there's any doubts that his trauma isn't lurking to sneak back up and bite him, look at the man he chose to spend time with after Ed left him when he did something regarded as "man's work": an older man in a bloody leather apron just like his father in the flashbacks.

"You like me for me," he says to that guy, the one who has been reassuring him and validating him and telling him how good and worthwhile he is all day.

Stede "Daddy Issues and Then Some" Bonnet.

[blueesnow]

Kotobuki Reiji's Birthday (Year 1) Voicelines Translation.

-You can look at it again on the Event Log, Mini-Event section (for the other boys messages to him) and Talk section (for a one-on-one conversation with you and him) in Idol Page.

-Also the translations might not be fully accurate since I'm not that fluent on jp/en, so if i ever made a mistake do correct me🙏

<You (Player)> Reiji: Thank you for the celebration~! I held a party today, so make sure you come okay Kouhai-chan☆ Reiji: And of course there'll be an afterparty later~☆ The participant will be just you and me. …Will you tell me you're happy about it?

<Otoya> Otoya: Rei-chan, Happy Birthday! As a Senpai-Kouhai duo with a great chemistry, let's continue to have lots of fun together from now on! Reiji: Aww~! You said the cutest thing ever! Onii-san shall do his best to keep up so that he won't lose to Otoyan's growth okay☆

<Masato> Masato: You never forgets to pay attention to your surroundings. Seeing you like that made me want to learn more from Kotobuki-senpai's example. Happy Birthday. Reiji: Hearing that from Hijirin made me so happy~! I should do my best as well to continue being a role model☆

<Natsuki> Natsuki: Happy Birthday! It's always fun being together with Rei-chan-senpai. I think you have an amazing power! Reiji: Thank you—! Nattsun is always happy go lucky so it's worthwhile talking to you☆

<Tokiya> Tokiya: Happy Birthday. Even though it's a joyous occasion, please be careful as to not get carried away, okay? Reiji: Tokki is as strict as usual! But I already knew that's also your way of being kind♪

<Ren> Ren: Happy Birthday, Bukki! Let's go for a drive together again somewhere and refresh ourselves. Reiji: Thank you Ren-Ren☆ I'll go pick out some good places later okay~♪

<Syo> Syo: Reiji-senpai, Happy Birthday! I found a good hat shop, so let's go shopping there together! Reiji: Eh~! If it’s a shop recommended by Syo-tan, then I have high expectations of it☆ Thanks, I'm looking forward to it!

<Cecil> Cecil: Happy Birthday! You've always been so kind to me, so today I will return the favor! Reiji: Cesshi! I'm so happy to hear that I almost burst into tears! To think that's how you thought of me already made my day☆

<Ranmaru> Ranmaru: It's your birthday? Well, Happy Birthday. I have nothing more to say at this point. Whether it's about music or other works, let's put all that we've had into it. Reiji: Why of course! Let's always do our best with our full power☆ I'll accept your celebration wish to me♪

<Ai> Ai: Since it's your birthday, why don't you show a bit of your maturity? Anyway, Happy Birthday Reiji. Reiji: Ai-Ai, thank you~! Don't get burned while looking at the grown-up Rei-chan, okay☆ Ah, don't ignore me!

<Camus> Camus: Since we're in the same group, let's at least celebrate your birthday. So, I assume there'll be a cake later, right? Reiji: Wait a minute~! Geez, Myu-chan you're so dishonest. But thanks for the birthday wish♪

<Eiichi> Eiichi: Looks like it's your birthday today, Happy Birthday. Since we're both the one who's responsible in keeping the group together, I'd like to talk about it sometime with you. Reiji: Thank you~☆ Although I'm not actually the leader, I'm interested in that topic. Do tell me more♪

<Kira> Kira: Happy…Birthday. The ability to create a cheerful atmosphere…and bring people together. It's a charm that I don't have. I'd like to learn it from you. Reiji: The fact that you praised me so seriously made this Onii-san so happy…! Let's learn a lot from each other's good points okay☆

<Nagi> Nagi: Happy birthday☆ I heard you knew a lot of retro words. If you knew something cute, do tell me~♪ Reiji: Ugh, is this what you call a generation gap… You're already cute enough as it is, I don't think you need that~☆

<Eiji> Eiji: Happy Birthday. I think it's so amazing that you've always made the atmosphere on set so relaxing. Reiji: Oh no~ I'm a little embarrassed to be told that by a guy from the different agency☆ It's perfectly OK for you to always imitate me♪

<Van> Van: I heard it's your birthday today, Happy Birthday! In exchange for celebration I have a suggestion, can you put a pizza on the Kotobuki Lunchbox? Reiji: Pizza~!? But, it might be quite a good surprise. I'll go and talk to them about it later☆ Thanks for the advice!

<Yamato> Yamato: Birthday, huh. I'm happy for you. I've always been indebted by this karaage from your place. Let me also express my thanks to you. Reiji: Don't tell me you're actually a big fan of our store!? That's great~♪ Also thanks for the birthday wish too☆

<Shion> Shion: I can feel such a warm vibes from your machocho word. I wish you a happy and prosperous day. Reiji: Don't tell me I'm being praised!? At times like this thank you very very machocho☆ Make sure to use it with HE★VENS too okay♪

[chaifootsteps]

I was trying to think how to recommend watching the show to someone who might have only seen s1 and figured recommending skipping some episodes of s2 might be the best way, but then I noticed something

when I was trying to pin down which episodes of s2 I think are genuinely good to still watch I kinda realized there isn't any?

like even the episodes I think are the 'best' written (as in they're the least frustrating, no Stolas in them obvs) are still rife with plot holes or jokes that don't land

like exes and ohs felt like the last gasp of the old show and even that episodes has Crimson's nonsense marriage plan that doesn't make a lick of sense. it underutilizes Millie to the point it feels like the writers are just being blatant about how little she matters now. it has the unfunny dildos in the wall joke.

and that's the best episode of s2 as far as I'm concerned. the only other one that's relatively not completely sucky is the midseason musical whatever and that's still pretty bland and has a Fizz who feels nothing like his s1 self in it.

even the shorts have plot holes and issues, despite being the closest to the show's original premise (and not featuring Stolas)

like taken as a whole the entire season is just garbage. Ghostfuckers I think is going to be more mid with a potentially very awful suicidality plot point. I think there's a chance the Millie bit is going to be secondary in awfulness to what they do with Blitzo if my hunch is right that they're going to make Tilla appear just as a means to give him catharsis so he can do the thing the show thinks will 'fix' him - get together with Stolas

I'm not sure how the last two are going to play out but there's near 100% going to be Via leaving Stolas for the stupidest reasons the show can conjure up so he can look like he's in the right, again.

the only thing that might be worthwhile from the remaining three episodes is if Stolas realizes he's done wrong and actually apologizes, and faces consequences for being the suckiest Goetia royal ever. but even then I expect the show to tie itself into a pretzel to find a way to minimize what he did or blame Blitzo for some of his misfortune, as if it was his fault Stolas never once said 'I can't talk about this right now, I'm spending time with my daughter/working/actually being a capable adult for once'

the only other thing I'd want from the season 2 finale is for IMP to feel like a family again and that vision of the show is so far in the rearview mirror I wouldn't even bother making it a prediction for the Sinsmas episode. that one should be about family and coming together, but apparently there are leaks suggesting it's the episode where Blitzo finally gives in and goes to play his role as Stolas' white knight, just like Stolas and Viv have been demanding from him all season long

Agreed, unfortunately. The best part of S2 so far has probably been the shorts...otherwise, it feels like a level of aimlessness, retcons, and plot holes that most series don't achieve until after they've run for years and exhausted all their good ideas.

[aliusfrater]

i keep thinking about. What If dean had actually prepared for his death in season three. like, instead of enabling sam's premeditative grief he said i need you to focus on the now and after rather than the hypothetical 'if' that is my life. i am going to die and i need you to be ready for when i'm gone. both in the sense that sam enjoys this last year so there's enough to look back on that makes your grief worthwhile AND there's the set-up of a life worth living for that doesn't include revenge for when i'm gone. kind of like. what sam did making dean promise to go see lisa once he's in the cage

i've always thought that dean's deal for sam's life pretty much mirrors mary's deal for john's life in the sense that. it was always going to play out that way for them and there is nothing to be done to stop it (dean tried to stop azazel and mary but it's revealed that he never could) but there's something else to be said about the cycles of abuse and how they're perpetuated through grief. something else ive always thought about is the fact that the show itself can be seen through the lense of an allegory of perpetuated grief but i also think the cycle of abuse is imperative to the way grief is presented within the show. mary is coerced into a deal with john's life and through her own adamance of escaping hunting (as a metaphor for familial rot or abuse), she refuses to acknowledge that part of herself and it is through this lack of acknowledgement that grief is perpetuated. you have to acknowledge abuse to heal from it and the part of the inherent instability of the nuclear family that supernatural finds itself concerned with creating commentary about/exploring is the part that exists but people refuse to acknowledge. it's ignored for pretty houses in pretty neighbourhoods and obscured behind closed doors and when it leaks out of the holes in the foundation, that's what hunters are for. unpaid and unloved for what they do. through mary's lack of acknowledgement and therefore, lack of preparation, she has cursed the family she's created to perpetuate the cycle of abuse through grief. she dies and john didn't see her death or the thing that killed her coming and the grief is perpetuated through him. his children become victims at the hands of his abuse because of this grief. and it cycles from mary to john and through dean with john's deal for dean's life. "save him or kill him," is a similar ultimatum to that of azazel's own deal when it came to coercing her into her deal; she could either save john or keep him dead but in the end she didn't end up saving him from azazel because the same demon is who ends up killing him, just like sam. dean had never actually gotten the chance to save him or kill him (explicitly, anyway (i love incesthemes' theory that dean did end up kind of killing sam by distracting him from jake and getting him stabbed)) and the cycle of abuse continues in sam's grief and in his relationship with ruby, which is something that blossomed in his/as a direct result of grief for dean

then there's also my idea of sam as a nucleus character for the cycles of abuse and there's a possible connection between him sacrificing his life at the end of season five and pushing dean into getting out of hunting through a situation (lisa & ben) being pretty similar in structure to what he had before season one as being an attempt to escape this cycle of grief. it's very possible that soulless!sam as a character could also represent the very idea of grief itself — grief is, inherently, the loving of the memory of a person you loved. sam existing without a soul, without the parts of sam that dean had been forced to grieve is a shock to reality and it is, to an extent, acceptance of sam's actual 'death'. but then again, despite the brief clarity and relative healing that his escape from the cycle provided, dean does not accept soulless!sam at all. he fights to get sam's soul back and that is against sam's own will, knowing that it could kill sam regardless. the cycle of grief continues in that constant reminder that dean's choice could bring sam's death. likeeeee okay. "the minute he walked through that door, i knew. it was over. you two have the most unhealthy, tangled-up, crazy thing i've ever seen and as long as he's in your life, you're never gonna be happy," and, "i'm not saying don't be close to sam. i'm close to my sister but if she got killed, i wouldn't bring her back from the dead," it's all about the atmospheres of abuse that these relationship dynamics provide!!!! you're going to fall back into it over and over again if you do not process your grief!!!!!!!

[darsynia]

Shipping and Handling | Ch 1: Vicinity

(Stucky x Reader slow burn, Steve x Reader fast burn, Friendship all around)

SERIES MASTERLIST | STORY MASTERLIST | NEXT

Summary: There's a chance you and Steve aren't the only people dealing with the strange chemical bond from Mistress, so you agree to submit to daily tests that should help Dr. Banner figure out what's happening, and maybe how to stop it. The problem? Seeing each other every day brings a new set of side-effects that both of you hide from each other and Banner until things come to a head-- not just for the two of you, but also for the man who has to deal with you: Bucky Barnes.

The interference/involvement of Mistress has complicated everything. It may have also awakened something lovely enough to make navigating the ethical, emotional, and physical dilemmas worthwhile. Length/Warnings: 3,487 / sexual situations, male masturbation Prompt: @allcapsbingo April Adoptable: Sex Pollen ((I know, right??))

Tags: @starryeyes2000 @munstysmind @ronearoundblindly @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @tiny-anne @deepbatched @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wolfstar-marvelsfan @icequeen1371 @chibijusstuff @nekoannie-chan @brooke0297 @caplanreblogsfics @hails270105 @venusfalling @zzz000eee @eralen @mrsevans90 @myinconnelly1 @thorinsmistress @cjand10 (had a little hiccup with duplicated names that aren't in my backup, and some not linking, sorry about that)

Excerpt:

Steve’s outward appearance of calm is deceptive, but he can’t risk hinting at the turmoil he’s going through, so he’s trying to focus solely on gathering up the take-out menus.

It’s… not going well.

He’s not good with slow stress. Emergencies, yes. Slow-rolling catastrophes with no clear path for remedy? Not his thing, particularly not when he can’t use his strength, use his hands to make things right.

Steve groans aloud. Everything slants sexual lately. Everything.

Chapter One: Vicinity

He’s falling, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

You wake up in the proverbial cold sweat, startled enough to remember only snippets of the bizarre dream-world you’d been caught up in. As if it were a natural thing, you’d been on a spaceship staring out at a planet-sized giant head, and while you were processing that part of the dream, an energy beam had struck your oval-shaped ship, cracking it apart like an egg. Because Steve had given up his buckled seat for you at the start of the voyage, he had nothing to anchor him in the emergency, and he’d been sucked out of the breach. All you could do is watch him fall away from you, knowing that you’d make things worse if you followed your instincts to rescue him.

The phone at your bedside buzzes, and you pick it up-- it’s Bucky, one of two people who bypass the Do Not Disturb setting. Despite not having performed last night, you’ve slept in, which is unusual.

“Hello?” you answer, cringing as soon as you hear the sound of your sleep-graveled voice.

“I woke you up? It’s past nine!”

You’re glad it’s Bucky and not someone who would be actually mad at you for sleeping in, but still. Not cool. “You think I keep Day Worker hours unless I have a show? Be real, Bucky, that would be annoying as hell.”

“Yeah, that’s fair. Is there one tonight?”

“No, rehearsal from lunch to four for tomorrow’s, though. Nineties Night. I’m thinking I might spike my hair to match the choker I’m going to wear, what do you think?” Not really, but you apparently woke up spicy.

“Don’t, I like your hair.” Bucky’s voice is gruff, and he clears his throat with a cough and continues like he’s said something out of line. “Come to my place after and we’ll get take-out. Steve says you two have to see each other once a day anyway.”

You’ve done take-out at your place multiple times with Bucky, but you have only been to the tower once.

“It’s a-- that sounds good,” you say lightly, shifting away from ‘it’s a date’ language. It feels off to use that phrase when Steve’s involved. “What time?”

Bucky’s sigh tells you his invitation had been impulsive, and he’s annoyed to be asked about logistics. Something about knowing that without being told floods you with affection for him. “Whenever? After four, I guess.”

“Dress code?” you tease.

“Wear clothes, please. My roommate’s dealing with some things and I can’t promise he’ll--”  

You nearly choke on your own spit at his audacity, but the distinct sound of Steve’s voice in the background of the call startles you into sliding your knees up to your chest, awareness prickling all over your body. It suddenly strikes you as maybe inappropriate to hear his voice while you’re in bed, like it’ll screw up Banner’s test results, or something.

The conversation you’d had with Bucky last week about not wanting to ignore the Mistress thing in conversation with each other had clearly prompted his cheeky comment, but it sounds like Steve didn’t appreciate what he’d overheard. Ordinarily you’d call for him through the phone, but that feels possibly inappropriate too. You’re very aware of the open window’s drift of cool morning air on your bare arms, of the way the fabric of your nightgown feels on your naked body underneath. Chances are you’d be activating similar feelings in Steve, too. Just from hearing you.

The power in that knowledge is kind of intoxicating.

You decide to compromise, because the raised male voices on the other line have ceased, replaced with silence. “Bucky?” you hiss-whisper into your phone.

“You didn’t hang up? Give me that!”

Steve’s yell is loud through the phone, and you clamber out of bed, the neckline of your summer nightgown shifting over in the process, exposing your left shoulder.

“Dee?”

It’s Steve. Across from you, your dresser mirror shows a reflection that’s almost more disheveled than the day you’d met the man. The whole situation is so absurd that you actually take a second to hold up your phone and snap a picture, thinking you’ll joke about this someday, when it all blows over.

“Dee??”  

“Shoot, yes, sorry Steve, I’m just--” Mixing that image with the distress/concern in his voice has tuned your mood in a dangerous direction, and your smoky tone of voice is on board. Clearing your throat and avoiding the mirror, you say, “Sorry, go on?” The line is silent for a long few seconds.

There’s no way in hell that calling out his name right now will do him any good whatsoever.

You kind of want to do it, though.

Finally, Steve returns, and he opts for his Captain America voice. “Bucky dropped the phone when I caught him joking about this whole situation. I think the three of us might need to set some boundaries during your visit. He said around four. I’ll see you then.” He hangs up before you can respond.

You’ve been horny all day, but helpless to do anything about it. The problem is, you’ve got Rogers on the brain, and his shift to Cap mode on the phone made crossing the boundary to think of him as Steve feel wrong and uncomfortable. The good news is, your mood worked really well for the songs the band practiced all afternoon. Unfortunately, the heat of the day and the fact that the boiler’s still on in the building had all of you hot and miserable.

It’s 4:17 when you finally get out of there, sweaty blouse stuck to your back. You feel like a wilted flower, so you decide to call up a taxi service to the tower instead of walking.

As you wait for your ride to arrive, you wonder if Steve’s day was similar to yours. The good news for the evening is that the two of you shouldn’t be as keyed up as you were yesterday. Banner’s explanation of his pheromone theory had been confusing and hard to pay attention to with Steve right beside you, but you recall him saying the longer the two of you stay apart, the stronger the compulsion is.

The taxi arrives and you get inside, giving the destination as Avengers tower. Speaking the location aloud brings up something else you’ve been avoiding. Bucky’s ‘someday I’ll introduce you to my best friend Steve, we’ve known each other since he was little’ is a far cry from the reality: ‘my best friend Captain America has been famous for longer than whole generations of your family have been alive.’ 

For the first time, you realize that ‘since he was little’ has a vastly different meaning than the one you’d been assuming. Bucky really is an infuriating, lovable shit sometimes. It’s with that combination of low-level sexual frustration, amused annoyance, and bedraggled appearance that you arrive at the tower. The guy at the security counter calls the apartment with a dubious expression that makes you worried he's judging you, but the man eventually nods and directs you to an elevator.

“He’ll meet you in the hallway,” he says, leaning into the elevator car once you’ve boarded to call out a code phrase to the AI that controls the elevator. The guard gives you one last once-over and adds, “It changes every week,” confirming your suspicion that their floor is restricted.

When the door closes, your imperfect reflection in the silver coating has you scrambling to adjust the moist cling of your blouse on your breasts. Unkempt twists of hair are glued to your cheeks and forehead with perspiration, and you’d completely forgot that for an easy ego boost, you always apply performance-quality red lipstick for final rehearsal.

In short, the security guy had a point.

The doors open before you get a chance for a last once-over after your adjustments. The best you can do is a weird crossed-arms stance with your hands spread wide to obscure just how lovingly your damp red top is cupping your assets.

Thankfully, the man standing in the hallway is Bucky Barnes.

You rush out, dropping your hands to gesture at yourself. “Do you see this? Mirrors and I are enemies today,” you tell him, eyes wide. “I guess I’m lucky the guard downstairs didn’t call the cops instead of the apartment!”

Bucky trails his piercing blue eyes along your outfit, his expression impassive at first. For the first time ever in his presence, you feel a little objectified, but you shake that off. After all, you told him to look-- and given the growing appreciation in his gaze, he’s at least giving you a bit of a self-esteem boost. When Bucky’s finished, having followed through by taking in your pencil skirt and crimson sandals with his head tipped to the side, he finally looks you in the eyes.

“Nice toenail polish,” he smirks.

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” you gripe under your breath. “Please tell me you have a shirt I can borrow? They still have the heat on at the venue, Babs is tearing out her hair. If the forecast is right about how hot it’ll be tomorrow night, we’ll have to hand out free cups of ice to keep an audience.”

“Yeah, but we got a gauntlet to run before that,” he tells you. The apartment door’s open, and he stands to the side, gesturing for you to precede him.

“If it’s related to another set of metal doors and a scary British voice telling me to hide, I’ll just walk home, spring heatwave or not.”

“She’s here?” Steve says from inside. He comes out right as you walk over, and both of you stop within inches of each other. “You’re late,” he says-- but the tone of his voice is the exact same stressed, desperate, needy one you’ve tried not to fondly remember. 

You almost respond with, ‘Oh, Steve, if you’re going for ‘stern,’ be careful, but you can’t imagine saying that in anything other than your flirty lounge singer persona, and that would cross too many lines, especially today.

“I got here as soon as I could!” you tell him, drawing yourself up indignantly. Steve opens his mouth to respond, but his gaze is caught first by your lips, then your shirt. You’re confronted with the effect you have on him-- a short, pained breath leaves his lips when his eyes drop to your chest and then quickly back up.  Steve’s eyes dilate, and his throat works as he swallows, twice. He’s as handsome as anyone you’ve ever met, and you’ve done more than meet. An errant (exciting, ridiculous, improper) thought rises to the surface.

This man is your lover.

You suck in a breath, unable to avoid the flood of heat you’re struck with, and your reaction breaks the spell.

“I thought we agreed on four?” he says plaintively, as though somehow you wouldn’t look like this and he wouldn’t clearly like it as much if you’d only been on time.

“All right, none of this shit needs to happen in the hallway,” Bucky says, shouldering his way past you to spin Steve around with a hand on either shoulder. Embarrassment spurs you to quickly follow, and you shut the door, leaning against it with your arms and hands once again trying to cover your clinging blouse. “You: grab the fliers from the kitchen,” your best friend instructs Steve, shoving him in the right direction. He points at you and jerks his head toward the hallway. “You: follow me.”

“Shirts. Why is it always shirts?” you ask.

“Indiana Jones, right?” Bucky says, walking into the room at the end of the hallway. He whispers something you can’t hear, because you’ve stopped at the threshold. Bucky turns around and frowns at you. “I’m not looking to ramp him up, so will you please come in here?”

He seems pretty stressed, so you swallow your worries about being trapped in yet another room in this particular apartment, and walk in a little ways. It’s not enough for Buck, whose ‘hurry up’ arm gesture doesn’t look very non-threatening with his metal arm.

“What are you--” you begin, but he interrupts from over by the closet, sliding a chunk of wire hangers over with a scrape of protesting metal.

“I said what color… undergarment? So it doesn’t show through.”

“Shit, good point, thanks,” you say, coming over. “It’s red, to match the blouse.”

To your surprise, you can see his ear turn red as Bucky coughs and fiddles with a few hung-up items out of your sight.

“This work?”

He hands you a medium blue button-down, long sleeved. “There’s, uh, a bathroom through there. I can sit on the bed, in case you’re freaked to be stuck again.”

Bucky looks like he’d gladly crawl out of his skin to avoid this entire conversation, but there he is, offering to let you change clothes in his private bathroom while he stays close enough to break you out, if need be. You’d go over and hug him if it wouldn’t make ‘awkward’ into ‘unbearable’ for him.

You nod, rushing into the bathroom to change. There’s a basket with towel rolls you’re certain a housekeeper put there, and you grab one of the washcloths to clean up with before buttoning on the shirt. It’s long, so long you spend most of the time rolling up the sleeves and trying to figure out how to tuck the tails into your skirt without looking dumpy.

Steve’s outward appearance of calm is deceptive, but he can’t risk hinting at the turmoil he’s going through, so he’s trying to focus solely on gathering up the take-out menus.

It’s… not going well.

He’s not good with slow stress. Emergencies, yes. Slow-rolling catastrophes with no clear path for remedy? Not his thing, particularly not when he can’t use his strength, use his hands to make things right.

Steve groans aloud. Everything slants sexual lately. Everything.

Leaving the stack of menus on the counter, he rubs the back of his neck and paces the kitchen. In a way, he’s in an immediate emergency right now, albeit a private one: he’s turned on, has tried to ignore it all day, but then you’d shown up late looking like that. It had taken him back to the weeks of staying away, when he’d woken late at night awash in guilt and arousal after yet another dream of the time together in his bedroom. In most of them, he’d stalked over to the light switch and flipped it on so he could see you, sweat-soaked and needy.

He sticks his head into the sink and uses the sprayer on himself in a vain attempt to cool his ardor. All that does is get water in his ears.

From the other room, Bucky says, “Steve?”

“Hang on,” Steve calls out, blindly grabbing for the dishtowel draped on the oven door. When it doesn’t come right away, he yanks at it-- and the entire door of the oven comes off.

“What the hell?” Bucky’s standing in the doorway, and you’ve crowded in beside him to see what’s going on.

“I’m not sure what happened. I just wanted to grab a towel.” Steve’s shoulders are already soaked from his wet hair, and somehow the cloth in his hand is still connected to the detached door at his feet. At least the tempered glass is still intact.

You squeeze past Bucky and come over, gently freeing the towel from Steve’s hand and crouching down to mess with the underside of the oven door. He closes his eyes tightly and starts focusing on his breathing. It’s all he can do to keep still and hide the effect of seeing you sink down to the floor, but he’d forgotten you’re not the only other person in the apartment.

“Steve.”

Steve’s eyes pop open at the menace in his friend’s tone, but right then, you stand back up, the dish towel in your hand and an amused look of confusion on your face.

“It looks like someone reinforced this crochet clasp with metal thread!”

Both of Bucky’s fists are clenched, and Steve has no idea what you’re talking about. Then he looks over at you.

You’re wearing his shirt. It’s hanging loose, and the hem extends past your hips. It’s so easy to picture what you’d look like wearing it some morning after spending the night.

“I-I need a new shirt,” Steve stammers out. Bucky has just enough time to sidestep out of the doorway, and once through, Steve runs.

He manages not to slam the door, but the way his head clunks back against the wood is probably audible in the kitchen. Pulling in huge breaths, he ignores his wet shirt and starts fumbling at his belt.

It’s wrong, he knows, but the way you look wearing his shirt, seeing you practically kneeling at his feet --Steve can’t hold himself back. He’s been on edge all day, and he’d only understood why when you’d walked back into his home in all your sexy, sweaty glory. Anticipation. Whether or not it ought to have happened, the two of you have a bond, one that includes permission for all sorts of things his mind dwells on at the most inconvenient times.

The door rattles in the jamb as he shoves his trousers and briefs out of the way. There’s no way he wants Bucky to have any idea what’s going on here, so he thumbs on the lock (it’s a fig leaf, but one that might give him a few seconds to hide what he’s about to do, if need be) and fall-walks over to the bed with his pants around his ankles. 

Seconds later, Steve has slicked up his hand, collapsing back onto his pillow with a heartfelt groan that’s as quiet as he can make it. Mistress is ruinous, because this devastating pleasure is almost rewriting his DNA as surely as the serum did. Two months ago he would never have pictured himself doing anything like this, but now he’s fucking his own fist in the same apartment as someone who could be his best friend’s girl.

Steve’s touching himself while he’s thinking about you, and he can’t-- he won’t stop. Indulging in this glorious, delirious pleasure has got to be the lesser of two evils.

Despite that conclusion, guilt wars with lust as his hand speeds up, hoping like hell that he doesn’t make too much noise. It’s maybe better than before the drug, as though his body has been rewired, away from heroism and into hedonism. Every little movement ratchets him further toward ecstasy, so much so that Steve tortures himself with variations; a twist of his hand here and there, thumb swirling the head of his cock. He's got the fleshy part of his palm crammed in his mouth to remind himself to be quiet.  

Just as he wonders how much more he can take himself apart, Steve feels his peak rising, and he’s disappointed, which brings up more guilt. You’re a real person, someone he’s laughed with. Someone he could really like.

The thought occurs that if he’s going to train his aroused brain, guilt is the worst possible catalyst.

Steve forces himself to still, to breathe.

“Change it or stop,” he whispers to himself. “She doesn’t deserve that.”

He casts around in his mind for something different, but stubbornly, not something that would force him to stop. Your body’s sated, exhausted curl on his old bed in the time before the two of you had been rescued. The way your weary, heat-tired expression had combusted into frustration at him in the doorway to his apartment. You, simply wearing his shirt.

You’ve wormed your way into intimacy with him in more ways than Steve had realized, ways he likes.

Need overcomes his willpower, and he gives himself permission for a single gentle stroke. The intense sweetness of it gives him an idea, one he’s entirely certain he might go to hell for.

Steve moves his hand slowly, tentatively, and oh fuck, he could picture you doing this so easily. What would your face look like if you could touch him with ease, with patience, without urgency?  

Ironically, this sends him into a rough, mindless frenzy, the white-hot pleasure reinforced by flashes of you in scenes of a possible future; furrowed brow cooking while you complain about how inconvenient the broken oven is, stepping out of the shower in a ratty old bathrobe, hair wet, your skin freshly scrubbed.

In his mind's eye, you're clasping his hand palm to palm, lifting your head to kiss him as he moves slowly inside you, unhurried, loving.

As his orgasm barrels through him, Steve realizes this is far, far worse for his relationship with Bucky and his fledgling something (friendship? More? Does he deserve more?) with you than simply rutting out his sexual frustration with the entire focus on his filthy, unworthy thoughts about your red blouse.

Next Chapter...

[waytooinvested]

Forgotten, Not Forgiven - Chapter 12

This and previous chapters are also on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘Ms Luthor, I have a Nia Nal here asking to see you. Shall I make her an appointment for tomorrow?’

‘That’s alright Jess, please send her straight through.’

Lena put aside the copy of ‘The Interpretation of Dreams’ she had been skimming through with a certain amount of relief. Even before she’d opened the book she had been aware that Freud was the wrong place to begin her dream studies, but it had also been the only even vaguely relevant text she could find at the only bookshop within walking distance from L-Corp, and since her computer was midway through an “out of hours” update that had been stalled on 3% complete for the past 45 minutes, it had been her only option if she wanted to get stuck into research without waiting for her online orders to arrive.

The office door cracked open, and Nia peered round it.

‘Hey Lena, sorry for dropping in unannounced like this, I thought you’d be finishing for the day. Are you busy?’

‘Not at all, come in, please, have a seat. Is everything alright? I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.’

‘I know, I was just passing on my way home and thought I’d come in and give you a quick update.’

‘Oh? Do you have a plan for how you’d like to work Kara’s dream session? I started some research of my own today to get a feel for dream work, but-’

She gestured at the book on her desk with a grimace.

‘-it isn’t going very well so far.’

‘You’re reading Freud? Lena I can promise you that that is not what dream-power interpretation is about.’

Lena chuckled ruefully. ‘I was beginning to suspect as much. Oh well, at least I can read something more worthwhile now. Anyway, sorry. What was your update? Is everything alright?’

‘Yes, totally fine. Well, I think so anyway... I told Kara I’m Dreamer today.’

Nia’s tone was despondent in spite of her mostly positive words, and Lena sat up straight, the remains of her Freud-induced stupor instantly dispelled.

‘Something went wrong. Did Kara display neurological symptoms? Headache, nose bleed, uneven pupil dilation?’

‘No, no it was nothing like that, sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I don’t think it was a Supergirl issue at all. It’s probably fine and I’m just making a big deal over nothing, but she just… seemed a little freaked out. Well. She hugged me and said she was really happy for me and glad that I told her, but she was kind of quiet after that, and she left not long after. And… she left most of her doughnut.’

Lena bit her lip, trying to recall if she had ever seen Kara leave a doughnut before, and drawing a blank.

‘I see what you mean, that doesn’t sound like Kara. Have you talked to Alex? Maybe she just needs a bit of support to come to terms with the whole superhero thing. After all without her own Kryptonian identity we can’t be sure how much she is really aware of aliens and powers, beyond the obvious. From what I’ve observed it seems like all of that side of her reality is being filtered through the context of Alex’s job more than her own experience at the moment.’

‘Well, that’s actually why I came to see you. I thought you’d know what to do for the best.’

Because you’ve been on the other side of this.

Because you lashed out.

Because I want to know how to make sure that Kara doesn’t end up like you .

Nia didn’t say any of it, but the implication was there, just below the surface of her innocuous statement. It was unexpected, and Lena felt the brief, uncomfortable swoop in her stomach of missing a step going down. At another time, or with another person, she might have said something cutting or dismissive to regain the upper hand in the conversation and hide her fluster, but she couldn’t do that to Nia.

Not about her own coming out.

Instead she picked a fountain pen from her pen pot and rolled it between her fingers as she considered what to say, seeking the soothing familiarity of its cool, smooth weight in her hand as much as the excuse not to make eye contact.

‘I don’t think you need to worry about Kara reacting the way I did, even if she isn’t entirely comfortable right now. The two situations are very different, and in any case, Kara doesn’t exactly have the Luthor temperament.’

She thought she had done a good job of keeping her tone neutral and her response measured, but rather than looking reassured Nia smacked a hand to the side of her forehead in a gesture that was simultaneously comical and self-admonishing.

‘I just totally put my foot in my mouth didn’t I? I’m sorry, at this point I think it basically lives in there, but I honestly wasn’t even thinking about that. I just thought that since you’re her best friend, you’d be the person Kara would most want to talk to right now.’

‘Oh.’

That possibility had never even occurred to Lena, and now that it had she felt flustered in an altogether different way.

‘Do you really think so?’

‘Of course! Kara has been so much happier since the two of you started spending time together again. She’s even getting along better with Andrea now, and she talks about you and all the funny clever things you said last time she saw you pretty much constantly. It’s actually kind of adorable.’

Nia’s cheeks went a bit pink then, and she squirmed in her seat like she had said more than she meant to.

‘Uhhh, maybe don’t tell Kara I told you that. I don’t want to embarrass her.’

Interesting. If Lena didn’t know better she would think- but it wouldn’t matter anyway. It’s not like she would have been able to do anything about it. Not now.

‘Look, Nia, I really would like to help, but I just don’t think it’s a good idea. My friendship with Kara can only ever be temporary, so it wouldn’t be fair to push the boundaries too far. Besides, how can I go and reassure Kara about her reaction to you when I can’t forgive her for doing more or less the same thing to me? Even if it was much worse in our case.’

Nia tilted her head to one side, as if she didn’t quite catch Lena’s meaning and was checking whether a new angle might make it fit better with her perception of reality.

‘Why?’

‘Why is it worse?’

‘No, why can’t you forgive her? I get that there’s a lot of history between you and I don’t know the finer details of everything Kara did to hurt you. Maybe some of it really doesn’t deserve to be just forgiven, and that’s fair enough if it’s really how you feel. But from everything I’ve seen, you want her back in your life as much as she wants you in hers. You want to forgive her. So why won’t you? Who is it really serving to force yourself to stay mad when you could just… stop? Let yourself be her friend again. Be all of our friends again. Just come back.’

Just come back.

As if she had merely walked out early on a night out, and could choose to turn around and go back to the bar any time she liked, to be welcomed in from the cold with hugs and warmth and an easy acceptance that she wasn’t sure she entirely deserved.

‘It’s not that simple.’

It can’t be... Can it?

‘Sure it is. If you want it to be. Lena… you do know that we want you back, don’t you? Not just Kara. All of us do.’

Lena opened her mouth to respond, and then closed it again. Because no, she didn’t know that. She knew that, with the exception of their latest meeting, they had all been getting along well, and that she had enjoyed the time she had been spending at the DEO far more than she expected to, but she hadn’t allowed herself to think beyond that.

Now she did.

She thought about it, and what came first, as always, was the flash of anger and sting of hurt humiliation that echoed what she had felt on first finding out how much of an outsider she truly was among her supposed friends. She had believed they were all on even footing, only to discover that every single one of them had been part of a circle of trust that did not include her, and that when push came to shove, they were perfectly happy to drop her from their lives the moment she walked away from Kara (because they were her friends, first and foremost, and Lena had been allowed to tag along only because Kara had wanted her there, not for her own sake).

That came first.

But this time, it didn’t stop there.

Because things between them had been different since Atlantis.

With Alex first, who had been the most unsympathetic when she first cut Kara out, and yet had also been the one to reach out to her after the kidnapping, and to keep on reaching out, even when Lena had snarled at her and tried to push her away. Alex had accepted her anger, and apologised, and somehow turned it into something less like hatred and more like catharsis. From there the others had followed easily in her wake. None of them had treated Lena the way she had expected them to (with reproach or recrimination, even suspicion that she really had had something to do with Kara’s condition), and without Kara beside her to be the focal point of Lena’s attention she had been getting to know all of them properly in their own rights, and found that she liked them.

Now she was giving space to the idea, she had to admit that they seemed to like her too, and not just for what she could do for Atlantis or the DEO, or as a tacked on extension of Kara. It had been starting to feel like she was really one of them…

Only then Kara had been hurt and she had let her guard down too far. She had exposed a raw, volatile part of herself that they had not been meant to see, even implying to her girlfriend’s face that Kelly's life mattered less than Kara’s. The memory made her wince (not least because although she really, genuinely liked Kelly and knew that the suggestion had been neither reasonable nor fair... she had meant it. She still meant it), and she couldn’t help worrying that the lapse had knocked them right back to square one.

‘Even if that was true before, I’m not sure it still can be after the other night.’

‘What, because of the Atlantis meeting?’

Nia sounded confused, as if she really wasn’t sure what Lena meant by ‘the other night’, and Lena nodded without looking up from the pen she was now holding too tightly in her fist.

‘Lena, that was nothing, you were just sticking up for Kara, we all knew that.’

‘I don’t think J’onn would see it that way. Or Alex.’

‘Pfft, J’onn’s like 300 years old and used to be Alex’s boss, he can take a bit of snark. And Alex actually told me after you left that she was glad you were there, because she had to speak for the DEO and National City as well but you were just 100% there to advocate for your friend, even if you did go a bit “hangry Kara with eyes on the last potsticker” about it. That’s in her words by the way, not mine.’

She couldn’t help it. A slightly guilty laugh bubbled out of her at the hangry Kara comment (that sounded like Alex alright), and it diffused the tension enough that Lena looked up at last, finding nothing but frank openness and conspiratorial amusement in Nia’s returning expression. Her grip on the pen eased along with her anxiety, and she let herself accept that maybe she had been making the whole thing much bigger in her mind than it had been in reality.

Still though…

‘I am sorry you know, for getting so confrontational about it. I think I may have skipped a few steps on the negotiation spectrum and let myself forget that I wasn’t in a room full of Luthors, and no one else there wanted Kara hurt either.’

'Yeah but it was about Kara, and she’s your- well, she inspires strong feelings in people who care about her. And it’s not like you’re the only one who lashes out sometimes, we’ve all done it at some point. You calling J’onn a fucking idiot doesn’t mean we don’t like you anymore.’

‘I did not call J’onn a fucking idiot!’

‘Oh really? Huh maybe that part just happened in my head, which is kind of a shame because it was honestly hilarious, I was ready to grab popcorn.’

‘Nia Nal!’

Nia laughed, mischief written all across her face until she noticed that Lena wasn’t joining in, then she turned sombre again.

‘Okay, but seriously. Even if you had said that, it wouldn’t mean we would kick you out the group. That’s not how friendship works.’

Isn’t it?

That had always been more or less exactly how it worked, for Lena. Maybe not over one simple argument or a heat-of-the-moment insult, but there was nothing simple about their broader situation, and her whole life had taught her that to give second chances was to invite nothing but further betrayal, manipulation, and, on more occasions than she cared to dwell on, assassination attempts. She had learned at her mother’s knee to be unforgiving and unforgivable, and for the most part she had been right (look what happened when she tried to give anyone in her family the benefit of the doubt).

But now she was being told that she wasn’t unforgivable after all, and she couldn’t help dwelling on Nia’s question of who does it serve to force yourself to stay mad? Because it wasn’t serving Lena. It was making her miserable, and lonely, and unlike all the times she had known that withholding her forgiveness was the right thing, this time the moral high ground she was standing on was becoming increasingly shaky underfoot, because this group wasn’t embroiled in some evil plot to wipe out aliens or turn the sun red. They weren’t ruthlessly ambitious business tycoons or social climbers out to wring what they could from her. Whatever else they might be, Lena truly believed that they were good people. Messy, complicated, caught up in their own baggage as much as Lena was in hers and capable of doing things that were intensely hurtful, but at their centres… good.

She still didn’t think Nia was right about forgiveness.

Not entirely.

But… maybe she wasn’t entirely wrong either.

She rubbed her temples with the fingers of one hand, unsuccessfully trying to press the conflicting instincts inside her into a single coherent train of thought.

‘You’re far too young to be full of all this sage advice, you know.’

Nia pulled a silly face that both lightened the mood and slightly undermined the compliment by making her look practically Ruby’s age, and anything but sage.

‘You are really not that much older than me.’

Lena smiled a small but genuine smile, feeling crinkles that would one day be crows feet appear around her eyes.

‘Aren’t I? I feel ancient. I found a grey hair last week.’

This earned her a snort and an eye roll, and her smile grew an extra quarter inch.

‘Maybe that’s because you never freakin’ sleep. You’re probably about 50 in awake years, but that’s not the same as being actually old.’

‘Hey, I sleep!’

Only about four hours a night at the moment, and not always consecutively, but Nia didn’t need to know that.

‘Uh huh. So how come that time I was awake for 46 hours straight during the whole Midnight debacle, you were in the DEO lab every time I went by. I drank like 6 cans of Monster the second night and was going loopy, but you were just in there doing your science like it was totally normal.’

Lena remembered the occasion Nia was talking about only too well, and wrinkled her nose in rueful acknowledgement. She had hit a snag with the Q-wave generator and had refused to budge until she solved it, even though it had meant rearranging several meetings and going an ill-advised amount of time without sleeping, eating or showering. In the end she had only conceded her need to rest after Brainy had told her very seriously her that exhaustion was making her behave like a fifth level intellect, and if she didn’t get some sleep soon she would be no better than the average Daxamite (she maintained that a desire to beat her former-rival-for-Kara’s-affections Mon-el in every conceivable measure had nothing to do with the decision, and she had merely been concerned about making mistakes).

‘This seems like a bit of a pot/kettle situation given that you just readily admitted to staying awake for 46 hours straight yourself. And if you think I was unaffected you clearly didn’t see how much espresso I got through, or hear me talking to my screwdriver, apparently. I gave it a lecture for not being the Philips head I was looking for.’

Nia laughed delightedly. ‘See, this is why we need you back in the group for real, you’re the only one whose sleep pattern is as messed up as mine is. Just think of all the 3am shenanigans we could be having.’

‘Nia, I…’

She wanted to say yes.

She wanted to, but the word stuck in her throat, and she couldn’t bring herself to step over that edge.

‘No, I know, I’m sorry. I’m pushing you and you’re not ready. I’ll drop it for now. Just… think about it, okay? And in the meantime, do you want me to call Alex to go and see Kara?’

‘No.’

Somehow the no was easier. Too easy, because for all her complicated feelings about the rest of the group, Kara was the one who had actually betrayed her trust, and should therefore be the person Lena was least willing to break her established boundaries for. And yet she had answered Nia’s question instinctively, the word slipping out without waiting for her to think through the implications of the choice.

But it was the logical solution, wasn’t it? Someone needed to talk Kara round so that she would be comfortable doing dream-work with Nia, and Alex was so busy at the DEO it might be a while before she could spare the time to visit her sister. Besides, it would be a way to contribute to Project Atlantis now she was no longer working on the Q-waves. It didn’t mean she was committing to anything more than that.

And... as much as she told herself it wasn’t relevant, she couldn’t help dwelling on the part where Kara talked about her when she wasn’t around, and seemed happier for the time they spent together, and where Lena was the person Kara would most want to talk to when she was upset.

Then there was t he part where she could have died , and Lena had felt in that moment what it would be like to truly, irrevocably lose her, and the horror of it still reverberated through every cell of her body like a struck cymbal that would not be ignored .

She shook her head and repeated in a more measured tone ‘No, I’ll go. Thank you, Nia.’

Nia beamed back at her as though Lena’s decision about Kara and the rest of them was already made, and got up to leave.

‘You’re welcome. See you at the Atlantis meeting on Monday?’

‘See you then.’

Lena waited until Nia had gone, then buzzed through to the outer office before she had time to think better of it.

‘Jess, I know I said I’d be in until late tonight, but would you mind letting the lab team know I’ll have to stop by tomorrow instead? I have somewhere I need to be right now.’

‘Of course Ms Luthor. Would you like me to call you a car?’

‘Yes please. And if you could arrange for them to pick up a box of doughnuts en route, I would appreciate it. Anything that has an obscene amount of chocolate and more sprinkles than could reasonably expected to fit on them should suffice.’

‘Right away Ms Luthor.’

[roblogging]

hii im asking your thoughts on something because i agree w a lot of what you say - i see a lot about the inherent misogyny in the fandom but not as much as the transphobia side of it. could you talk about it a bit?

below the cut for anyone who wants to skip 🫶🏻 (this is really long i'm sorry)

HI OKAY:

first of all, i dislike the use of the word inherent in these discussions - i don't think it applies. a fandom (made up of individual people) cannot be inherently anything in my opinion. and that includes misogynistic. if it were built ON misogyny/transphobia and everything and everyone followed those ideals then yes, we'd use the word. but it wasn't built on those and the presence of such things does not make them inherent. it's an individual basis.

it's a very typical view - one that i've discussed a lot before - that simply engaging with this fandom is transphobic. i (a trans man) have been called transphobic for engaging with jkrs world in non-profitable ways. so, if part of the argument is that it's inherently transphobic to be in the fandom when jkr produced the world, i refute that entirely. her views on many things may bleed into the original works and are the forefront of her "public image" but fandom does its best to alleviate the harm that causes. it's not separating art from artist, it's acknowledging that she's awful and creating a space where people from these harmed communities can still engage with something they love.

that being said,,,, yes. lots of transphobia in the fandom. BUT i think it's worthwhile to note that as a trans person with a platform, of course i see more of it. and though that might make me a better person to talk about it, it does mean i'm obviously subjected to it and see it more. i truly don't know how prevalent it is naturally, it just so happens that i see a lot of it.

not that i'm excusing it. because some of the things that have happened to me are fucking vile. but i think it the vast majority of it comes down to the eroding of fandom etiquette (and the rise of fandom on social media).

i posted a video about peter being friends with the marauders for example, and people disliked it. i got a lot of comments about my appearance because people disagreed with me, and i ended up being posted onto reddit truscum. which, if you aren't aware, essentially means they posted screenshots of me in makeup and debated how trans i am (see also: cis "feminine" sirius discourse). i had a notion page of fic recs that i made and put up because i thought it would be a fun and cute thing to do and i thought people would enjoy it. some disagreed with jegulus being on there and my irls had countless dms demanding to know what my deadname is. i've had to block it from my comment sections. if there are disagreements in my comment sections, slurs are thrown easily. i've been posted onto transmed pages because i posted a video talking about my experience on testosterone and i pointed out some of the negative things, which had led to me "not being actually trans because trans people wouldn't complain" (sorry that i don't particularly like shaving my tits ig. diy top surgery isn't particularly my goal). if i post about a ship people don't like, slurs are thrown.

or, my fav, i got multiple dms telling me that they feel as though trans people are "taking over the fandom" when i hit 10k. like??? god fucking forbid people who enjoyed these books as kids now feel comfortable engaging with them again??? god forbid we've made trans people feel welcome. and no, they aren't taking over. you're just paying too much attention to their identity. i truly don't think about the numbers on my account at all because traction means fucking nothing to me when i just want to yap and meet friends (like obviously, ofc so fucking grateful but it's not my goal or priority) but i fear i didn't get 10k for being trans, i got 10k because i'm generally a nice person who people like.

if i do *anything* that people disagree with, i'm subjected to transphobia.

because fandom etiquette is gone, because i'm confident in my identity, because i don't adhere to traditional masculine gender norms that cis men get praised for subverting, but i must just be a confused woman if i wear makeup, right?

i've definitely had my fair share of just,,, transphobia. like just people who dislike *me*, but 99% of the time it's just that people dislike my ships/hcs and instead of being a normal person and scrolling or engaging in something they enjoy, they know an easy way to get back at me. to get back at me for,,, having fun i guess.

and i could go on for ages about certain discourses, but i've said it all before on my tiktok (see again: sirius in makeup).

i think,,, there's a lot of transphobia in the fandom, from my experience. i think a lot of it stems from the fact that these spaces have become more prevalent on social media which is generally an awful place and horrible to trans people, and people can leave a comment and scroll without connecting the fact that it's an actual person.

but on the flip side, there's less transphobia than there is acceptance. i can post a yap and receive transphobic comments for the things that i've said, and i will delete those comments and watch as other people say that my voice sounds so different. or i can open up comments and see "you look so masc here", or i can reply to dms from people starting their own gender identity and be happy about the fact they thought of me to come to.

again, fandom has become more prevalent on social media. social media relies on traction, hate gets more traction than positivity, boom. we see the hate more.

i'm not gonna sit here and say it doesn't hurt. i'm not gonna sit here and say that there definitely isn't a transphobia problem in this fandom. because there is. but i'm also not gonna say that it's inherent, when every single person that i've connected with on a meaningful level, alongside a good 80% of the interactions i've had generally, has been nothing but overwhelmingly accepting.

the transphobia is there, but i won't be there to listen to it or entertain it. those clearly aren't the people i want in my bubble.