#but i feel that as an adult there comes a point where that can no longer be the strategy

[stillarobyn]

I understand the intention behind this post and I don't disagree with it. I don't.

If you're writing a period piece or something with a certain dark tone, then yes, you absolutely want to keep to that, give your gruff sailor a mumbled line about not being like most other men, or your scattered workaholic scientist can say she never felt like she was missing out on anything by not having a partner while they save the world.

But do not limit the reach of fanfiction by expecting it to be held to the same standards.

Because we need both. Because the target audience for a lot of works that employ this are young, they're disconnected from community, and they're lost. They think they're broken or they don't fit or they are made wrong.

I, a millennial, didn't know about bisexuality until I read about it in fanfic somewhere around 2003 (I was 13). I didn't know any out gay or queer people growing up. It was still scandalous on tv, and my parents didn't have any problem with it, they just didn't talk about it. I can't imagine how isolating it would have felt if my parents prevented me from watching anything with gay characters or spoke negatively about them.

My first discovery of nonbinary identity was in a bandom fic I read in 2010 (I was 20, for those playing the home game). It was maybe two years after that that I began to talk with nonbinary/genderqueer/genderfluid people online. I knew a couple of binary trans people in college, and one in high school, but this was my first time meeting people who weren't a binary gender. In 2012! It took another two years for me, at this point a full-ass adult, to start describing myself that way.

All of this oversharing to say...my understanding of queer identity was not hand-held by anyone in my life, but boy I learned to accept these foreign ideas I saw in myself because I had a safe fictional environment to explore these concepts and terms.

I think it was 2014-2016 when fanfic spaces had a boom of "everyone is trans" AUs and headcanons, and they were often rose-tinted and a bit twee, but that's the point of them. I saw identities I had to look up, and when I asked in follow-up "okay, but what does a person who feels like that look/act like?" it was all crickets, except in fiction, and specifically fanfic.

"But the world is different now, not knowing is no excuse" NOPE. not with anti-lgbtqia legislation passing in the US, or in other hostile countries around the world (I'm from the US, my argument is US-centric based on my experience and knowledge, but by no means exclusionary of people in other countries), or even family situations or rural upbringing or any other circumstance that isolated young queer folk from other queer folk.

A popular live-service video game introduced a nonbinary character and I saw twitch chats full of people who were just confused and uneducated. Ignoring those who were hostile was easy, but the uninformed, especially the non-English-speakers and people who didn't come from Western cultures, were largely open to learning something they never had framework for. Made all the more frustrating in a game environment where the characters didn't make a habit of having these discussions on screen, but that's a different rant.

I don't know if OP intended this in reference to original media, or toward fic, but I saw a lot of established characters in the reblogs so I just want to address that. I'm a characterization first fic reader, so I get it. "Everyone is trans" fics aren't for me, but there's a space needed for them if someone needs to see Captain Kirk and Spock debating the application of terminology of human gender and sexuality in interplanetary cultural settings...now actually I kind of want that fic so I played myself.

Dragon Age Veilguard came under attack for daring to openly and forwardly use the term "nonbinary" in its fantasy world, as though something about the word is inherently incompatible with the fantasy genre? But the game was pretty clear in its goal to create a safe gaming space for marginalized folks when so often their experiences are erased, ignored, tokenized, or stereotyped. The narrative, therefore, had to be hostile to the unaccepting, educational for the ignorant, and validating to the vulnerable. Getting to play in a world where people are referred to as nonbinary (just like me) and where people use they/them pronouns (just like me) and where no one ridicules or attacks them specifically for this? It felt comfortable and safe and the world was ending in the game, but I felt a personal empowerment in my immersion.

More complex and nuanced discussions by characters about their queer identity add to the picture. It shouldn't be in every work because every author has their own angle and their own philosophy about it, but they have just as much a right to a seat at the table. You can have your fics where Tony Stark's sexuality is a smirk and a wink, and you can have your fics where he explains that he used to call himself bisexual but the world is bigger and weirder so he considers himself omnisexual now. And if you don't like that, scroll past it. The author didn't write it for you, but someone else needs to hear that.

Maybe this is just a personal vent that escaped containment, but I feel the need to remind some folks that some people need the LGBT center brochure version because they didn't get one in the mail. It's a tough time for everyone in this community, no need to make it tougher.

he would not fucking say that but it’s he would not fucking talk about his queer identity like he was reading out of a college campus lgbt center brochure

[hannamoon143]

You drew stars around my scars ✮⋆˙

Life is hard. Some people don't know how to cope with that. Some people just try to feel mentally better by causing physical pain instead. How ironical, isn't it? Oh but bless you, that lee felix is in your life. Because this man never misses a thing.⋆｡°✩

Genre:Angst,Hurt/comfort

Warnings:Sh,a bit childhood trauma, Depression, Crying, mentions of food,mentions of bad eating habits

Lee felix x fem.Reader

Words: 3,9k

a/n: hey everyone<33 To write this fic brought me some comfort too, and it's healing me a bit more everytime i can use my own experiences,emotions and thoughts to write something that comforts others too, and relate to y/n a lot. And i know i'm not the only one, so i hope this can bring everyone that reads it a bit comfort. And pls always remember what of a beautiful person you are. Hurting yourself is never ever the only solution. If you need someone to talk, reach out to someone, anyone, also me if you don't have anyone. I'd rather have literally any person cry for hours in my arms, or vent to me in my dm's than have them hurt their own bodies, that always supports them. Everything felix says in that fic is true, and they r my own thoughts about this. I love you all, take care of yourselves.<3

Depression takes a lot from you. It takes your motivation, productivity, the will to socialize, and your happiness. It’s unfair isn’t it? Little, happy children become tired, broken adults.

People always think depression is something where you sit in your bed the whole day and cry. Well that is half true. Yes, there are days like that, but that’s far not everything. The worst are those dull days, when you feel entirely numb, but your life has to go on anyways. No joy in your heart, and no tears in your eyes. Just a big nothing in your mind.

After a while you figure it out though. It’s always those numb episodes, until every emotion you thought didn’t exist the days before, crashes down on you. And it’s overwhelming. Every.single.time.

But what if you’d find something that could ‚help‘ you? Something that brought you pain and relief at the same time? That made you feel alive, in the numb episodes and distracted you from the pain in the days where you broke down? The price was just your beautiful skin, and blood...

A problem was though, once you’d start, it would be very hard to stop again. But why should you anyways? Why should you stop when it was the only thing seemingly bringing you comfort for some short time?

It started off by you, picking at your skin absimendtly whenever you felt anxious, or when you just didn’t pay attention. It felt relieving. It was the burning pain when you scatched on your skin so hard it was slightly bloody, making you feel like your feelings actually mattered. And then that one night. That night everything crashed down on you. Your friends wanted nothing to do with you anymore, the few you had before, cut contact. You couldn’t even be mad at them. Who wouldn’t be annoyed by someone who constantly cancelled plans, and gave off a „depressing, annoying attitude“? Well these were their words. Oh but you saw it coming. All the overthinking in the middle of the night, those worst case scenarios, they had come true.

And your family? You never had a healthy relationship with them. So now, that you were grown up, the contact was almost entirely dead. And yeah, there was your boyfriend felix, but you’d never burden him with your problems. He already had enough on his mind with the world tour and all the new released albums, of the band he was in.

And that was it. No one there that you could reach out to, no one to comfort you, when your heart and mind were breaking into millions of glass splitters. Every person reaches their breaking point someday. And that day was yours. You remembered the night clearly. You were sitting on the bathroom floor, crying out all the emotion you had been holding in for too long. You had no friends anymore. No family. And pretty sure soon no boyfriend too. Nothing to hold onto.

Then you reached out to a drawer. You didn’t really register what you were doing as you took it out. A simple, silver blade. A little cut on your wrist. A line of crimson red blood on your skin.

At first you were terrified. What had you done? Why weren’t you affected by the stinging pain on your wrist, and the blood building in the small cut? Why did it in fact feel good? And then you decided to try it again, just to answer those questions right?

That’s where it started.

You knew you had depression. But going to a therapist? You were scared, probably too lazy, and you could never tell all your problems to a complete stranger. And most of all you didn’t want felix to worry either. He was the only one left, and soon he would surely leave too. He was the sweetest, sunny person on this earth, he deserved someone that matched his energy, and wasn’t so… hard to love.

Every single task felt like a hard, impossible chore. Getting out of your bed felt like doing the unbelievable. Doing the most simple things like showering, or brushing your teeth seemed so far away, that you could only master them on your best days. Some days, you went to work, did everything you had to, with a straight, stoic face. That was until you came home, laid into your bed, and silent tears would build wet spots on your pillow.

But somedays, even crying seemed too overwhelming. All you could do was lay in your dark room, staring at the wall. It was just the darkness and you, and somewhere in your mind, a voice whispering that it would help to cut...

And then there were these rare days, on which you felt almost too overwhelmed. It were those days you came home, and added another scar to the gallery of them on your arms. You questioned your life on these days. Because truly, you didn’t see a reason why you should be here right now. No, you weren’t proud of it. But who was there to stop you? Why should you quit if it was the only thing keeping you sane right now? When it was only the stinging pain who could make you slip out of the monotone haze in your mind, for at least a little bit time.

But it would be stupid to assume felix didn’t notice something was off. Lee felix was a pure person. Someone who could make even the rainiest days shine bright. And he cared about the people he loved more than anything else.

When you started cancelling plans it was already alarming for him. You were someone who never cancelled plans with him. You were usually a happy person, someone who made jokes that were actually funny. Someone who made him laugh with your little quirks, that he noticed over time. Someone who comforted him when he felt bad. And most of all you were the most excited person when you two would meet up. You never missed to tell him how much you loved him, that he was your happy person, and your comfort person.

That was before

Before suddenly everything stopped. He rarely got to see your beautiful face now anymore. You took a long time to respond to his texts, and when you did, they were short, and dry. This didn’t feel like you. Felix knew you. And that wasn’t you. This wasn’t the happy girl he met. And he surely wasn’t planning on letting things go like this forever. Something wasn’t right. And no matter what you said or did, to try and get away from him, and shut everything out, he would stay by your side. He would find out what was wrong and do everything possible in this world to make you feel like yourself again.

It was another day today. Another number on the calendar. You stopped looking at it. It didn’t matter anyways. Those were just numbers on paper, and they would never change anything. So you dragged yourself out of bed, feeling even heavier than usual. Like a zombie you just quickly got dressed, not even registering what you were wearing, and drank a mug of coffee. It would make you feel a bit more awake for at least a few hours. Eating breakfast had become impossible in the last few weeks. You were barely eating anything the whole day, to be honest. Sometimes, you just couldn’t stand up and make yourself something. But most times, you just didn’t feel hungry.

You went your usual way to work. At the bus, you took a short glance at your phone. You used to be on your phone a lot for the silliest things, but now you hated it. You hated the brightness, and that everytime you looked at it you had to interact with others. And the worst was, it remdinded you of what you had lost. The spark you had in your eyes on photos from a long time ago.

Something popped up on the screen

A message from felix. Of course. He messaged you every single day. You couldn’t ignore him, no matter how shitty felt, you couldn’t bring yourself to ignore him. So you opened it.

Hey sunshine<3How are you today? I thought of maybe grabbing some takeout and watching a movie together tonight, since i have off early! I’ll even let you pick one of those cheesy romcoms you love so much. Love u^^

You sighed. He was still so sweet, so caring, when he should be really annoyed, right? His girlfriend was a walking zombie, why didn’t he already break up with you?

Hey lix, sorry no time today.

Then you quickly put your phone away. You couldn’t stand thinking of his lips turning into that sad pout, when he’d read your answer. But you couldn’t meet him. You didn’t care how stubborn that was, but you wouldn’t let him see you like this. He would see right through you, and get you to tell him what was wrong.

You stopped making excuses someday. Who even cared? Sooner or later he’d leave, just like your friends. No lame excuses would matter then. Someone like you was unlovable. And that would never change.

As felix read your response he sighed.

That was enough. He wouldn’t let your relationship carry on like that. He wouldn’t let you carry on like that. Something was clearly wrong and he wouldn’t stand so far away and watch you slowly shut down from the entire world. Not anymore. Tonight he would come to your apartment, if you wanted to or not.

You didn’t remember what you did throughout the day. When you tried to recall it, there were only hazy memories, covered in a grey, thick fog. You didn’t even remember how you came home. Everything just happened. Now, you were walking through your apartment door, kicking off your shoes and coat. With a deep sigh, you dragged yourself to the bathroom. You shut the door, immediately sinking down on the floor. You were exhausted. More than that. The past days, or maybe even weeks you had held everything in more than usual. You felt like passing out right then and there, on the cold bathroom tiles. But there was something else. You knew that feeling. When you would have spent too many days in numbness, then at one point, every emotion, everything you thought wasn’t there before, creeps up in your throat from the depths of your soul. You feel the grieve, the sadness, the anger, the guilt, every single emotion crashing down on you at once. And then you can’t stop it anymore.

Tears started to well up in your eyes, and you pulled your knees up for a bit comfort.

These were the moment you hated the most, besides the numbness. Being numb is uneblievably tiring, but when all the feelings, everything comes up at once, that is even worse. You never knew how to deal with your emotions well. When you were a kid you never got the chance to express emotions. Crying was not allowed. If you did, you’d hear „ Stop it, or i’ll give you a reason to cry.“ If you screamed or hit out of anger you’d get punished in some way. Only a polite smile was, what was allowed to show on the outside, what to show to other people. That was probably part of the reason why you’d grown into a person who had these unhealthy, shitty habits, instead of expressing and coping with their emotions well.

You knew you should just let it pass. Endure these feelings. Maybe text someone to try and distract yourself. But somehow, you always went back to drowning out emotions with physical pain. You took the sharp blade from the bathroom drawer, your hands going unbelievable shaky like they always did when you took it out. You only started to cry more. You hated that you did it. You hated that you were a person that couldn’t handle their own feelings like a responsible adult, and had to shut them out with self harming instead. And still you did it again and again. You hated the way your arm looked when you put your sleeve up now. White lines from old cvts. Slightly reddish ones from some that happened some time ago. And those brightred ones. Reminders of not too long ago. They made you so angry. Reminding you of who you were. Of what you were.

So you decided to look away. You just put the blade to your wrist, looking at the blank bathroom wall. It was already so familiar, you knew where it would hurt the most without even looking.

Felix was searching around his apartment for that gray hoodie you wanted to have everytime you saw him wearing it. Maybe it would cheer you a bit up. As he finally found it, he grabbed the brownies he had made for you earlier, and his keys, heading out his apartment, to head to yours instead.

He started his car. It was a short drive so there was not much time for thinking. But there were some thoughts in the back of his head. Wasn’t he overstepping? You clearly didn’t want to see him, maybe you were also just annoyed?

But felix shook those voices off. He knew you. He had known you for years, and this wasn’t you. He had to do this.

And then he was already at your apartment. Slowly he got out of the car, taking the things, and started to walk up the stairs.

Soon he was in front of your door. Should he knock? He knew where your spare key was but he didn’t want to be respectless. So he softly knocked on the door.

„Y/n? It’s me, felix. I know you didn’t want to meet, but… i was worried. Can we talk please, my love?“

He waited for a minute. But there was no answer. Maybe you really weren’t at home? He decided to just try it. To his surprises the door was unlocked. That meant you were home, but also why would you let your door stay unlocked? He sighed, and locked it from the inside. He quietly took off his shoes, and put them on the side. Yours were scattered messily on the floor, and your coat too. Usually you hated when something in your apartment wasn’t organized. Maybe you were in a hurry before. He went into the kitchen, wich was dark, putting the brownies on the counter. „Y/n?“ he softly called out again. Still no answer.

But there, suddenly he heard something. A quiet, mumbling or...crying? His brows furrowed and he tried to follow the sound. There. In the bathroom. It seemed like you didn’t hear him calling you. At first he considered just going back to your kitchen and waiting there for you to come out, but when he heard another deep sob from you, he knew what to do. Whatever was going on right now, he wanted to be by your side. So he took a deep breath and opened the door.

„Y/N, what is g-“ His eyes widened in shock, and your head perked up immediately at the door clicking open, your gaze changing from surprise, to confusion, to somewhat realization and guilt. The sight in front of him horrified him. His beautiful, lovely girlfriend sat on the bathroom floor, her face red and puffy from crying, and a sharp blade in her hand. And your arm… How couldn’t he notice? He just stood there, in the door, staring at you.

You couldn’t read his face. Was he mad…? Of course he’d be mad. You quickly reacted as you got to your senses again. You jumped up, letting the blade fall, and a drop of blood dropping down on your white bathroom tiles.

„Felix…. I can explain, i h-haven’t, it’s not what it looks like o-okay? I’m okay, p-please i know you’re mad but-“

You got cut off. You couldnt’t even say anything more, because suddenly you were wrapped up tightly in your boyfriend’s comforting, warm embrace. You forgot how good a hug from him felt… And when you got a little glance at his face that was it. No anger, no twisted kind of any emotion against you. There was pure sympathy and love. When you also saw a tear rolling down his face, you couldn’t take it anymore. You buried your face in his neck, and let go. You sobbed uncontrollably, your arms and legs trembling so much, to the point your knees gave in, and felix slowly sank to the ground with you. Why did the cvts on your arms suddenly really hurt for the first time? He had you pulled on his lap, rocking you back and forth, stroking your hair gently. „Shhh, it’ll be alright. I’m here now, you are not alone.“

Good thirty minutes later, your sobbing had stopped, and only warm paths of tears remained on your cheeks. Felix lifted your head from his neck a bit, so he could look into your eyes. Though you had just cried your heart out, it was still the most mesmerizing pair of eyes he had seen in his life. He gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

„Let me treat those, okay?“ He simply said, glancing at your cuts.

He was gentle. He desinfected every single cut, apologizing every time you hissed at the sharp pain. Then he put some healing ointment on your fresh ones, and some at your older ones too. Then, with gentle, calm hands he bandaged your arms. He ended his treament with featherlight kisses on them. Then he got up, helping you up too. He had his hands on your side, his eyes on your face.

„Love…I won’t ever judge you, or get mad at you for anything, i hope you know that okay? I know that this is probably your way to cope with things, and i know that you know it’s not healthy. But it’s okay. Please just promise me, you will come to me instead of doing that, from now on hm? Everytime you want to do it you call me, text me, whatever. I’d rather have you crying in my arms for hours, venting to me for hours, you screaming at me, or do whatever you need to, than have you hurt and bleeding entirely alone on the floor. I’ll come over, and do whatever i need to, to cheer you up alright? And don’t shut me out from your life. I want to be a part again. I miss the way you’d text me when you see something that makes you smile. Or when you send me pics of the cute cats you saw on the sidewalk. Or when you just simply tell me about your day. And most important of all, i’ll stay by your side okay? No matter what. I will do everything to help you recover, and build up your life in a way that makes you happy okay? Let me help you sunshine. You don’t need to do it all alone.No matter how hard it in the past was, I’m here now, and I don’t plan on leaving soon.“

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time you smiled at him. „Okay lixie. Okay. I’ll try.“

Then he softly smiled at you, and guided you to your livingroom, where he made you sit on the couch. He rushed off to the kitchen, and was soon back again with a plate of brownies and his gray hoodie. „It seems like you didn’t eat much lately, you’ve been getting a bit too skinny, love. But don’t worry, now i’m here to feed you with everything you want to eat. You don’t need to move a single finger.“ He mumbled, as he first handed you the hoodie, wich you put on immediately and snuggled into it. It had always been your comfort hoodie, since it was big, fluffy, and always smelled like him a lot. Then he put down the plate in front of you. Felix’ brownies had always been one of your favorite things. They were delicious like no one else’s.Everytime you asked him what he was throwing in there, he always told you that it was his love and care wich he made them with. You believed him, this man made everything better with his sunny personality.

You simply smiled at him, and took one of the brownies, taking a big bite

„That’s my girl.“ He chuckled, ruffling your hair. As you were munching, and he was watching you with a fond smile, he suddenly asked „Do you have a marker somewhere here?“ You looked up, raising a brow. „Yeah, in the drawer over there i guess, why?“ He just stood up, and opened said drawer, taking the marker. He was back by your side in an instant. „Please give me one arm love“ He said, politely like always. You were still pretty confused but how could you say no to that? So you slowly laid your bandaged arm in his hands. He kissed it once and then softly started to draw on it. „What are you doing?“ you asked, mouth full of brownie.

„Those my love, are battle scars. It isn’t beautiful how you got them, but they are a part of you now, and they make you the person you are. They deserve to be called beautiful now too, like every single body part of yours. I love every part of you. And when they are healed, I’ll kiss each and everyone of them, but for now, they deserve to be treated with care. They will only heal properly, if you let them. If you’d always be angry when you’d look at them, they would never really heal. You would never really heal. You need to forgive yourself, and someday you will be able to move on. They show how far you’ve come, that it was very hard, but you never gave up. Battle scars, my love.“

You looked into his eyes. He said all that so sincere, you believed every word. And then as he was done you saw what he did. A lot of little stars, and a pretty moon in the middle were drawn on the bandages. And next to the moon he wrote a little note

„Because i want you to never forget who you are. You are Y/n L/n, a fighter, and the most beautiful woman i know.“

„How did i deserve you lee felix?“ You murmured in awe.

„You deserve the world, and more my love.“

And that really was a turning point. Thanks to felix, your days weren’t dull anymore. He was always there with you, laughing and talking a lot, but he also respected when you wanted some alone time. And when you came to him somedays, crying and telling him that you wanted to do it again, he took you in his arms, wrapped you both into a blanket and rocked you back and forth, until no tears were left anymore, and the world seemed a bit brighter again. Then he mumbled soothing reassurances into your hair, kissing you on the forehead.

And like this, you were willing to try. You were willing to try and recover, and create a life that you loved living, with him in it.

a/n: now a note to: @athenawindwolf because I didn't have the courage to say it that night ( we ignore that i'm writing this while you are texting me,still in that night), i'll be your chan friend, and in the context of this fanfic your felix friend, whenever you need me. I hope yk, I never judge anyone, and i've been through a lot too so rlly i would never ever judge or tell anyone if you tell me smth. We said we r the big sisters of our friends now, so that means we r sisters right? Come to me whenever you need to talk. Now this was for u, and I also have to say i'm thankful someone is sharing one of my interests now<3 Ily di angelo.@athenawindwolf (and i hope i didn't make you cry with this fic)

[redisaid]

In Dreams 1 of ???

It's never just coffee

Not me starting another Sylvaina project in the cursed year of 2025.

Feel free to guess at what's actually going on here.

NSFW

4024 Words

Read it on Ao3!

Mm, in dreams, I have lain in sin, just to be the cracked and cared for.

“You’re here again?”

The question--almost an accusation, really--caused Jaina’s eyes to focus again, drawing away from the blur of cold darkness and warm lamplight outside the window and toward the familiar voice that spoke it.

Vereesa was here. Of course she was.

“I wanted coffee,” Jaina protested, shaking her nearly empty to-go cup at her friend. The one she’d never actually gone anywhere with, as she was still very much sitting in the same cafe it had come from.'

The very window she’d been looking out of was emblazoned with the same logo as the cup, a cute cartoonish hawkstrider, running away from the words Windrunner Cafe. Running, perhaps, as Jaina should have.

Vereesa was standing by the door, shaking the rain off of her umbrella, the words of her own last name shadowed onto her by the streetlights outside like an unwanted tattoo. She set down her umbrella near Jaina’s vigil, still dripping onto the wooden floor. Her eyes darted, specifically to the counter, then avoiding the woman who stood behind it.

And as for Sylvanas, she was kind enough to all involved to pretend she didn’t see her sister enter her place of business, though Jaina knew that she certainly had noticed.

“It’s never just coffee,” Vereesa muttered as she took a seat on the leather sofa next to Jaina.

Denying that was futile. Vereesa was right. Jaina wasn’t here for coffee. She ignored the comment.

Instead she asked, “Do you still like a macchiato? I was going to get a refill.”

“I don’t want anything,” Vereesa sighed. She seemed to sink deeply into the leather like it was the first time she’d been able to sit down all day. Yet Jaina could sense she was still deeply uncomfortable--her posture stiff and rigid to the bone, unable to relax.

She didn’t blame her. Vereesa almost never spoke to her sister in her own coffee shop when she visited. She always seemed deeply disappointed to find Jaina there, and that seemed to be the sole purpose of those visits--being disappointed. But Jaina was an adult. She could make her own decisions about whether she wanted to frequent her ex’s cafe, even if her best friend and the sister of said ex wasn’t thrilled about it.

Vereesa sat upright from the leather sinkhole she was falling into and blinked against the warm light of the cafe. “I just want you to think hard about all of this, Jaina,” she told her. “Does it seem right to you?”

“Right is a complicated term,” Jaina replied. “Something I think we can both understand.”

“Look around you,” Vereesa implored, sitting up straighter and looking around the cafe herself.

Jaina followed suit. It was no different than it always was. The atmosphere had always been calm and inviting. White walls were covered with murals and hanging art to the point where one hardly knew they were white anymore. Wooden floors were covered with plush rugs by the lounge seating, their finish polished to a dull shine by the tables and the counter. Soft leather couches dominated one side of the cafe, accompanied by patterned fabric armchairs, while the other half was rife with tall bar tables that couples lingered around on late evening coffee dates. And of course the warm smell of that coffee, the richness of it that made the air seem heavy, but in a pleasant way. Like a thick blanket protecting soft skin from the cold.

And Sylvanas, patiently waiting, ignoring them on purpose. She was busy making a drink for a weary-looking student in Kirin Tor purple and gold. The same colors that Jaina had worn when she’d wandered in here the first time, still a student herself.

“I don’t see anything different,” Jaina told her. She no longer wore purple and gold on the daily. Today, it was a sweater the color of cream, much the same as most of her hair. Only a small streak of gold remained to that too.

“That’s the problem,” Vereesa said. She folded in on herself, hunching forward, elbows on her knees. “It’s always the same with you.”

Jaina could only guess at what she really meant, but she didn’t have to guess much. Vereesa likely knew she wasn’t here because she wanted coffee. Well, Sylvanas did still make it like no one else in Dalaran, but Jaina could be honest with herself. That wasn’t the reason. Not this late at night, anyway.

“I don’t have to justify myself to you,” Jaina told her. “And I don’t think you want me to.”

“I don’t get it,” was all Vereesa had to say to that. She ducked her head down and rubbed at her neck. “You have so much else going on. You’re so smart. This isn’t you.”

Smart didn’t mean Jaina avoided her ex. It didn’t mean that she wasn’t constantly drawn to the coffee scent of her--how it lingered in her platinum blonde hair, or the taste of it on her wicked tongue. They did not work. That had been obvious from the start, but they tried to defy it for years. Too long. Enough that it hurt them both and everyone around them, including Vereesa.

Still, Jaina came here now and then. For coffee, but not for coffee.

“What if it is me?” was a question for herself as much as it was for Vereesa.

Vereesa looked up again, this time pointedly at the counter, as if daring her sister to look back to answer for that. But Sylvanas was busy. She was always busy when Vereesa was here. She was counting change, or grinding beans, or washing dishes, or dealing with a delivery. Always something.

“I have to go. I don’t know how to fix this, how to fix you. I don’t know how I can help anymore,” Vereesa said.

She stood quickly, purposefully, and with such disruption to the slow, quiet richness of the cafe that Jaina didn’t feel she could even catch her. And why should she try? Just to be chastised?

Either way, it wasn’t going to stop the inevitable pull of what brought her here. She and Sylvanas had a gravity to them. They were two objects, orbiting one another slowly until those orbits would eventually decay into one another. They would always crash into each other, part ways just as violently, only to return to those inescapable ellipticals again.

Jaina would have moved on if she could have. She was sure Sylvanas felt the same. If anyone else could make her coffee like this. If anyone else could pull her in so deeply.

But no one else could.

While lost in those thoughts, she missed Vereesa leaving. The only evidence of her ever being there at all was a still dripping umbrella, abandoned and forgotten. Jaina picked it up, leaning it against the low table in front of the couch. Maybe she’d come back for it. Maybe not. What did it matter?

It was getting late anyway.

Jaina didn’t get her refill. Sylvanas was still busy, or pretending to be. She was a good actor, so it was hard to tell. But act or not, she’d keep it up until closing time. That, at least, they could be responsible about. That, at least, Jaina could rely on her for.

People began to slowly filter out of the shop. Those lingering coffee dates lingered on a while longer, one couple even staying a few minutes past nine. They seemed to forget the world around them existed, or that it had rules they needed to follow, places they could and should not be.

Jaina understood what it was like to forget such things, or at least to want to. She waited, reading a book on portal theory she’d brought along, swishing the last bit of coffee in her cup around, and pretending that she was one to judge.

Last to leave, as always, even later than the couple, was that odd regular. The elven woman with her gaudy, jeweled fish purse. She’d always stare Jaina down, as if knowing she was waiting for her, and then smile. It was a polite smile, but odd. Unnerving. Strange.

Strange as the fact that she’d always order a pastry of some kind and leave it untouched. No coffee either.

Today, it was a slice of almond cake, still pristine on the little white dish it had been served to her on. The silver fork was untouched, balanced across the top of the plate from rim to rim, just as Sylvanas would have placed it.

Jaina made herself useful and picked up the uneaten cake, bringing it to the counter.

“She never even touches it,” she noted as she placed it down in front of Sylvanas.

The signal was given. The act was dropped. Sylvanas seemed to come into herself, taking shape behind the elf in the apron and button up shirt beneath it, her sleeves rolled her elbows. A life sparked in her now that she and Jaina were alone. It started, as it had the first time, with a smirk.

Followed by, “She never does.”

Sylvanas’ voice was distinctly more accented than her sister’s. Elven and haughty sounding, her actions were anything but that.

Sylvanas took the plate from Jaina, discarding the cake in a garbage bin, then tossing the dish and fork into a soapy sink.

“So, here we are again,” Sylvanas noted as she came back over to the counter, leaning on the padding of gathered sleeves at her elbows, chin coming to rest in one hand.

Still with that smirk.

“I can go,” Jaina offered. “If you’d rather we not be here again.”

“That’s up to you,” Sylvanas told her. She fished into the pocket of her apron and handed Jaina a set of keys.

A carved wooden hawkstrider matching the shop’s logo dangled from the end of the keychain. It was always Jaina’s choice: lock up for her, with herself inside, or leave.

Jaina took the keys. She locked the front door, not even fumbling to catch the tricky deadbolt. They were old friends. She knew what to do.

She never just left.

Jaina handed the keys back to Sylvanas, who had finally come out from the protection the counter offered her against the world to turn off the lights.

Now it was only them, decisions made.

The last of the lights flicked off. “I guess I’ll finish cleaning tomorrow,” Sylvanas announced.

“I guess you will.”

It was like a dance. An old routine of steps their bodies knew so well that no one had to say anything. No hands were offered to guide. No excuses were made.

Jaina just followed Sylvanas to the back room. Amidst walls lined with shelves, boxes of napkins and wooden stirrers on the floor, spare aprons hung on hooks, there was room enough for a couch and a desk. The couch used to be out front, before a customer had ripped a hole in one of the cushions somehow. It had been hastily patched, then moved here years ago.

But now it served to catch them when they fell.

Jaina’s lips were on Sylvanas already, drinking in the coffee scent that clung to her skin, like she was the frothed cream that hid decadence and the promises of future energy below. Jaina--ever the caffeine addict--was here for her fix. And what a fix it was.

Strong arms held her to an apron that hadn’t yet had the opportunity to come off, but those same arms still somehow had the time to brace their inevitable fall into the couch. Warmth radiated from her, indulgent and calming. Pale blonde eyelashes tickled against Jaina’s skin as Sylvanas returned her kiss, then swiftly moved for her neck.

She knew what to do. Jaina didn’t have to tell her. She didn’t have to guide. She didn’t have to do anything but feel.

Maybe that was the appeal of it. Maybe that was what kept her coming back. Not the coffee. Not the tinge of shame that blossomed in her belly, but spread into a deep warmth and was so soon forgotten.

No, it was nice to be fucked by someone who knew how to fuck her as easily as if it were breathing.

Teeth grazed her skin, elven fangs only hinting at what they were capable of. For Jaina, the reminder was enough, and Sylvanas knew that well. She didn’t need to be bitten, only to know that she could be.

Communicating that to anyone else in this world seemed so exhausting, so wholly unnecessary. Why would she bother, when she could get it with the best cup of coffee in town?

Sylvanas knew her body like she knew her favorite drink. Hot hands were the espresso, warming and exciting each bit of skin they explored, like liquid as they lifted clothing up and out of the way. Steamed milk followed with gentle kisses along her jawline, over her clavicles and along the tops of her breasts, just brushing the lace of Jaina’s bra. The two mixed as clasps were freed from their hold on one another, and tongue and teeth and hands alike were free to ripple a pattern in the mug of Jaina’s chest. Swirls of pleasure and relief filled Jaina equally, as Sylvanas poured the flat white of her into the dusty couch in the back office.

“What do you want?” was whispered against her ear, with the length of an elven ear in turn pressing itself to Jaina’s cheek.

When Sylvanas asked this question, it wasn’t a draining experience. Jaina knew her words would be heeded, swiftly and expertly. With anyone else, the explanation was lengthy and didn’t yield the results she wanted, or that she desperately needed.

“Your mouth,” was all she had to say.

The couch was hardly enough space for this. The office wasn’t either. They needed a royal suite. A penthouse. A bed whose soft expanse was beyond ridiculous.

But a couch in the back room was all they were getting. And Sylvanas knew how to make do.

In short order, Jaina’s sweater and the soft camisole she’d worn beneath were on the floor. Her bra joined the pile. She could only assume they were there, because her eyes were screwed shut now, not daring to interrupt feeling with sight. Sylvanas was pulling down her leggings and her panties with them, wasting no time.

How many times had they fucked on this couch? Jaina didn’t know. Perhaps she didn’t want to. It happened before they broke up, and many more times after. It all blurred together, honestly. Time and space and who and when and where and why. What did it matter?

Jaina knew what she wanted. She knew where she could feel alive again. It didn’t matter if she could be proud about it. It didn’t matter that it was all very messy. Life was messy. People were too.

Sylvanas even, with her stuttering breaths hot and wet against Jaina’s bare thigh, wasn’t perfect. If she was, Jaina would have married her. If she was, they wouldn’t be fucking in the back office of a coffee shop, hiding from the world.

Sylvanas’ tongue was messy too, but in all the right ways. The first brush of it made Jaina gasp. She always forgot how good this felt, the electric wave of energy that shot up her spine. And then there was the low groan that would inevitably follow when Sylvanas chuckled softly at her own prowess. The vibrations of that laugh reverberated through Jaina’s core like she was a hollow thing, an instrument ready to be strummed.

And Sylvanas could play her like no one else.

Shoulders still rough with apron straps braced themselves against the back of her thighs. Hands equal parts rough with dishwater and shiny smooth from steam burns found Jaina’s, lacing fingers between her own. They urged her away from tugging at patched leather, and placed their combined might upon bare thighs. Sylvanas stroked across them for both of them, establishing a rhythm she matched with lips and tongue.

Jaina was already drowning in her. The bold intensity of coffee, the soft silk of cream. The knowledge that she would be overwhelmed soon, all doubts banished into nothingness, swirling into liquid dark.

It didn’t take long. It wasn’t too short. It was just enough. Jaina was bucking against her, thighs squeezing ears perked high in arousal. Hands held her hands, pulling their bodies taut together where they connected, unwilling to let even an ounce of precious friction escape in this crucial moment.

It was almost too much, too good, too hot. Sylvanas threatened to burn her each time, scalding, but she never did. She let Jaina go, hands and mouth and skin alike. She let her breathe shallow, shuddering breaths in the inches between them.

Sylvanas knelt up, and wiped smirking lips on the back of her hand.

It felt like a lifetime ago, and Jaina couldn’t exactly recall when, but it was that smirk that had gotten her attention the first time. The light in those soft grey eyes. The quirking lip, playful, inviting, challenging. Too challenging sometimes when it wasn’t silenced like this.

Sylvanas was better this way, drinking Jaina in like she was something to savor, too decadent to swallow quickly. A white chocolate peppermint mocha. A perfectly foamy cappuccino.

But the one thing Jaina could do without was her ruining it, and that was always a service Sylvanas was willing to provide.

“You needed that, huh?” she asked, still smirking, her knees tangled with Jaina’s stripped off leggings.

“Shut up,” Jaina breathed, shooting to her own knees in a way that was probably not wise for the shakiness of them. Still, she managed. “It’s your turn.”

She covered Sylvanas’ lips with her own, pressing her back onto the other end of the couch. She covered the stained canvas of her apron with her bare flesh, still hot and flushed and tingling. Jaina wouldn’t abide by that for long, and found the ties of the cursed thing while her tongue kept Sylvanas’ from ruining this any further. She flung it to the side, not caring if it landed with the other aprons, on the desk, or tangled itself in the shelves.

Jaina skipped the button up entirely, only ghosting her hands across the pane of it. There would be time to strip Sylvanas bare later, and she didn’t need her to gloat over the flat and muscled plane of her abs right now. She needed her to come, and for it to be because Jaina made her.

She pulled the shirt loose from where it was tucked into tight trousers in one motion, and in the next, plunged her hand under the waistband.

Sylvanas was wet and hot and ready. She always liked to get Jaina off first, and that had been just fine. It was a treat to find just how much she’d enjoyed the act later on, the wet warmth of her an extra shot of espresso at the end of a long day.

Jaina sunk two fingers into it, finding little resistance and only a moan of encouragement coming from Sylvanas. A nip against her lip, a groan, a shudder, and finally an arching up and into her until Jaina added the friction of her thumb against where it was being asked for, but not yet begged for.

She rocked deep within Sylvanas, relishing in the fact that she could do exactly what Sylvanas did for her, to her. She could give her what she wanted without being asked. She could hold her steady just before the peak, as she liked. She could silence any more words that could possibly stand between them by turning them to keens and moans, breaths sucked in and held to heighten the feeling.

Sylvanas found her own whirlpool, gripping at Jaina’s bare back, holding her close as the deep dark of her held Jaina’s fingers within, neither letting go for several long moments. Her body was taut, letting out only a single shaking breath and a curse muffled into Jaina’s neck.

It was over too soon and yet it took too long. Jaina wanted to fuck her forever, but she couldn’t stand her. She loved her, but she wanted to love anything else.

It all felt like a dream, hazy and coffee-stained. It didn’t make sense, but then again, neither did she.

Neither did Sylvans, who only pushed Jaina off her to strip off her own shirt. She reached back for her again just as quickly, drawing skin to skin. She held her as they both liked to be held after sex, as they both knew the other did.

Sylvanas traced patterns on Jaina’s shoulders. She brushed white hair and its streak of gold from pale skin. She kissed a freckle or two. She lingered.

Jaina wanted her not to say anything. It was always too complicated when either of them said anything. But she knew that she would eventually open her mouth.

And Jaina was too tired now, too languid and swimming in silky blonde hair that smelled of sex and sweat and shampoo and coffee.

“I don’t understand it,” was what Sylvanas finally muttered to ruin things this time.

“What’s there to understand?” Jaina asked her.

It was starting to get cold as the flush of sex left her skin. Hot shame might have flooded her instead, long ago. Regret as a cold pit in her stomach was only a memory. No, this had been going on too long for either of those to come for her now.

But Sylvanas’ hand was still warm as it brushed across her back, nails softly scratching along with it.

“Why me?” she asked.

“There’s no one else. You know that,” Jaina told her. “I try and try, and no one else works. No one else understands what I need.”

“I don’t work,” Sylvanas told her. “You don’t even realize how much I don’t work.”

“I know you don’t. I don’t care.”

“So why me?”

They both knew the answer. Well, Jaina was sure she did, but, “you fuck me like no one else ever can and will,” would sound crass, too pointed and correct to be uttered.

“I like your coffee too much,” was what she answered instead.

Sylvanas laughed at that. Jaina always loved that laugh. Too bad she heard it more often than not when Sylvanas was laughing at her own terrible jokes. Her self-confidence had been sexy once. Now she found it grating.

Still, it was nice to have it rumble through her, and for the smirk that followed to press a kiss to her cheek.

Even if Sylvanas told her, “You don’t like my coffee. You don’t even like me. You must fucking hate me. That’s why I don’t get it.”

“So stop trying,” Jaina recommended. She rallied herself, sliding a hand between them to find Sylvanas’ breasts, nipples stiff from the cold of the office, or maybe from a desire for round two.

Well, Jaina could provide either a distraction or what was wanted but not yet asked for. Anything to stop her talking.

“I can’t stop trying,” Sylvanas told her.

She seemed to be trying to sit up and pull Jaina along with her.

Jaina resisted, pressing herself and Sylvanas beneath her into the couch, thumb and fingers pinching away the cold and the thought of anything else. Nails demanding attention to the right things--to what should and should not be.

But Sylvanas was strong. She was determined. She was going to ruin it anyway. She always did.

She sat up, her hands on Jaina’s waist guiding her up, demanding her to follow suit. Grey eyes peered into hers.

For a second, Jaina could swear they flashed red.

“We need you, Jaina. As much as I enjoy these visions of yours, and don’t understand them at all, we still need you. You need to wake up,” Sylvanas pleaded.

Ruined again, the vision swirled into nothing--an ink-dark and swallowing void.

[gorbo-longstocking]

Do Not Blame the Sea | Chapter One

Pairing: Emperor Geta/Reader, Emperor Caracalla/Reader

Summary: Everyday, you woke up and performed the steps necessary to complete your routine. It was monotonous, like clockwork, as you traveled down the tracks laid out for you since birth. With a mind uncontested, you found yourself graduating college before you were legally an adult, and at the behest of your controlling parents, you continued on to medical school, then further on into a surgical residency at a nearby hospital. You had always wanted to help people and this was the best way to do it.

So, why, with everything you had ever wanted at your fingertips, were you so unhappy?

Maybe that was why when you awoke in the past, surrounded by farmland instead of your blankets that you decided to ‘just roll with it’ rather than scream. That was your motto now as you were unceremoniously dropped from your assigned path onto untrodden ground with no hope of going back. So, even when you saved the life of a soldier and were carted off into the heart of the corrupt Roman Empire to be the twin emperor’s new physician, you barely batted an eye.

After all, you would do anything to save your patients.

Tags: Time travel, transmasc reader, no use of y/n, eventual polyamory, no incest, period-typical attitudes, Caracalla doesn’t have syphilis but he has PTSD, mentions of slavery, both historical accuracy and historical inaccuracy, obsessive behavior, eventual smut in later parts, medical inaccuracies,

Read on AO3

Playlist

Authors Note: Hiiiiiii, I’m back at it again, starting another fic. Those freaky gingers have bewitched me, let me tell you. Anyway, some important things to note about this little fanfiction that I feel the need to clarify before we get into the real meat and potatoes.

First and foremost, Geta and Caracalla won’t show up until chapter two. Maybe even chapter three, it depends on how much more set up I write, so if you want to wait ‘till then to read this, you’re welcome to :3

Two, and very important, unlike my other fics where the reader is trans, but referred to with they/them pronouns or neutral language, this main character will be referred to with he/him pronouns and masculine language in the text because, as a plot point, they are assumed to be a cis man. Along with this, they have three descriptions in the text. They have dyed green hair — original hair color shan’t be mentioned — they have top surgery scars, and they have a vagina. I miiiiight make an accidental reference to heights (ex. ‘ooked up at him/looked down at him) but I will try my hardest to not.

While their real name will never be mentioned in text for self-insertion purposes, Geta and Caracalla come up with the nickname ‘Alga’ for them due to their green hair. It means ‘seaweed’ in Latin. It also means ‘something of little worth.’ :) So, that is how they’ll be referred to. Generally. It’s either that or ‘medicus’ or ‘physician’ or ‘you there.’

Third and finally, I am a huge nerd and fan when it comes to the Roman Empire. As a society, they have a bunch of hangups, taboos, and beliefs, mostly around sex, that I find incredibly funny and will pepper in here and there. I will try to make this fic as historically accurate as I possibly can using all the resources I have at my disposal (google, a few academic texts, and my best friend whose studying classical history) but there’s no guarantee I get all of it right. Half the reason I’m using a modern character as the main POV is so they have an excuse not to know things 😭 Also when it comes to conjugation of Latin words, please, PLEASE give me leeway, I haven’t taken a Latin class since high school.

All that said, I hope whoever reads this fic enjoys it, because that is my main goal. Writing is seriously a passion of mine and my favorite part about it is sharing it with people. That means YOU person reading this, I think you’re awesome.

Okay I’m done talking, on with the show!!

Chapter One ///

This dream sucked — because that was what this was, a very bad dream — and, if you had to guess, it was the worst dream you had ever had in your life. Which was saying something. As a surgical resident who did most of their studying in a hospital, you were chronically sleep deprived and had a lot of stressful material to work with. Whatever aid you used to help you get some semblance of rest had a tendency to give you weird dreams. Very, very weird dreams. You had a few recurring ones, like being chased by a sentient pool noodle — whatever that meant — and several where the ghosts of your patients blamed you for their deaths — far more self explanatory than the pool noodle — but none quite like this one.

Out of everything you had ever experienced in your bleak and desolate mindscape, this dream was long and boring. That was its only crime. Along with being terrifyingly vivid, of course, which you didn’t particularly enjoy thinking about. If you were any less logical, you’d almost be convinced this was reality. That you had woken up in a small farming village, close enough to the capital of one of the most infamous ancient empires that you could see it on the horizon. Sometimes, when the sun set, you would stare at the shadow of Rome dancing upon the skyline. It was beautiful, albeit impossible. Sure, the people who surrounded you only spoke Latin, and they didn’t trust you as far as they could throw you, but it wasn’t as if that mattered. Soon, you would awake in your bed, one day closer to your exam and the beginning of the rest of your life.

Why did the thought only fill you with a sinking sense of dread? Being a doctor was everything you had ever worked for. Helping people, saving people, it was your purpose, the very reason you were born with your exceptional mind. It was your destiny, so why did it feel like you were marching to the gallows?

You shook your head to rid yourself of these thoughts. Focus on the present, focus on the dream, it was far easier than the constant ever present march of time. It was why you were so certain that the predicament was a figment of your imagination. Time hated you, constantly pulling on your leash, dragging your forward even as you dug your heels into the muck. It would never, never move backwards. Not for you.

Never for you.

A low groan of despair rumbled in your throat as you tried your best to wash your filthy scrubs in a nearby river. The water wasn’t murky, but it wasn’t clear either. Unsurprising, considering the nearby village used this water for practically everything. They were close enough to the city to have access to aqueducts, carrying waste hopefully further downstream. You were determined not to think about it. Any other denizen of this small settlement would wash their clothes themselves. The village was too small for a fullonica, and you were pretty sure they were mostly meant for the wealthy. That said, you also knew that Romans used urine to wash clothes — thank you to the ancient civilization classes you took for fun — and you’d be damned before you let a random person’s piss touch your scrubs.

Outside of work, at least.

With your pants rolled up to your knees as you waded deeper into the water, you continued to do what you could to clean the few clothes you had on you. Considering you only had a little bottle of soap you stole from a hotel a few months ago, it was easier said than done. You wanted to ration what you had in case this dream went on for much longer. Just because this was a fictional scenario conjured by your stress addled mind didn’t mean you weren't going to go about things logically. You had already been asleep for three days now, who knew how much longer this neverending dream would last? Perhaps forever. The thought of avoiding reality as you waste away in your bed was far more comforting than it should have been.

A loud shout echoed to your right and you fought the urge to shoot a nasty glare at the <i>obviously</i> young soldiers goofing off several yards away. Well, young was a strong word, they were the same age as you. Probably. You couldn’t really tell considering how staunch you were in your decision to not make eye contact. Out of the handful of men playing in the water, they were all naked. It wasn’t that nudity bothered you, you were studying healthcare for Christ’s sake, it was the unfortunate fact that soaking wet, muscular hunks were a particular weakness of yours. You weren’t sure the soldiers would appreciate your ogling, the villagers already avoided you like the plague. Judging by the dirty looks you received from some of the, unfortunately armed and notoriously xenophobic men, they’d heard enough about you to be wary.

You let out another sigh, your scrubbing becoming a tad more vigorous. Soapy bubbles rose to the surface of the water and your face was screwed up in concentration.

This particular Roman century had arrived at the village only a half-day after you did. From what you could pick up from eavesdropping, instead of being sent to North Africa to get a little conquering done, their legion was shipped to Gaul to put an end to some dissent. Once that was over, the officer in charge received orders to head back to Rome so they could be sent to North Africa with the rest of the troops. They had only stopped at the village for a last bit of rest before their next assignment. Or something. You had been noticed, and you had scurried off the second you realized you were caught.

Letting out a small huff, you examined your scrubs and decided that they were as clean as they would get. Once you were back at shore, you wrung out the fabric the best you could before laying them flat on a rock beside the only other outfit you had, aside from the one you were wearing, to dry in the sun. Another bark of laughter drew your eye to the soldiers playing like schoolboys in the river. Weren’t these men hardened warriors of one of the most regimented militaries to exist? Surely, they should be more disciplined. Still, you couldn’t help the small smile that caused your lips to twitch upwards. Even thousands of years in the past, and in your dreams, humans were the same as they had always been.

The sun was warm, hanging overhead like an unripe cherry tomato. You closed your eyes to bask in it a bit more than necessary. Your skin prickled, indicating that there were eyes on you, though you didn’t particularly care. No footsteps approached you and the sound of laughter didn’t stop, so you figured you were safe enough to show your belly. You didn’t realize you had laid down until you felt grass tickle the back of your neck. Perhaps a little nap wouldn’t hurt. A dream within a dream would be rather funny, you thought as you fell into a light doze, lulled by the sound of soldiers playing.

You didn’t know how long you slept for. It was the sound of panic that woke you, sending you upright so fast, your head spun. The first thing you noticed was the merriment had stopped and had given way to an oppressive sense of desperation. You looked in the direction you had been avoiding all day to see a gaggle of soldiers, some clothed, some naked, dragging an unconscious body onto shore. One man was running with his tunic halfway over his head in the direction of the village, yelling for the centurion in charge. You were moving before you could stop yourself.

“Make way! Make way!” Your Latin was shaky, but not the worst in the world. While you were sure your accent was strange, you knew you were at least understandable as some of the men turned to block you from getting any closer. They didn’t look particularly pleased at your arrival, eyeing both your hair and your odd attire with an air of skepticism. You didn’t have time for this. “I am a doctor. A physician. I can help him, we must act fast.”

One of the soldiers raised a singular thick eyebrow. “A physician, you say? You look like no medicus I have ever seen.”

“Does that really matter?!” You shouted, your voice a harsh bark. The longer this went on, the less of a chance you had to save this man. While you were nervous to plow through the wall of stout muscle that blocked you from your prospective patient, you realized you might have to.

The soldier looked like he wanted to say something more, when an authoritative voice broke through the ranks. “Let the man through! We have lost too many as is without losing another to a few hours of games.”

Every head snapped in the direction of whoever spoke. All except yours. The second you saw a gap in the crowd, you slid through and fell to your knees beside the drowned man, the one you determined to save.

First thing you did was check for responsiveness. It was out of habit mostly. A tap on the shoulder, a shout, another tap. He didn’t respond, that was unsurprising.

When you checked for a pulse, you found none, so you began chest compressions. Placing your hands together on his chest, arms straight, you began to push. The rhythm came to you naturally — you had made sure to pay attention in class, and this wasn’t the first time you had done this. Despite the fact that you knew no support was coming, that if you couldn’t get this man back by yourself, he would die, your head remained clear.

Do not lose sight of your goal, do not lose hope, go until you can’t anymore.

After thirty compressions, you took a deep breath, pinched his nose shut, and tilted his head back, placing your mouth over his. You heard a few gasps, and even a cry of disgust as you pulled back to push another breath into his lungs. Determined to pay the growing crowd no mind, you placed your hands on his chest and began to pump his heart again.

This went on for… like with your nap, you didn’t know. All you knew was that you were drenched in sweat, your arms were sore, and your breath coming out in harsh pants. Thirty more compressions, you inhaled a ragged breath and pushed oxygen into his lungs once more. If this didn’t work, you’d have to call it.

There was a hand on your chest, shoving you away, a watery cough filling your mouth with spittle before the drowned man flailed back to life. You didn’t take offense to the harsh treatment. He had woken up to a kiss. That would startle anyone. You rolled him over on his side and rubbed his back as he hacked up a lungful of murky water and whatever he had eaten for breakfast.

“You’re back,” You muttered softly, as comforting as you could. “Breathe. Slow and steady. It feels good to be back, doesn’t it?”

The man met your eyes, his own a startling shade of honey, a confused, but grateful, smile on his lips. “I thought I was gone.”

“Yeah, we all thought that!” A soldier with a shaved head nudged him roughly with his toe. “Medicus here worked a miracle with his lips.”

A hand reached down to clasp your shoulder, shaking you firmly, if not playfully. You looked up to see a man with floppy blond curls grinning down at the man you just saved, his lips pursed. “The kiss of life!”

You let a small, uncomfortable laugh titter from your mouth. Being surrounded by so many people was awkward, and their banter was even more so. You felt entirely out of place. Rather than focus on that, you fixed your attention back on the man you saved.

“What’s your name?”

“Sextus Aelius,” He answered, voice hoarse.

With a small smile, you gestured to another soldier to hand you a nearby tunic. Sextus — you wouldn’t laugh about his name, you wouldn’t — had begun to shiver, even in the hot sun, and you wanted to keep him warm. Not to mention he was still naked. You tried not to study him too much, focusing on the sharpness of his jaw and the gentle slope of his nose rather than his nudity.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Sextus, I am—” You were cut off by a cacophony of noise, a few whistles interspersed within. A bit of heat rose to your face when you saw Sextus’ bewildered expression. “I fear I have made a blunder.”

To your relief, he merely laughed. “Aelius. Call me Aelius.”

“Right. I apologize, Aelius. How do you feel?”

Once you had given him the tunic, he slipped it on over his head, covering his modesty — not that anyone but you seemed to care all that much about it. When he stood, two men came to his side to steady him. Despite this, he still offered you his hand. It would be rude to deny him, though you didn’t feel comfortable accepting help from a man who had been, by many’s standards, dead a few minutes before. You gave him a small smile and pushed yourself to stand on your own.

“I could be better.” His grin was lopsided, the boyish kind that showed off his teeth. It was endearing enough for you to be proud of saving a good man, rather than a mere man. When he spoke next, there was no small amount of awe in his voice. “You saved my life, I am not sure if that is something I can repay.”

A snort pulled from your throat as you waved him off. “No repayment necessary, I only did what needed to be done.”

Aelius looked about to argue when he paled, his gaze flickering behind you. There was a creeping sensation of unease crawling up your spine, similar to when you had earned your parents displeasure. Standing behind you was a presence, one with enough authority to cause the men around you to stand at attention.

Thankfully, it didn’t seem directed at you. For now.

“What is the meaning of this, boy? I allow a bit of slacking off and you go and die on me?” It was the voice from before, the one who commanded his men to let you through. Taking a guess, you’d say this man was the centurion leading this particular century back to Rome. You didn’t dare look behind you, you didn’t dare move. Anything to keep his frustration off of you. It didn’t last long. A large hand clasped you on the shoulder, grip firm, but not harsh. “And to be saved by a foreigner! You should be on your knees thanking him for whatever trick on the gods he played at your behest.”

“That is unnecessary,” You tried to argue, only for the centurion to give you another shake.

“A humble medicus at that! Lucky boy! Very, very lucky!” He let go of you and gestured for Aelius to be taken elsewhere. “To the tents with you while I think of a suitable punishment. No man has died and lived to tell the tale on my watch, so I must be creative.”

Aelius, at least, looked ashamed, though the man with the floppy blond hair leaned down to whisper in his ear, a smirk dancing on his lips. Whatever was said earned him an elbow to the ribs. Men never change.

Before they could get too far, you found your voice. “Monitor him through the night! Fetch me if he stops breathing again!”

It was only once you heard the affirmative did you relax. Which lasted a moment before the centurion turned you around so you were facing him. His gaze was hard and his arms were crossed over his chest. Unlike the men before, the centurion was wearing his full armor, save for his helmet, another thing you were thankful for. You were not easily intimidated, but this man? He could crack you like a peanut.

After a moment of sizing you up, his eyes trailing from your clothes, so different from his own, with trousers instead of a tunic and a graphic t-shirt in an alphabet he knew, but words he couldn’t understand, to your green dyed hair. He didn’t seem impressed. In fact, he seemed suspicious.

“Lucius Marianus.” Unfurling one of his hands, he held it for you to shake.

With an awkward smile, you took his hand and introduced yourself. His grip grew a bit tighter at the sound of your obviously foreign name. You fought the urge to run away.

“A pleasure, Marianus.” This time, you called him by his second name, determined not to make the same mistake as earlier with a less forgiving man.

“Where are you from?” Quick and to the point, you could respect that. Logically, you knew that this wasn’t real, that ultimately, this was your dream and you held all the power, but there was a little voice in the back of your head telling you to be careful. “Are you a citizen, a slave, or a free-man?”

Licking your dry lips, you let your hand fall to your side, shoving it in your pocket before Marianus could see that you had begun to shake. “I am from a country far away. Across the western sea, farther than any have ever gone. I am a citizen of my country, but not of Rome, and I am no slave, so I suppose that makes me a free-man.”

“You suppose?” He pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow. “Well, I ‘suppose’ I won’t assume you’re a liar and a runaway. If I hadn’t just witnessed that…” Marianus paused, searching for the right word, and you hoped it would be one you recognized. “Technique of yours, I would figure just that. Tell me, medicus, what exactly did you do to one of my men?”

“I, uh…” Your tongue felt too big for your mouth. Whatever answer you gave this man, it better be satisfactory. All you could hope for was that the truth would be enough. “His heart was no longer beating, so I pressed upon his chest as hard as I could in the same rhythm that his heart would take.”

Marianus nodded, his expression contemplative. “And the kiss?”

“It was not a kiss!” The words burst forth before you could stop them, your face flaring even hotter. This entire conversation was reminiscent of one you would have with your father, and Marianus’ disapproval was getting to you more than it should. “I was breathing air into his lungs. I inhale, pinch his nose shut so the air doesn’t escape through his sinuses, and then blow into his mouth. If his chest rises, I am doing the procedure correctly.”

“Still, an intimate gesture to bestow upon a stranger.” His lips twitched upwards ever so slightly. You got the feeling he was teasing you now. “From what I can gather, this technique of yours mimics the functions of life in order to coaxe the spirit back into its vessel.”

You blinked, opening your mouth to argue with scientific facts. A beat passed before you snapped your jaw shut with an audible click. Better to not look a gift horse in the mouth. “I, uh, yes. It does. That is exactly it. You are a very intelligent man, Marianus, perhaps a career in medicine is calling your name.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, medicus.”

An awkward grimace pulled at your lips. “Right.”

Marianus was both unmoved and undeterred by your lame response. You expected him to leave you be. After all, despite the fact that you saved one of his men from drowning, you were still an outsider to both the village, the army, and Rome. In your head, he owed you nothing, all you did was your duty and you expected nothing in return. Marianus seemed to think otherwise.

“Where have you been sleeping, medicus?” With a sharp nod of his head, he gestured to your duffel bag and drying clothes. “I assume outside in the heat considering how poorly you are spoken of in town. Looking and speaking as you do, it’s no wonder anyone is hesitant to even allow you to sleep in their barn.” Again, the edges of his mouth curled upwards. “You are far more useful than previously anticipated. For once, I am happy to have my assumptions proven false.”

“Um, thanks?”

“Fetch your belongings, there are more men waiting to be your patients back at camp.”

You blinked, dumbfounded, before a sharp raise of Marianus’ black eyebrows broke you from your spell. If there were more people to be treated, you didn’t have to be told twice. With a bit of pep in your step, excited to have something to do rather than waste away in tedium, you stuffed your, now dry, clothes into your bag and slung it over your shoulder. Marianus eyed it with no small amount of reservation.

“Do you carry any weapons?”

You thought about your taser and pepper spray tactically placed in an easy to reach pocket on the side. “No. As a doctor, I consider myself a pacifist.”

Marianus snorted. “A good way to die.”

“Better to die giving life than taking it,” You replied easily. This wasn’t a lie. While you didn’t fault other’s for violence — how could you fault human nature? — you would rather heal before harm. A part of you hoped to balance the scales, do enough good to make the bad seem worth it. It was a lofty goal, one you tried not to dwell on. So long as you managed to help even a single person in your life, you would be happy, though you’d never confine yourself to such a meager goal. “If you don’t mind me asking, do your men not already have a doctor to treat them? Why take on a stranger’s help?”

“We did. He is no longer with us.”

You frowned. “A shame. Lose one soldier, and you only lose one man. Lose a doctor and your losses double. I never met him, but I’ll remember him fondly.”

“You’re soft. It’s a shame.” His words made you raise your eyebrows, and, when you looked at him, there was pity in his dark eyes, though it was only there for a second.

Marianus clamped his hand on the back of your neck and began to steer you in the direction of the camp. With few trees in sight, only lush farms and tall grass, the countryside was a sight to behold. You glanced over your shoulder to see the river and the village disappearing in the distance. While the road the two of you walked on was dirt, it was well trodden, no stones or holes to trip over. This truly was the Roman Empire. How your mind managed to conjure an image so beautiful and so unmistakably alien was beyond you.

“Has there been anyone caring for the injured?” You asked.

“Our veterinarius has been doing what he can, though I don’t like it. These are men, not animals.” To punctuate his displeasure, Marianus spit on the ground.

You nodded placatingly as you approached the first cluster of tents. Some of the soldiers recognized you, though you didn’t recognize them in return. Word traveled fast when you save someone’s life, you supposed. “I’m sure he’s doing his best.”

“His best is not enough,” Marianus grumbled.

Before you could respond, the stench of infection and sick filled your senses. If you hadn’t done clinicals or worked in healthcare while you completed your studies, it would have caught you off guard. Instead of blanching, you took your last deep breath of clean air, and braced yourself as much as you could. Marianus almost seemed impressed by the determination on your face as you pulled back the flap of the tent, joining a frazzled looking man — the veterinarius, you assumed — in his rounds.

All you could do was your best, and you intended for that to be enough.

Even as a student, you had steeled your heart to the worst suffering had to offer. Growing up as you did, with parents more interested in results than feelings, it became all too easy to turn off your bleeding heart and do what was necessary. By now, it was as simple as breathing.

Your bedside manner was gentle as you helped a few men, too injured to move, drink water from a ladle. If you were any less busy, you would have insisted it be boiled. Marianus would likely scold you, it was unrealistic for an entire century to boil water for every sick man, let alone every soldier, no matter how sound your advice was. Posca would do for now, as it always had.

For hours, you worked tirelessly, cleaning wounds and calming fevers. You were lucky modern medicine wasn’t all that you studied. In order to help as many people as you could, you focused on ancient and holistic practices as well, though you had an easy preference for the tried and true methods. There was no denying that you were a medical prodigy, a genius for all intents and purposes. It wasn’t that you had an ego — well, maybe you did — it was the fact that it was the truth. You had graduated college before you had turned eighteen and gone through medical school soon after. Right now, you were the youngest student going through their surgical residency in your state, perhaps even the country if you dared to let your pride swell. All of this, your parents would call their doing, that you would be nothing without their guidance.

You grimaced in the middle of setting a skinny man’s broken arm. Better not think about them now, it would only serve to stress you out even further. For all your skill, you caught yourself floundering inside the medical tent, Marianus watching from the entrance as you flitted from patient to patient, and the veterinarius sitting back to take a much needed break. While you had some supplies on you — a stethoscope, a sphygmomanometer, a Taylor hammer, none of which you’d utilized yet, a bottle of antiseptic, some ibuprofen, and three clean syringes — it wasn’t enough for you to feel comfortable. Which was ridiculous, this was your dream, you could do whatever you wanted.

Then again, if that was true, then why were you fumbling through even simple procedures? You didn’t feel comfortable using more invasive methods, not unless you had no other choice. The likelihood of survival was low, even with your steady hands. Perhaps this was a nightmare, a look into what life will be like once you were done with your schooling. Your slumbering mind was preparing you to be the failure you were always meant to be.

Shaking your head, you focused your attention back on your patient. No one seemed to notice your lapse, not even you. You were quite good at multitasking, mixing self-deprecation with stringent work ethic like a talented seamster. The skinny man was lucky it was a clean break, and even luckier, it wasn’t his humerus, which would have been more complicated given your lack of equipment. A bit of sweat trickled down your forehead as you stood, surveying the men around you. You had done well given the circumstances, but you still couldn’t help but feel as though it wasn’t enough.

Nothing was ever enough.

Even dreaming, you felt tired.

Three men had infected wounds. One was oozing pus, which apparently was a good thing according to the veterinarius and Marianus, though you still took care to clean the wound thoroughly. Another man had a fever due to the infection, and, after washing your hands, you took care to clean it as the other. After much reassurance that it wasn’t poison to Marianus — consisting of taking one yourself — you also gave him an ibuprofen for his fever, though you decided you were going to ration them unless it was an emergency. The third man was a bit harder, enough necrotic tissue forming around the infection that you considered surgery. For now, you introduced maggots to the area, a treatment Marianus seemed to approve of, if not with some disgust. In the morning, you would check the wound, and then surgically remove the decayed flesh if the maggots didn’t do enough.

Four men had broken bones, one, his arm, another, his finger, and two, their leg. That was simple enough, if not time consuming getting all the bone fragments to set properly. While you would have much preferred a cast to a splint, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

That wasn’t even to mention the handful of other men with various ailments that filled the tent. Apparently there was someone quarantined elsewhere, suffering from dysentery. According to the veterinarius, the treatment for that particular disease was rest, fasting, and dehydration, which you were in the middle of giving him strict instructions to keep the man as hydrated as possible, it didn’t matter how quickly he discharged it, he needed to be drinking as much water as he could. You didn’t hold out much hope he’d make it, though you’d be damned before you gave up on someone who needed you.

It wasn’t until Marianus clamped his hand on the back of your neck and began to steer you towards the tent’s exit did you realize how exhausted you were. Your eyes burned and your head throbbed. If you were any less of a man, you would have taken one of your ibuprofen to ease the dull ache in your temples. Ultimately, you decided against it. If there came a time when they were necessary and you had run out because of your own weakness, you would never forgive yourself.

“You did well, medicus. Better than I expected, you are very skilled at what you do,” Marianus said as he led you deeper into camp. By now, it was dark, well into the night too judging from the full moon directly overhead.

How long had you been working?

“Thank you. I am usually better than that. I fear my nerves of being in such an unfamiliar country are getting to me.” With the heel of your palm, you scrubbed at your face.

Marianus frowned down at you. “Keep your foreignness to yourself, medicus and you will go far. Though, that will be hard to do with hair like yours.” He looked you up and down, hesitant curiosity creeping into his features. “That strange color… it is not natural, is it?”

A laugh bubbled from your throat. “No, I dyed it. Green is a color I am rather fond of.”

“I am fond of red, but you do not see me painting my hair that color,” He grumbled under his breath, and it reminded you so much of the comments some of your superiors made, that you giggled.

Before you could respond, he gestured to a tent with an outstretched arm. A lantern was on inside, casting the shadow of the single occupant, who was busy sitting cross-legged and writing what seemed to be a letter. While you had reservations of interrupting, Marianus did not.

“Out here, now, boy!” The shadow visibly jumped before pulling back the flap to reveal Aelius. He looked as tired as you did, and truthfully, he stank to high heaven. You struggled not to wrinkle your nose so as not to offend him. Aelius seemed like a nice man.

“Sir?” Was all he managed before Marianus continued to bark his next set of orders.

“Since the two of you were acquainted earlier, and the fact that you were supposed to be monitored, you’ll be bunking together. In the morning, we set a course for Rome.”

You blinked. Did that include you? While you wouldn’t mind getting out of the village and seeing more of what this dream had to offer, you couldn’t help but feel a bit of uncertainty. There was no telling how long this dream would go on, nor how vast it was. You couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if you strolled ‘out of bounds,’ so to speak. Would you be trapped in an infinite void until you awoke? The thought was enough to send a chill down your spine.

“And I will remain here,” You finally said.

Marianus barked out a laugh. “No. You will join us. I still have a use for you.”

As much as you didn’t want to abandon your current patients, you would rather not push your luck any further than you already had. Crossing your arms, you met Marianus’ furrowed brows with your own. “And that use would be?”

To your right, Aelius made a little noise. Your gaze flickered over to him, catching his motion for you to cease, before you ignored it and fixated back on Marianus. He was looking at you like you’d lost your mind. At least enough to question him. A bit of discomfort made your skin itch, you always hated earning the negative attention of a superior.

For a moment, you feared that Marianus would yell at you until the sun rose. He puffed up, shoulders squaring and his lower jaw jutting out before he deflated with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his angular nose. “You are too soft for the army, medicus, and you are too foreign to hope to set up your own clinic, especially without citizenship. There is very little hope for you in the Empire.”

You looked away, feeling cold even as a summer’s breeze blew against your skin. An argument began to boil in the back of your throat, an insistence that this was a dream, so none of that mattered, but you managed to swallow that poison before it could spew out of you.

Marianus paused, waiting for you to respond. When all he received was a defeated look, he continued, “There is, however, hope for both me and you. The emperors require a new physician and I believe they would be taken by your skill and your…” He looked at your hair again. “Novelty. In return for discovering you, if they choose to take you on, me and my men will be rewarded.”

“I see,” You muttered. Perhaps this was the route your dream wanted you to take. At the end of it all, there was sure to be a lesson or even a vision of sorts that could help you in reality. All you had to do to get it was allow the plot to pull you forward. “And Rome is not far?”

Marianus’ features softened, bordering on fondness, guilt, and pity. “Barely a day’s march, medicus.”

“I will go, then. To Rome with me, I suppose.” Though you smiled, when you turned to Aelius, he stared at you as if you’d been sentenced to death.

—————————————-

Tag list: @snazzynacho

[maxdibert]

Don’t you think it’s stupid to always excuse Snape’s actions when Snape himself hates what he’s done and regrets it because he knows he was a bastard? His fans are always trying to make him seem like a victim, but he knows he wasn’t one!!!

No, because I don’t have to agree with the character.

What I mean is, Severus feels bad about the things he did, sees them as despicable, and understands them as things he needs to atone for. I understand where this comes from, I understand why he thinks that way, but as an external individual, I can have my own opinion about his actions and conclude that, from my perspective, they weren’t that big of a deal. I mean, I can understand that in the context of the story, being a Death Eater is seen as a terrible sin and that’s why the character embarks on a journey of redemption, but that doesn’t mean that, as someone outside that story, if I rationalize it and extrapolate it to daily life, I can’t think it’s absolutely ridiculous that someone has to give up their life and sacrifice themselves for two decades to prove they’re not a piece of crap just because, as a teenager, they decided to follow a group of fanatics and later regretted it. In the same way, I understand how several people I’ve known made similar decisions back in the day and a decade later are deeply ashamed of it, but they’re now functional people who have channeled their lives into positive things.

I get that, from the perspective of a children’s novel, the figure of the nasty teacher who always tries to mess with the protagonist and his friends is treated by the narrative as something negative, not cool, and inappropriate. I also understand people who feel triggered by dysfunctional adults who can’t manage their trauma around kids. But as someone outside that narrative, I can think it’s utterly childish because I’m 28 years old, my friends and coworkers range from 25 to 35, and we’re all a mess because being an adult is absolute crap, and being an adult who’s overworked and dealing with mental baggage sometimes makes you a pretty unpleasant person.

I understand that, in the saga’s world, calling someone a “mudblood” is the worst insult ever. But as a human being outside that world, I understand that someone insulting another person in the middle of a traumatic, high-stress moment can’t just be condemned so easily because, well, there’s a context, and it’s perfectly understandable. And I also get that if you have a friend, and that friend is kind of flirting with your bully, they don’t just deserve an insult—they deserve two slaps.

So the point isn’t that I excuse Severus—it’s that my morality doesn’t allow me to see the things he did as unforgivable. I think he made some mistakes, and I think he paid a much higher price for them than he deserved, considering his background and personal context. The fact that he, as a character, might think his sins are much greater than how I perceive them is another matter. The fact that he, as a character, feels the need to endure decades of penance to feel like he’s atoned is also another matter. In the same way, I can think, in the real world, that what someone did is a triviality while, for them, it’s something deeply wrong, and they need to make amends for it. It’s a matter of perspective.

I’ve never denied in any analysis that Severus’s entire story revolves around guilt and the search for redemption. In fact, I often comment on it—that everything stems from his feelings of guilt. Now, if you ask me personally what my opinion on the matter is, I’d say he didn’t really have that much to feel guilty about because, on a scale of one to ten, his crimes are, at most, a six.

[rocco-ko]

Hualian as the last true romance of our age…

I stopped watching western media at some point. And you know, it wasn’t because of it’s gradually decreasing quality over the past few years, no. It’s because of the creators trying so hard to make everything seem too „smartassISh” and too realistic. I overheard once that the romance is dead in Hollywood, and it’s surely true.

I’m going to share my probably controversial opinion, and I just want to let you know that it wasn’t meant to hurt anyone’s feelings in any way. This is just that little moment to uncover this lowly one’s love for TGCF.

Now let’s get back to… modern love, shall we?

The society turned it into a generic case study a long time ago. You’ve got a relationship problem? Let’s start with the „Toxicity check”. If your bond doesn’t appear to be tOxIc (whatever is that supposed to mean), go get the magic wand called „cOmMuniCAtIoN”. It will surely deal with everything else. But what if the relationships do happen to be tOxIc… (oh no). Well… good luck, babe, because even the heaven official’s blessing won’t ever help you.

Please, don’t get me wrong, I am not here trying to say that we should stop communicating our thoughts and needs with our partners. What I truly believe is that communication won’t give us that desirable connection if there’s no affinity between our souls. Unfortunately, we turned love into a set of tips to follow, a smartass plan. And with a plan to follow comes an effort, a work to do. Just look around and within, everything that we do is work. Do you really want a relationship that leaves you mentally exhausted as well? Loving someone is easy. At least to me…

„ ….That kind of affinity can only come by chance; it can’t be begged for. And whether that bond should live on is three parts fate and seven parts courage!”

How about the „embarrassing” words Xie Lian told little Hong Hong-er all these years ago? „If you don’t know the meaning to your life, then make me that meaning, and use me as the reason to live”. Weird and probably disturbing… but only because I have never read anything like this before! In truth, it is so freaking wonderful! Sometimes people are way too damaged to keep living on their own. XL with his special ability to „read” people grasped this. Rather than relying on empty promises like „eVeRYtHing Is goInG tO be AlRighT”, he gave HC something real and powerful. In a world where everyone keeps telling us to „get up” evetytime we get hurt again and again, to stop playing a victim card… we have a prince telling his little devotee to live for him… „Although brave, it’s foolish.” “Although foolish, it’s brave.” :)

Just like Hualian relationship.

Idealistic and naive? Yup. Totally obsessed with one another? More than anyone else! Co-dependent? Also yes. So what? I’ve been alone for my whole adult life. Find me somebody to live for, to become a better person for them and to put all of my devotion into worshipping their body and soul! I don’t need the relationships that are hard work. I will set for something way better – unconditional acceptance, trust and a lot of fondness. I know a love like this is real. One god and one ghost have already found it.

„The one standing in infinite glory is you; the one fallen from grace is also you. What matters is ‘you’ and not the state of you.”

[gemallass]

I have said it before and I am saying it again: Ford should get to be a bit of a crybaby when regressed, as a threat 👏

He can unlearn the shame of crying better (speculation/hc since he's a man in his 60s--or late 50s if you want--that grew up in the 60s with a toxic father figure. I don't have a single doubt that Filbrick would've taught his children that. One way or another, even) when he's feeling small.

Plus, rather than supressing his fears, anxieties and etc he could just, let it out. It would be good for him, me thinks.

Yeah obviously it doesn't mean he would have a 180º change in attitude once he's done, and, hell, I think he would still try to supress it even when he's regressed and such, but I think the key difference is that he would struggle more to do so at that moment, and so he would end up in a puddle of his own tears.

And then later the shame comes since "boys don't cry", "men don't cry" and blah blah blah, but ya know, baby steps.

Or if he's with someone else he gets a nice hug and pets while he lets all the stress out.

He gets to be vulnerable, and soft, and to be the protected, as a threat.

[gideonisms]

Average person has one major breakdown that makes them rethink their life and change things up. But breakdowns abi is an outlier and should not be counted

[slasherscream]

really wish people would read blog rules more, it makes running blogs like this very low reward and you feel like a machine if people aren't commenting and aren't even abiding by one of the, honestly, very few and politely phrased rules i even have

[cuteniaarts]

Here *throws random and actually much more important than I realised at first OC redesign at you after two and a half years since the OG*

Meifeng, Ming-Hua’s cousin! I just randomly remembered that she exists while putting together my OC family tree and since the only art I have of her is… nearly 3 years old and mediocre at best, and Kat and I have recently spent so much time focusing on Red Lotus siblings, I thought “Hey, why not redraw her? Just because she’s a cousin and not a sister doesn’t make her any less special than Lien-Hua, Summiya, Aiza or Haya!” (On that note… Nia give someone a brother challenge. The only one that counts is Aiza and she’s only a brother half the time)

Some headcanons about her, both new and old (the old copy-pasted over and slightly edited to save everyone the second hand embarrassment of going to look at my old art), which will go under the cut because this has gotten LONG:

Old:

Older than Ming-Hua by around 10 years

Her dad is the older half-brother of Ming-Hua's mom who’s… not the most fond of their side of the family

Has never left her home in the Foggy Swamp Water Tribe

Master healer, specialises in children. Can't have any of her own because of the high pollution levels in the swamp which is why she puts all those motherly instincts into teaching and caring for kids

Got a scar on her leg while saving Ming-Hua from some wild swamp creature when the latter was a child who was absolutely convinced she could handle everything herself and never listened to anyone. Ming-Hua still insists she had everything under control that day

She tried to understand Ming-Hua's perspective on things, she really did, but ultimately tribe mentality and fear for her cousin’s safety, believing her not to be nearly as capable as she claims to be, won over

Attempted to stop Ming-Hua from running away but was, obviously, unsuccessful

Was the one consoling Nuying after Ming-Hua left

Helped Suiren learn waterbending and held genuine affection for the girl, although she ultimately refused when Suiren begged for the chance for her and Midori to escape from Haya and live with the tribe. She thought that while Suiren would most likely adjust well, Midori was simply too Gaoling to survive in a place as dark, damp and isolated as the Swamp. She regrets that decision every day since she found out Suiren became an assassin

Mourned Ming-Hua more than anyone else in the tribe when informed of her death

New:

Was the one who babysat Ming-Hua a lot when Nuying was going through one of her depressive episodes after Cadeo left, and Ming-Hua actually enjoyed spending time with her because she was a lot less overbearing and protective than her mother. Was the first person to start calling her Ming. Sometimes Ming-Ming, but Ming-Hua had a tendency to deliver a very hard kick to the shins every time she tried that

Never left Nuying’s side when she got sick in the years following Ming-Hua’s disappearance, no matter how much everyone, including her own father, told her to stay away, there’s nothing she can do to help her. In her final moments, Nuying was delirious with fever and called out for Ming-Hua. Meifeng didn’t have the heart to remind her that her daughter left so instead let her hair down, covered her own hand in water and told Nuying that she was “right here, mom. I’m right here” and stayed like that until Nuying passed

When Ming-Hua returned, Meifeng was the one to break the news to her. Later, when Ming-Hua asked how and when it happened, she couldn’t quite stop herself from snapping at her because she should have been there, Meifeng shouldn’t have had to pretend to be her so her mother could die without worrying about where her daughter was. Their relationship never really fully recovered after that fight

Still, she had met Suiren when she was little on the rare occasions when the Red Lotus passed through the Swamp and Ming-Hua chose to take her daughter to visit the tribe. She never met Midori, but she did see Ming-Hua pregnant with her once

Didn’t know about Ming-Hua’s imprisonment until an 11-year-old Suiren told her because world news don’t reach into the heart of the Swamp. She just thought they had decided to stop visiting. The news crushed her but… a part of her couldn’t help but go “you should have fucking listened to me when I told you to stay, then this wouldn’t have happened”

Her teaching Suiren waterbending involved mostly the basics of combat (she herself doesn’t know much of it since she’s a healer), plantbending and healing. Suiren reached her level of mastery and proficiency as well as figured out icebending on her own through sheer determination and spite (she’s so much like her mama 🥹🥹🥹)

Is the only one from the tribe Suiren had ever confessed to about being an assassin. That knowledge broke her heart and she spent all those years absolutely terrified that Suiren would meet Ming-Hua’s fate. When Suiren stopped visiting at one point (when she left for her mission to kill Kuvira, got injured, recovered at ATI, reunited with her parents, broke Kuvira out and started living with her, etc etc) she had assumed that it really did happen, until Suiren randomly showed up one day with Kuvira in tow (Meifeng did not approve bc of the whole spirit vine thing 😅)

Absolutely reunited with Ming-Hua at some point and it was an extremely emotional moment

Ripped Cadeo a new one when he suddenly appeared looking for his daughter after 45+ years after it became common knowledge that the RL are all alive and no longer wanted by the law

All in all… quite an interesting character that I really should do something with at some point, bc how come Ming-Hua’s family is the only one to get 0 attention in our discussions?? #justiceformeifeng2024

[blujayonthewing]

had the thought 'it might be interesting to also collect a cicada nymph before it can molt and keep it as a wet specimen' and then immediately the concept of a cicada quietly growing underground for thirteen years to finally, finally emerge into the world only to get killed and put in a jar before it ever has a chance to stretch its wings just because some idiot thought it'd be neat nearly made me cry

[s4pphic-sh3nan1gans]

love that my mum just gave me a lecture (more like an unnecessary reason to argue with me though tbh) about internet safety as if I'm doing something really terrible and I'm a vulnerable, naïve child when I'm literally almost 20 years old :)

[diteach]

The Thoughts(c) are getting to me so I should probably go to bed but I have to say hmm maybe I should go to therapy

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

thinking about nora again

[fairwinds-safetravels]

.

[forgotten-daydreamer]

one day people will stop saying they have bpd just because they get "irrationally angry sometimes", but that day is not today, unfortunately for us all.