#but when i read a bit i have a burst of energy to accomplish something that needs to be done

[tenrose]

My ability to read after work is intricately linked to my ability to perform a house chores during the week in a way I can't explain 🤷

[starrycassi]

Ambrosius's (indirect) champion.

Find part one here

"It's oficial. You've gone crazy"

Ambrosius, who feels thrilled with his idea, scoffs. In a quick move, he drags Ballister down to the bed, pulling him by the wrists, making the boy's head fall directly in his own chest. Had this been practice, he knows he probably would've gotten a punch to the ribs in retaliation. But they are in private, they are just teens, and Ballister allows his boyfriend to drag him down.

"Don't call me that, babe" Ambrosius whines, while Ballister tries to regain some of his dignity by lifting himself up with his arms to establish some sort of distance. "I'll cry"

"Ambrosius, this is not funny" finally managing to get on his hand and knees, Ballister stares down at his boyfriend, frowning. "This is incredibly concerning and serious"

Ambrosius pouts for a second, and giggles to himself after giving Ballister a quick kiss on the lips. He is scared, oh, so scared. He wants to cry and run and scream and punch and the best alternative he has right now is to be pretend to be charming with his boyfriend, but every good thing must come to an end, and he has to face reality.

They sit down, again, in the bed, face to face. Ambrosius's sudden burst of energy leaves as fast it came, leaving him with a dull sense of... confusion. Nothingness.

"You haven't heard my plan" he tries to grin at his boyfriend, hoping that his eyebags aren't nearly as big as he feels them be. "Come on. Let me tell you, and then you can say no"

They look at each other for some seconds, and Ballister gives in, the second Ambrosius brings out his best card on the whole deck: tears.

Crying on command is a pretty useful skill to have, Ambrosius's come to find out. He doesn't go all the way out with it, no this time, but he knows his eyes are watery and his nose is red. Ballister looks away, groaning.

"Fine!" He resigns, throwing his hands up to the heavens. "But if your plan is "something, something, we win" again, I'm out. I'm so out. You're going to have to ask Todd for help"

Ambrosius gasps, offended at the barbarity his boyfriend just said. How dares he? The old "fuck it, we ball" plan has never let them down, but this isn't the moment to bask in the glory of all of their past accomplishments.

"Okay, so..." he starts, taking in a big breath of air. This is going to be long, and troublesome. Sometimes he's sorry for Ballister, who has to learn all of this things as they go, unlike him, who's been memorizing the rules ever since he learned to read. "The duels, right. Not all noble families train their kids to be knigths. Not all knights are heirs, either. If you have an older sibling or just aren't the favor, then you're probably not a heir. Follow me?"

Ballister, who loves learning about new stuff, even if it's nobility rubbish, nods along, "Follow you"

"I am the sole heir of the family, so I have obligations. You already know this. One of those is to keep up alliances and all that stuff"

Nodding again, Ballister chuckles a bit. Of course he knows. He's been there to witness every single event that's happened ever since Ambrosius finally turned old enough to go to balls and shit as an actual member of the upper society, or whatever it is they call themselves.

"We have many allies made by old marriages, debts, whatever. If one of them asks something of me, then it usually really just falls on me to say no. Unless they put up conditions"

Ambrosius licks his lips, grabbing his boyfriend's hands and looking at him straight in the eyes. How wonderful they are, Ballister's eyes.

"Now is when it gets kinda hard, so bear with me. Mom's been saying no to everyone who wants to form an alliance by marriage. Don't make that face, Bal. It's not really a lovely affair as much as it is legal papers, for a lot of people. But if all of my allies get along and decide to put conditions on me, then we're obligated to answer"

"That's so, so bullshit"

"It really is. Specially because, since we have so many allies, they usually never get along for long enough to actually make and write a demand, but I guess I'm just that hot and everyone wants to bed me. Too bad I'm already in love with what my allies would probably qualify as a disgraceful street rat"

Ballister blushes, playfully shoving Ambrosius on the chest.

"They would get a heart attack, don't you think? If they knew about me and you"

"They would get a heart attack if they knew I'm gay. They would get a heart attack if they knew I'm a tube baby because my mom loathes my dad. They would get a heart attack if they knew I eat chocolate cake sometimes. Don't feel special" shrugging, Ambrosius continues, "So, they are threatening to call off a lot of agreements and stuff if I don't answer their demands, which, like, mature much? Not my fault all of their heirs look like horror creatures.

So, Mom, being Mom, decided to have me answer with a tournament, because apparently she believes I'm Hercules or something. I would traditionally have to fight with every single person who asked for my hand in a stupid sword duel and bla bla bla, but that would take forever, Bal. So, they came to an agreement. People fight each other, and whoever wins, figths with me"

"That sounds... extremely complicated" cringing a bit at the lengths people would go for a chance to figth with his boyfriend, Ballister grimaces. Bunch of weirdos.

"I'm not some easy harlot, Ballister. You offend me. Of course trying to marry me is complicated. But, wait, now's where it gets interesting"

"Now? Just now? This whole thing is nuts"

Ignoring him, Ambrosius takes two pillows and places one if front of the other. "There are people who can fight me and expect to win" he says, pointing to one of them. "And people who can't but want the marriage"

"So, a lot of families don't have knights. A lot of knigths aren't heirs. Even if a family has a heir that would marry me, they could just be a scholar or something. All knights are nobles..."

"Except me, clearly"

"Yeah, well. Most knigths are nobles, but a bunch of nobles aren't knigths. Like the Queen and such."

"And this is important because...?"

"Because families are going to choose champions, now. Wich means, they can just find a random good figther who's willing to commit to life to me and make them fight. Mom tried to make it so only noble heirs could enter, but they said no. You only have to represent a noble family, and there can only be one fighter per family. Wich means, you can simply sign up and beat everyone up!"

He throws his hands up in the air, a pinched smile on his face.

"You forget a very small but important detail, Amber" Ballister sighs, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hands. "I'm neither noble nor a heir, and no family is going to choose me as a champion. You might actually need help from Todd on this one"

Ambrosius suddenly comes to a stop, blinking.

"I would sooner kill myself than marry Todd Disgusting Sureblade. Never. Nuh-uh. Not even if we were the last two men left in the planet. You know how some girls swear they can switch gays guys to the other team? I'm throughly convinced that Todd actually has the power to do so. Leave me alone with him in a room and I come out both a killer and ready to settle down with a woman. Hell, we'll have kids, even. Don't ever joke about that, Ballister. I'm going to have nightmares, tonight"

Cackling, Ballister pretends to apologize, while his boyfriend rambles about how horrifying it would be, to be around Todd every day of his life, and how death would be mercy if anyone ever was to ever be on that situation.

Ambrosius finally stops, clearing his throat to stop Ballister from dying of asphyxiation, "With that settled, I would like to point out that my family can't choose you because I have to represent the Goldenloins. Not because I don't want. But there's still someone, Bal. Someone who's childless, a noble, and probably would love to help us out in this"

Ambrosius's next words convince Ballister of the fact that, yes, Captain Gloria surely drank too much whiskey while she was pregnant, because there's something deeply wrong with this man's brain.

"We're going to ask formal help from the Queen. And we're going to do it right now"

He should've stayed at that orphanage. Things would've been easier.

˗ˋ ♡  ˊ˗

Ballister fixes his shirt, and then does so again. Next to him, Ambrosius is doing a pretty good job at pretending to be calm, but his lips are going to start bleeding in any second if he keeps munching on them like that, and his hands shake ever so slightly.

"If the speech doesn't work out" he whispers to Ballister, while they walk down the marble corridors of the palace, "then you put on your best puppy eyes. Pout and all. I'm bringing out the waterworks. Ugly crying, if needed. Gloreth, I'll fake-faint if it comes to that"

Ballister's pretty sure that the speech they wrote and tried to memorize on the two hours it took to get here (asking for permissions at the institute, getting into a carriage, arriving at the palace, getting the secretary to make them the next meeting using Ambrosius's status) isn't nearly good enough to convince the Queen to get involved in this mess, so he tries to remember the saddest moments in his life. There's a lot. He definitely feels ready to cry and beg.

They reach the Queen's office (because, apparently, queen's do have offices) and are welcomed by two palace guards that open up the wood doors for them to come in.

The place is wonderful. Not rich-people wonderful, it's soul-crushing, life-changing beautiful, instead. Everything is so white and golden and blue and shiny and ethereal.

In the middle of it, the Queen is seated, smiling softly at them. They both kneel down, knigth training and actual admiration manifesting in the gesture.

"Gentlemen" she greets, placing her joined hands on her desk, and they stand up straight, standing still, waiting for orders, her orders, always ready to obey to her, "you may sit down"

They do so.

Ballister's bones are trying to crawl out of his skin, and his whole face itches with nerves.

"Thank you, for receiving us in such short notice, Your Majesty" says Ambrosius, voice full with feeling. He's better at the whole "being social" thing.

"It is refreshing to see young faces on the palace grounds every once in a while" she responds, in that weird way formal people talk when they're trying to say something without saying it. "And I am honored to have two of my best cadets in here today. I have to ask, though, as to what situation do I owe the pleasure of such a distinguished visit? Specially a dual one"

"The honor is all ours" adds Ballister, who doesn't want to feel useless in the conversation, even if he feels incredibly out of place in the dances the nobility follows when they talk, when they breath, when they live.

"We come here with a plead," explains Ambrosius, and he suddenly looks older. Serious, worried, solemn. His voice is deep, calm, "One that would benefit both of us, and for which we require your help."

The Queen hums softly, slightly rising an eyebrow. "What sort of plea my I aid you both in?"

"I don't want to get married" blurts out Ambrosius, straight to the point. Ballister asked him, on the carriage, to be honest with this. He knows how... creative the Goldenloins can get when they want something, and he feels like the Queen deserves the truth. Even if it's a slightly dramatized version of it. Plus, being bold will surely add to the element of surprise.

"Excuse me?" The Queen looks clearly put off at the words, loosing her elegant demeanor for a second, "Come again?"

Seeing her eyebrows frown and her vocabulary change so abruptly, Ambrosius clears his throat, hiding a smile. Their plan seems to be going well.

"I don't want to get married" he repeats, enunciating every word, "And I'm being forced to engage in an obligated tournament for those purposes, Your Majesty"

He gives her a second to understand the words, to take the information in. In those seconds, Ambrosius remembers that one time he thought Ballister hated him, back when they were twelve, and tries to pour all the sadness he felt on his voice.

"Of course, I presume Your Majesty is aware of how vicious and outdated some traditions are" quickly, he glances down at Ballister, who's also putting on his best kicked lost helpless puppy performance, "but I am still subjected to them, as a heir."

The Queen is the Queen, but even her can't change the rules that noble families uphold each other to. That's not what they want, anyway. She nods, looking worried. Bingo.

"That's why I want to help him" cutting in, Ballister stammers a bit, like Ambrosius instructed him to; for extra empathy points, he said, "We've come up with a plan. It's not perfect, but..."

"... it's the best we can do" Ambrosius finishes, following his cue.

Now, they both stare at her, identical sad smiles plastered on their faces. If Ambrosius is as good with people as he claims to be, then they already have her heart in the bag. They just need to get her brain on it.

"And how can I help?" She asks, and both knigths know they've kit the jackpot in the instant her voice comes out. She sounds so much like a preocuppied mother. Ballister feels slightly guilty, slightly wishful. "How may I aid you both, on this quest?"

"We need someone to sign me in" Puppy eyes. Puppy eyes. Think sad thoughts. "No one else but you can do it, Your Majesty. I am a commoner, and the families despise me"

They're not even lying. Most nobles do despise Ballister. They're just... putting some heart onto the delivery of the news.

"He's my last resource" Ambrosius is about to cry. Teary eyes, red cheeks, trembling words. Such an actor. "My mommy can't do it because she's my own family, and I am so scared, Your Majesty. Marriage is the least of my concerns..."

He leans in to her, even if it's only the three of them in the room.

"Just... just, you know, thinking about what someone with control over me could ask for, gives me chills," and, to spice some politics in, he whispers to her, "there's so many things my mom would give over for me. Money, land, jews... Gloreth, even alliances, or debts. There's a lot of power tied into the family, and if I'm allowed to be honest, I fear for what would happen if all that rested in the hand of someone evil. Some villain. Some monster.

It's a well known secret that the Goldenloins could match the royal family in influence, in power. They're probably a bit over them, if one were to actually measure the impact they have on the people, on the kingdom. Ambrosius couldn't care less about this knowledge, but the Queen should be able to recognize a threat when it's in front of her.

She blinks once, twice. Ballister makes a show of giving Ambrosius a handkerchief for his tears, and he takes it with an apology for his horrible demeanor.

"I see why you've come to me," she finally speaks up, eyes fixed on them, "and I am glad that you did. This is an urgent matter. I am deeply troubled to see you in this state, Goldenloin"

Ambrosius mutters a quick thank you, still "too emotional" to talk.

"And I am glad to learn that the bond between my star knights is as strong as the walls that protect this kingdom. You both are what keep my people safe, after all"

Ballister's never been so proud to be compared to a wall as he is right now. It's wonderful.

"To show you my gratitude for your hard work, I will agree. Ballister, you can fight in representation of the noble house of Elpis, as my champion. Any armor or other supplies needed will be provided, too"

Thank Gloreth and every single saint ever for Ambrosius's manipulative ass. He's so in love with this dramatic wreck of a man. Thank Gloreth and every single saint ever for Queen Valentin's tendency to go against tradition. He's so grateful to have been born under her regency.

They both thank her, deeply, multiple times, bowing their heads. Ambrosius even sheds some more tears and wipes them off with urgency.

Then, the Queen stands up, and they follow suit, ready to leave with their victory. Before they can go, however, she shoots them a question, one that they didn't come prepared for

"You both are aware, I pressume, of how the nature of your... bond, could affect this tournament?"

Stop. Pause. What did she say? Whatdidshesay?

They look at each other, completely out of track. This time, she is the one with the upper hand. And they're so fucked. Seeing as how their silence continues, she speaks, again

"Your romance" she clarifies, and Ambrosius's choke on his own saliva isn't fake. Ballister goes so red his face burns, and, out of instinct, he hits his boyfriend on the back to try and stop his death. He hits a little too hard, but it works.

"Excuse us?" Screeches Ambrosius, high pitched, "Our what?"

"You must be confused" says Ballister at the same time, feeling like a very dumb caged animal. They didn't plan this. He's got no idea what to do next. "Ambrosius and I don't-"

"We would never-"

"We couldn't even be together! I'm just some commoner and he is..."

"Don't talk about yourself like that"

"Amber, this is not the moment to-"

"I won't let you be mean to yourself in front of the Queen"

The woman in front of them chuckles, amazed at their idiocy. They both blush even more, if that's possible. They suck at this whole "pretending to be single" thing.

"You're adorable" she coos, and Ambrosius is ready to change his name and move towns, "You remind me so much of Derek and me, back when we were young"

She brings up dead husband, as if this isn't weird enough already.

"Surely, you know that if people take notice of this, and Ballister does end up winning — like I have faith he will — they could argue that the tournament has been rigged by the Goldenloins"

They look at each other, bewildered. They never even considered that possibility. The Queen chuckles some more.

"I trust you would come up with a way to deal with that problem, Mister Goldenloin. Your mother's always had her way with schemes and theatrical dramas, and I am fairly sure that I just witnessed one of your plans in action, didn't I? Was any of what you said true, cadets?"

Of course. Of course. Of curse that, The Actual Queen, who's probably been working alongside Captain Gloria her whole life, would notice. Perhaps they didn't plan this as neatly as they could've. But they had less than a day to come up with the whole thing, so.

"I really, really don't wanna get married or have to obey to someone" argues Ambrosius, pouting. "Specially to some older weirdo"

"And I really, really don't want him to marry or have to obey to someone" agrees Ballister, apologetic. "Specially some older weirdo"

After considering them for some seconds, she nods again, agreeing to keep her word. Seeing no point on subtlety, they hug each other quickly, to celebrate.

"We're going to give back every penny you spend on Bal in this whole thing, swear to Gloreth" promises Ambrosius, one hand drapped along his boyfriend's back, "when he wins, I'm throwing a party, and you are so invited", quickly, he adds, "uh, Your Majesty, ma'am"

She lets them go after discussing some minor details, and they beam all the way out of the palace.

"I told you my plan would work" Ambrosius puffs out his chest like a proud peacock once they're on the carriage back to the institute, texting Gloreth knows who on his phone, "We're irresistible"

"She only agreed because you asked her. No one says no to a Goldenloin, Amber"

Ballister stretches, already tired. This whole thing has been draining. He's so ready to go back to the institute and join classes again. If this carriages hurries up, they might get there in time for sword training before lunch, his favorite part of the day.

"Talking 'bout Goldenloins..." trails off Ambrosius, playful smile painted on his lips, playing with the phone on his hands, "what you say we go talk to my mom now?"

"Absolutely no way-"

"Too bad" he interrupts him, placing his hand over Ballister's lips, "already told her we're on our way. She asked to chefs to prepare us something tasty"

Fuck this kid and his lack of self control.

[baejax-the-great]

In the version of Ajax's story that would have been around during Homer's time, Ajax didn't lose the contest for Achilles' arms because he is dimwitted or because Odysseus is clever. Neither of these things had anything to do with it (and I would argue the former isn't true).

Ajax wanted to prove himself. We'll never know exactly what he'd accomplished in his life pre-Iliad because two of the sections where these things would have been laid out, the catalog of ships and Helen's introduction of all the Greek generals to Priam, were in all likelihood tampered with and erased (probably by 5th century BCE Athenians). You ever wonder to yourself why Ajax's section in the catalog of the ships is so short and also contradicts other parts of the Iliad regarding where Ajax's camp/ships are? So have historians. And the Megarans (who took Ajax as a hero of their city), who wrote their own satirical version of his section mocking the one that got canonized in the version of the Iliad we have today. The exact why and how of that erasure is an unknown, but it's a fairly accepted theory (and more supported than my original thought on reading it--wow, did Homer hate Ajax or something?).

Regardless, Homer does mention repeatedly that Ajax is the second best of all the Greeks in the Iliad. He is also, notably, the one main hero who doesn't receive direct help from any of the gods. The closest he gets is Poseidon giving him a burst of energy, but that's about it. Compare to Diomedes who has Athena driving a chariot for him, or Paris who is spirited away in combat before Menelaus can kill him, or Achilles who has Athena tricking Hector and retrieving Achilles' spear for him--Poseidon handing Ajax the equivalent of a Red Bull is pretty paltry. But it's enough, because Ajax can get shit done.

By that same token, Ajax doesn't ask the gods for much. Notably he never prays to Athena, and she never interacts with him at all. Because she hates him.

As the older story goes, Ajax believed that the way to prove himself the best of the warriors was to eschew the help of the gods and show that he could accomplish his great feats alone. In a less sympathetic version of this, his invulnerability makes him cocky enough to believe he doesn't need the gods to prove himself (I actually think both these sentences mean the same thing, but the framing is a bit different--is he saying that the gods' help is beneath him? Or is he desperate to prove himself without getting a leg up from powerful beings?). Athena likes her little toy soldiers, and dislikes being ignored by great warriors who by all accounts should be begging for her favor, so this didn't sit well with her.

In eschewing the gods' help, Ajax does prove himself more capable than the other Greeks. His accomplishments are his alone. Nobody is going to compliment Paris for surviving his duel with Menelaus because they all know a goddess helped him. At various points throughout the Iliad, warriors accuse each other of having the gods helping them (such as when Little Ajax eats shit while racing Odysseus and blames Athena for favoring him), thus cheapening their victories.

Nobody can say this about Ajax. Everything he did, he did himself.

And for his pride, Athena hates him. And because of this, she will deny him the one thing he wanted--recognition of his abilities. When the time comes for the Greeks to give their respect to Ajax as their greatest warrior, something they all know he is, she rigs it so that they don't. Ajax is snubbed. His abilities will go unrecognized.

He goes mad--and we already know he's not the kind of guy who can ask for help--and so he is killed by the only warrior strong enough to defeat him--himself.

[alyjojo]

July 🕶 2023 Monthly - Cancer

Whole of your energy: 5 Cups rev

Every month now I’m hesitant to start off the birthday sign read because it feels like Spirit pulls out all of the negative stops, when I just want them to be happy. But it doesn’t matter what I want, life isn’t roses, yayaya. But yours…wow 🤍 Your reading is amazing. Your message is deep & very spiritual, which is the vibe I’ve been getting for you the past few months. Your color cards indicate there could be a period when your moods go down, like they tend to do, and you start feeling a bit sorry for yourself, because of the things you’ve been through. You’re taking a long look at how far you’ve come this year, and Spirit wants you to be proud of yourself for how much you’ve actually overcome. Wheel of Fortune shows so much of this being karmic, destined, divinely guided, and largely out of your hands, for the purpose of bringing you the happy life you’ve always wanted. Along with the lessons learned and left behind. Whatever has you down temporarily is going to end up being so much better than you imagine. Trust 🙏

What’s going on in July:

King of Cups rev:

You have a specific goal in mind, this is something your heart is on the line with, could be a relationship or a particular celebration that continues being put off, rescheduled, change of plans, can’t make it, etc etc. Your emotions are bursting from your body over actually getting what you want, but whatever this is will take more time than you planned for, or may not turn out exactly how you had planned it at all initially. This involves working together with others, possibly travel, and it’s most likely the others that are the issue, not you.

4 Swords:

This could involve a vacation, someone’s health, the need for rest. If you’re not getting enough sleep, you’re overly emotional and unmotivated to do anything, which isn’t you normally. More naps, less pressure. Temperance shows you’re needing more rest, balance, patience, and relaxation, you could be pushing yourself way too hard. It’s part of why you keep being delayed. Divine timing plays a role in whatever you’re trying to do, and for some reason it has not been the right time. But you need to relax, I don’t get you having control over this.

4 Wands:

If you’re in a relationship, this card shows those around you being stable connections and there is a lot of love here. This could involve a wedding or a celebration that’s being paused, delayed, pushed back, etc. Wheel of Fortune does show roadblocks as well, things outside of your control getting in your way, but you can feel secure that the goal itself is secure and the relationships are very positive. Whatever has you stressed out is being divinely guided in some way.

5 Pentacles:

Due to a Tower of some kind, a shocking message, delay, last minute change or a disaster, you’re left feeling left out in the cold, abandoned, lacking in some way. If a wedding, someone may cancel or not be able to show at the last minute, or something that feels detrimental is going to happen. This is followed by The Sun though, which is the best omen you can get with negative energy. Yes it’s going to knock your socks off, but you’ll be happy about it 💯 Maybe even prefer it, wouldn’t change a thing. After the fact of course, not while you’re stressing about it.

8 Pentacles:

You may have to work harder to get something accomplished, but it’s followed by 10 Cups and 10 Pentacles. It can’t get better than this. If you need help, your friends and family are more than happy to jump in & assist. You’ll feel better knowing that things are in the hands of people you love and trust, rather than strangers or unreliable people anyway, and there is nothing but positive outcomes for you this month. You have five 10’s, all endings, but the BEST ones. Wheel of Fortune, Wish Granted, The Sun, 10 Cups & 10 Pentacles. There is nothing for you to get too upset about, don’t let shifting circumstances knock you off balance for too long. When in doubt, take a nap and relax, let Spirit handle it 😴

Signs you may be dealing with:

Scorpio, Virgo, Pisces, Sagittarius & Taurus

Oracles: ✨

10 - Wish Granted

Believe in your abilities as a Magic Maker to manifest your wishes; they will soon be your reality.

48 - Play

Our work can and should take on the quality of play, for it is play that stimulates creativity.

36 Grounding 🌳

As humans, our bodies are of the earth. It is a natural inclination when we experience uncomfortable emotions or energy to “ground it out”, much in the way a ground wire works with electrical current. However, with so much in our modern lives that causes us to be disconnected, we tend to gravitate towards “false grounding”. Overeating, smoking, drinking, and recreational drugs are common ways some try to ground. These items are of the earth - but they are not the earth. This is not a true grounding - and as such it cannot sustain. It doesn’t last. What ends up happening is that, as with most experiences that are false, we need more and more to achieve the same result.

To truly ground and connect to the earth and your spiritual center, practice consciously connecting your energy to the earth. You should not be getting your energy outside yourself, but directly from the Divine. This is achieved through meditation, energy work, and mindfulness. Find a way that works for you and practice it! By drawing this card, you are being asked to look at areas of your life where you may be employing false groundings as a coping mechanism.

We enter into July as:

Honey Adams 🍯

“I will attract to you whatever you desire, if you give up your desires.”

Are you seeing your life as it really is, or how you’d like it to be? Are you wishing things in your life could be different? Honey reminds us that what we create is in fact what we want. So often we wish that things could be different rather than accept that this is how it is. Honey tells you to make the most of your present situation.

Giving does not mean compromising who you are. Being a giving person means showing up with as much honesty and fairness as you can in any situation. This is a strong reminder to stop complaining, roll up your sleeves and get the job done. If you feel that are are being treated unjustly, you must act “just” yourself. The indication is that you need to give up what you think you deserve and start being of service. What any of us receive is up to Spirit.

What is to be learned in July:

Saint Apricot 😇

“I’m sorry that I have to take care of myself.”

Saint Apricot comes to you when you have been (or are about to be) freed from a situation that has you chained. This is a lesson in taking care of yourself. It’s a reminder to not give away more than you can, or it will drain you. We are not giving from a place of love if we are giving only to get. People may not like it when we focus on taking care of ourselves, but it is necessary in order to have a truthful relationship with them. If you speak the truth from your heart, then any guilt you feel is from the fear of being disliked. Feelings of shame come up when we feel we are “bad”, guilt comes up when we feel something we’ve done is “bad”. If another person no longer chooses to be in our lives, due to what’s been said or done in total honesty, it’s not our fault, it is their choice. This signifies a turn in your destiny. You are moving in a new direction towards freedom, and this opens the gateway towards more rewarding relationships in life.

Orange may be a lucky color 🧡

🧁 Happy Birthday Cancer! 🦀

[pipermca]

Writing Year in Review - 2022

On the one hand, I really like doing "year in review" posts and musings. It gives you a chance to look back on what you've accomplished, and lets you prepare yourself for what you want to do in the year head. On the other hand, if your accomplishments didn't measure up to whatever yardstick you're using, it can be a disappointing and demoralizing experience.

This year was, in my opinion, a rather lackluster year for writing for me. It's definitely not for a lack of ideas or interest – if anything, my WIP folder and ideas list are filled with all sorts of stories that I really want to finish. What has been lacking is the time, energy and motivation to apply butt to seat and get some writing done.

That's not the only thing I "failed" at – I came nowhere near my reading goal of 24 books. But there was a book I finished in the summer that had bogged me down for years and I was determined to finish it, which I did! And I'm working my way through The Expanse series by checking the books out of the library. (I'm about 75% done with the series!) I think I'll be scaling my reading goal back to 12 books again this year, so that I can feel pleased when I blow past it. 😅

However, I am trying to be kind to myself, as there were a lot of competing priorities and distractions. I struggled with anxiety of a whole variety of things. I buried myself in video games (specifically grabbing some titles recommended by others), and the new WoW expansion came out in November which has sucked up a lot of my time in December. And since the pandemic is over now (huge, massive /sarcasm tag on that) we spent time travelling: first heading west to see Spouse's family, and then driving east to visit my family.

This summer I got to hug my parents for the first time in three years.

Anyway, with all that happening, I am happy with what I did get done. December was a complete bust (see previous bit about WoW: Dragonflight coming out) in that I only wrote 735 words, but I also worked on the photocomic I posted in December.

In 2022 I posted 10 works to AO3, for a total of 47,609 words. A lot of that was either zine pieces that I could finally publish, or comic scripts. I also wrote 84,544 words. A chunk of that was for the IDW2 worldbuilding reviews (which I really have to get back to), and for a WIP that I haven't started posting yet.

Most months I didn't hit that 10,000 word threshold I have for myself, but that's ok. For the most part I was still writing consistently, even if the output wasn't quite as high as I would have liked. Looking at my writing tracker, you can also see the slow trend downwards in word count per week... Not great, but understandable.

 When I did get some writing done, my words per hour were still rather consistent. Last year I averaged 500-600wph, while this year it's more like 600-800wph. Not bad! I just need to carve out more time to do that writing in my day. 💗

And speaking of making time to write, here's another graph where you can see the slow erosion of the time I spent writing. There was a big burst in September (as I think that's when my muse really wanted to work on that smutty story with Prowl) but otherwise I've been spending less and less time writing as the year went on.

As for the concrete goals I set for myself in 2022, I didn't do terribly. I originally posted these in order of priority.

Finish Must Like Cats Yes! Done!

Finish Sun and Moon (working title) Haha no, but still working on it

Apply for two zines (if something catches my eye) Mmm, I applied for one*. So, 50%.

Write two comic scripts for practice I wrote one, so again, 50%.

Finish The King and the Bounty Hunter Nope.

Start By Fire and Flame (working title) Hahhaa no.

*No word on if this zine is getting off the ground, and I'm not holding my breath at this point.

In coming up with priorities for this year, I want to make sure they're obtainable, and focused on getting stuff done. (sigh) So here's this year's list:

Finish Sun and Moon (working title)

Finish one Sparkr story (any of my bunnies or WIPs!)

Write two comic scripts for practice

Make more progress in IDW2 reviews

Finish The King and the Bounty Hunter

Also, one of my "maintenance" goals is to repost the stories I pulled down. I have a couple of story compilations, and the fact that they're in compilations have caused me some issues (for example, it's difficult to link to a specific chapter in some cases, and I can't include a single chapter in a series.) So I'm going to be revising and reposting those stories in 2023.

Behind the cut is the first sentence of each of the stories I posted, and the month it was posted in. I hope everyone has a lovely 2023.

January. Armed. We're in a medical bay. (This is a comic script; you can view the comic here.)

March. Must Like Cats. Sideswipe woke slowly, rising out of recharge one system at a time.

April. Private Parts. A heavy arm fell across Blast Off's shoulders.

May. An Interview with the Award-Winning Engraving Artist Sunstreaker of Kaon. At first glance, the studio looks empty, almost abandoned.

June. The Wild Hunt. Hot Rod couldn't remember when he'd first heard about the Wild Hunt.

July. Time Together. Emperor Starscream watched as Skywarp bounced on the tips of his pedes, his wings flicking with every bounce.

August. Quiet Now. Hound felt like the unluckiest bot in the galaxy.

October. How the Praxians Lost Their Wings. "Kup, tell Dinobots a story."

November. VIP. "In conclusion, this operation should result in an estimated 63% reduction in the Decepticons' offensive ability, and provide us with an additional two months in which we can work with our human allies to fortify our defenses."

December. Mission Creep. Jazz is driving in alt mode. (Another comic script; you can view the comic here.

[pottersfia]

stress relief | hp x fem!reader

summary: after feeling stressed, harry comes to you for some time alone and reveals a new kink

warnings/content: making out, praise kink, switch!harry, sub/dom, mommy kink, oral (fem receiving), dry humping

a/n: this was my first smut so ??? it was really fun to write tho, i’m a whore for sub harry. also how ironic i’m posting this on mother’s day 🧍‍♀️

you were sitting in your bed, reading your favorite book when your attention was caught by the sound of your door opening.

you saw your boyfriend, harry, standing there with the key you gave him to your dorm. he locked the door as it closed and turned to you flashing a lazy smile. you smiled back at him and closed your book, marking where you left off.

“hi harry.” you greeted him.

“hi love.” he began to walk towards you and you moved to the edge of the bed, settling on your knees. you reached your arms out to him and he gladly wrapped his arms around you as you hugged him.

“you ok?” you asked him. he sighed and pulled away. you had your arms around his shoulders and he placed his on your waist, rubbing your skin slightly with his thumbs.

“not really.” he replied. you gave him a concerned look.

“what’s wrong?” harry shrugged.

“there’s a lot going on and it just feels like too much, you know?” you nodded at his words understanding what he was referring to. you were in your last year at hogwarts and no one really anticipated the pressure the end of this year would have to offer. you and harry hardly had time to be alone anymore.

“come sit on the bed.” you gestured to the side of the bed your pillows sat at and he nodded, pulling away from you to sit on your bed. you moved over to him and straddled his lap, leaning your head in the crook of his neck. you wrapping your arms around his torso and he returned the gesture.

“do you want to talk about it?” you asked him.

“no, i just want you right now.” he lifted your head and you pulled back to look at him.

“i love you.” you said.

“i love you too.” he smiled as he pulled you in for a kiss. the moment was warm and comforting and you made sure to show every bit of your love for him in it. you lifted a hand to rest on his cheek and he softly put his on you chest near collarbone.

in almost an instant the energy of the room changed. harry bit on your bottom lip causing you to open your mouth and his tongue entered it, turning the moment into a heated make out session. his hand lifted to go around your neck, something he often did when he wanted more. you loved the feeling but sensed he was slightly letting you have more control in the kiss than normal.

you and harry had talked about your likes and dislikes as soon as your relationship got to a more intimate stage. although he was always in the dominant position, he expressed that he’d like to try being submissive. the two of you never got the chance to yet but in this moment you decided to take the initiative.

you moved your hips a bit to get more comfortable but in the process harry let out what seemed to be a whimper. you looked down, breaking the kiss, and saw the print of his growing boner in his pants. you felt a bit of accomplishment and wanted to break the dominant front he still had up. you moved your head up and connected your lips again into a passionate kiss.

you grabbed the wrist of the hand he had around your neck and pushed it down. from that action he was clearly startled and you smirked into the kiss. you pulled away from his lips and placed kisses on his jaw. you moved to leave wet kisses on his neck until you reached a spot that made him groan. you focused on leaving a hickey there as you moved your hips against him.

“y/n...” harry moaned out and put his hands on your waist, helping you keep the same pace. you lifted your head and smiled at the spot that was forming on his neck. you noticed how he tugged on the bottom of your, really it was his, sweatshirt.

“you want to see my tits, baby?” harry’s lust filled eyes looked straight into yours and he nodded eagerly.

“use your words, please.” your thumb rubbed his cheek.

“yes. i- uh, want your tits.” he said. you lifted the sweatshirt over your head and threw it off the bed. you studied his reaction as he saw you weren’t wearing a bra. he reached his hand up to touch them but you grabbed it before he could. he looked at you with wide eyes.

“i never said you could touch me.” harry knew what you were doing but he wasn’t go to let you get there all the way yet.

“i’ll touch you if i want to.” he snapped back. you raised your eyebrows at this and quietly laughed. you rubbed your hand on his boner making him close his eyes and whine at your touch.

“that’s what i thought.”

harry finally let go of whatever form of dominance he had left and let you takeover. you pulled the bottom of harry’s shirt up until it came off and began to unbutton his pants. he help in pulling them off and you admired the boy under you. he was anticipating your next move and looked completely desperate. his hair was messy and his chest moved up and down in an attempt to control his breathing.

you moved back to straddling his lap and harry’s breath hitched as you sat directly on his boner again. you moaned at the feeling and began to rub on him again, moving your hips.

“c-can i please suck on your tits?” harry whimpered out. you nodded.

“go ahead, baby.”

he put his mouth on your left boob and swirled his tongue around your nipple. his hands were back on your waist and he let out moans at the feeling of your clothed pussy on him. you rolled your eyes back at the stimulation you felt in your core and you chest.

“you’re doing so good harry. being such a good boy for me.” you moaned out. he let out a low groan and mumbled something incoherent.

“what was that?” you asked. harry stayed silent. you held his chin forcing him to look at you and let go of your tit.

“i asked a question, pretty boy.” you saw that he seemed nervous as he struggled to repeat himself.

“i said, erm,” he took a breath in and out through his nose. “i said yes mommy.” his face grew even more red than it already was and you smiled at the name.

“so my good boy wants to call me mommy?” you gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

“is that ok?” he asked you.

“more than ok.”

you moved back off of him.

“harry, lay down for me.” without hesitation he did as told, placing a pillow under his head. you got back on top of him and rocked your hips. you were determined to make him cum right there. you leaned down, leaving kisses on his neck. harry was under so much pleasure that all he could do was let out uncontrollable moans and whimpers.

“oh my-, m-mommy you’re gonna make me...” he whined, unable to finish his sentence.

“be a good boy and cum whenever you need to. i’m right here, it’s ok.” you whispered in his ear and placed a kiss under it, picking up your speed.

“fuck!” you felt his cock twitch through your thin shorts. “ahh- i’m cumming,”

“cum for mommy, baby.” you prompted him. harry cried out as his orgasm reached him. you felt the small wet spot in his underwear grow as his cum shot out of him.

harry’s breathing slowed back down as you stopped moving and left kisses all over his face.

“you did so good harry. i love hear your pretty noises.” the boy whined at your words.

“thank you, mommy.” he breathed out.

you got off of him and pulled his underwear off.

“you made such a big mess, baby.” you licked some of the cum the dripped on his cock off all while keeping eye contact with him.

“merlin, y/n..” harry moaned and his cock twitched from still being sensitive.

“do you want to nap, harry?” he looked back at you and bit his lip.

“what about you?” he asked. you smiled.

“seeing you cum is enough pleasure for me.” you sat back next to where he laid down. he leaned up on his elbows.

“i want to eat you out mommy, please can i?” he said.

“well when you ask so nicely like that, how could i say no?” he smiled at your words and moved down between your legs.

he pulled off your shorts and groaned softly at the sight of the wet spot on your underwear.

“you’re so wet.” he practically whispered as he took your underwear off. he kissed your inner thighs slowly getting closer and closer to your needy pussy.

“stop teasing harry.” you whined out. he finally licked on your clit and watched as you moaned. he attached his mouth to it and sucked on your clit. you put a hand in his hair, slightly pulling on it causing him to let out a moan that only added to pleasure you received.

“look up at me, harry. mommy wants her pretty boy to watch her.” he looked up at you through his glasses. you bit your lip and furrowed your eyebrows as you felt yourself getting closer to your high.

“please cum on my tongue.” harry said and he moved his tongue to lick your hole and go inside you as his fingers rubbed your clit.

“oh, i’m so close-” you arched your back and moaned out. the grip you had on his hair got tighter and your legs shook as your finally reached your orgasm.

your breathing was heavy and you whined slightly as harry licked your sensitive pussy clean.

“you taste so good.” harry moved so he was hovering over you.

“thank you for being so good, baby.” you pulled him in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips.

harry leaned down and laid so he was half on top of you, half not, and his head rested on your bare chest.

“shall we get cleaned up now?” you asked, running your hand gently through his hair.

“mmm, not yet. it’s really comfortable here.” he replied and left a kiss on one of your tits. you laughed slightly as you recalled everything that happened.

“well goo goo ga ga then bitch.” you joked. harry’s head shot ip and he looked at you with an “offended” facial expression.

“this is on me, love.” he smiled at you.

“you’re the one with the mommy kink!”

“you’re the one that agreed to it!”

you both burst out in laughter and he put his head back down. you sat in a comfortable silence, taking in the moment of being in each others embrace.

“can you stay here tonight?” you asked in almost a whisper, not wanting to break the silence quite yet. he nodded.

“whatever you want mommy.” he teased.

“harry!”

[vrishchikawrites]

Post-post-post cannon Wangxian being completely in love in the cloud recessess as teenagers who time travelled back to their own 16-17 year old bodies on accident.

In love. Wangxian are in love. In love. Just smooph and fluff.

Like they're effortlessly in love. (No matter how much Jiang Cheng yells and ties to control Wei Wuxian, Wei Wuxian casually refuses to hear any of it, as he'd been ignoring Jiang Cheng's homophobia and hate forever by the time they both came back by accident. )

Also wwx doesn't hide his genius and every one around him is like senpai *heart eyes* (honestly he's almost forgotten how to hide his effortless genius.)

(Just FYI, don't have to include this: this Wei Wuxian has long since come to terms with all his war and Sunshot and Shiji related trauma— just FYI.)

I just want to read as much of the smooph, smushy fluff and love you can stomach writing please.

Extra points if you can show them both just effortlessly and absentmindedly flirting.

(You don't have to incude this, but: They just take like a weekend off and go raze the main Wen family to the ground casually— back late with Starbucks— "We were night hunting. What do you mean the Wen family died? So sad. We feel so bad. Don't we feel bad?" " Mm. Feel bad.")

Thank you so much for existing in this fandom. I love your fics. I love you. 💖

Xichen is proud of his brother but he can't deny that he is sometimes concerned for him as well. Wangji is a dedicated and accomplished disciple but he is isolated from his peers. Xichen has friends and confidants but Wangji is simply content to be by himself.

That is concerning, even for a Lan.

He had hopes that incoming disciples would manage to shake him up a little but that hope didn't last long. Year after year, Wangji continued to remain aloof, not expressing any interest in the disciples.

But something has changed this year. Xichen didn't even know what was going on until a few weeks into the introduction of the guest disciples.

He spots them by chance. Young Master Wei is cheerfully waving at a vendor, his smile wide and bright, ensnaring the old woman's entire attention.

Wangji is right by him, Bichen in one hand but the other…

The other is placed on the small of Wei-gongzi's back.

Xichen watches as they move on from the vendor. He sees how Wangji seems to shield Wei-gongzi from the crowd, angling his body slightly to ensure his companion can walk freely.

It is a gesture of protectiveness. It is a gesture of possession.

Xichen studies their body language carefully. Wangji seems content to follow Wei-gongzi around, his expression closed but gentle. There are no frosty glares or pursed lips. His brother, for once, looks entirely relaxed. Everything about him is loose and easy underneath all of his Lan elegance. His shoulders slope gently, his spine isn't as rigid, and his walk is steady.

The First Jade has never seen his brother look so settled.

Wei Wuxian seems happy too, his smile incandescent and lovely. Almost as tall as Wangji, the boy is the very antithesis of his brother. While Wangji is sedate and content, Wei Wuxian is nearly bursting with energy and joy. His silver eyes sparkle in the sunlight and his long hair sways with every movement of his body.

Xichen's heart softens at the glimpse of such open beauty. There's certainly something alluring about Young Master Wei. He seems to suffuse his surroundings with happiness.

There's something in the air around them.

Despite his lively mind wandering from one stall to another, Wei-gongzi always finds his way back to Wangji, looking at him with a hopeful smile and a cheerful comment.

His brother's expression is unfamiliar to him. Wangji looks like his entire world is smiling up at him.

'Is this love?' He wonders to himself as he watches his brother gently pull Wei-gongzi out of a running child's way. He doesn't miss how the touch lingers, fingers curling slightly around the slender wrist before pulling away.

There are many eyes following Wangji and his friend, and all of them have indulgent expressions. The people of Caiyi town have seen Wangji since he was a child. They know him and his nature well enough.

Xichen suspects they're just as happy to see Wangji roaming the markets leisurely as a pretty butterfly flutters around him.

"Is that Lan Wangji?" Nei Mingjue observes, stepping up beside him.

Xichen nods, "And his friend, Wei Wuxian."

"Hm," his friend says, "I've been hearing that name a lot recently. They say the only reason Jin Zuxian beat him in the rankings is because of his looks."

Xichen chuckles at Mingjue's tone, "Ah, Da-ge, you must hate that."

His friend rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his tea. "How do looks matter when you're facing down Fierce Corpses?"

"From what shufu says, Young Master Wei is Wangji's equal in many ways." Shufu had been wary at first, wondering what sort of chaos the son of Cangse Sanren would bring to Cloud Recesses. So far, Wei Wuxian has proven to be a mischievous but brilliant student. "He challenges shufu in class. They end up having loud, angry debates," Xichen chuckles because he knows his uncle, despite all appearances, loves being stimulated, "He mentions the boy often." There's a comment about Wei Wuxian almost every time he has tea with his uncle.

He looks at the two younger master's thoughtfully, "I didn't expect this."

"Are they courting?" Nei Mingjue asks bluntly, "Because your little brother is acting like a husband already."

Xichen stills and looks at the pair again. That is what's off about their body language. They move around each other confidently, not like a young couple in fresh blooms of love.

There are no tentative glances, awkward touches, and hyperawareness. Wangji touches Wei Wuxian like it is his right. Like he is confident that his touch is welcome and desired.

For a moment, he feels a pang of worry. Xichen looks at Wei Wuxian, studying him carefully to see if there's any sign of strain or distress.

He finds nothing. Wei-gongzi responds to every gesture of affection like a flower blooming under the Sun.

"Ah." He realizes, "You think…?"

"Strong bonds form quickly between cultivators with matching potential." Nei Mingjue observes, "It wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility. Your brother looks a little too enamored for this to be a teenage fancy."

Well, isn't this an interesting development?

---

"Your hair looks nice," Nie Huaisang says, hiding a smile behind his fan. Wei-xiong always looks good but there's something particularly radiant about him now. He seems to stand a bit taller, carry himself with a bit more confidence. His gestures seem stronger, somehow carrying more authority than before.

But the hair intrigues him. There's a glittering silver hairpiece in it and the strands of ebony are tied up in a neat style.

Neater than Wei-xiong's usual style. While Huaisang is certain Wei-xiong is perfectly capable of making himself as elegant as the Jades of Lan, he usually doesn't bother.

This was done by someone else's careful, loving, hand.

Jiang Yanli isn't at Cloud Recesses and Jiang Cheng would rather burn his own hands than show even an ounce of love towards his shixiong - something pricks when he thinks about that.

So there's someone else, someone willing to comb Wei-xiong's hair until every strand is glossy and straight, before tying it up with a silver and jade pin that looks expensive.

Wei-xiong is courting- no, he corrects himself, watching his friend wave enthusiastically at Lan Wangji, 'Wei-xiong is being courted.'

Wangji-xiong bows to his brother and walks towards Wei-xiong, his gaze softer than usual. His friend is smiling widely and immediately dissolves into excited chatter. Wangji-xiong doesn't seem bothered, just nodding occasionally and watching with indulgent patience.

There's something entirely lovely about the way Wangji-xiong's eyes remain fixed on Wei Wuxian's face. It is like nothing else is more important to him than Wei-xiong's smile and cheerful voice.

Standing together in the courtyard, both clad in white and glowing under the warm light of the morning sun, they look stunning. Huaisang's romantic heart sighs at the sight.

"What is he doing?" Jiang Wanyin hisses and Huaisang looks at him, startled by his icy tone, "I can't believe he's making a nuisance of himself again!"

"Jiang-gongzi-"

"Wei Wuxian! What are you doing, messing around?"

The loud voice catches almost everyone's attention. Wei-xiong looks over his shoulder and Wangji-xiong's expression turns frosty, all warmth draining from it immediately.

"Aiya, Jiang Cheng," Wei-xiong grins but it doesn't have that sheepish, placating quality that Huaisang had seen before, on those rare occasions he visited Lotus Pier with his da-ge. This grin was full of confidence and almost... dismissal. "Why are you angry now?"

Was that tone... mocking?

Huaisang's lips twitch as Jiang-gongzi swells further with rage, "Wei Wuxian! How can you be so shameless? Imposing yourself on Lan Wangji, always trying to distract him. Think of our sect's reputation for once!"

"Do not speak for me." Wangji-xiong's voice is icy and it cuts Jiang-gongzi's rant short immediately, "Wei Ying is free to seek me out whenever he wishes. No one may stop him."

And that seems to be that. Wei-xiong laughs and Wangji-xiong guides him away gently like he's someone delicate and not the strongest cultivator of their generation.

But, Huaisang muses, even strong people deserve gentleness.

---

"Da-shixiong! Show us that one again," A Jiang disciple demands and Wangji looks up from his work. He has clear sight of the training ground from where he's sitting. Wei Ying is standing in the middle, surrounded by a few Jiang and Lan disciples.

They're all looking at him in adoration.

Wangji feels a flood of amusement and sets his work aside, content to take a small break. It is always a treat to see his husband in his element; teaching people and nurturing young minds. They may be back in their teenage bodies, but their soul is much older.

Wei Ying, with his natural ability to charm juniors and his hard-earned wisdom, is the perfect teacher.

"It is amusing to see you so smitten," Wangji looks up to see his brother smiling at him, "Wei-gongzi must be very special, yes?"

His brother probably aims to fluster him, he is so fond of teasing Wangji. But Wangji had been Wei Ying's husband for more than a decade before an accident sent them back in time. He is no longer flustered or overwhelmed by his feelings. "Very special," He agrees, unable to help glancing back at his beloved, "Very lovely."

Xichen chuckles, "He is indeed lovely." His expression turns sly, "Do I need to speak with Uncle? Betrothal negotiations may be complicated in this case."

Wangji remains unphased, "You may," He says calmly, much to his brother's surprise, "Wei Ying will marry into the Lans. Give no concession to the Jiangs. He is just their Head Disciple, not the part of the family."

"Wangji," His brother breathes, "You're that invested?"

"Un. Will marry Wei Ying. Give him a better life. A life of dignity, freedom, and respect. Free of unnecessary debt that no one should foist on a child."

That is enough for Xichen to understand. His gaze turns solemn and he looks at Wei Ying carefully, "If that is what you wish, brother, you will have it."

---

Wangji feels his heart still when he steps into the library pavilion. He gazes at the scene before him, feeling the stiff formality of his expression melt away.

Wei Ying is beautiful, sitting there and reading peacefully. The evening sunlight envelopes him, giving him an ethereal glow. He traces his husband's features, feeling something akin to desperate love. It has been so since he saw this face and this body. Mo Xuanyu didn't lack beauty and Wei Ying's radiant personality had only added to it.

But this is Wei Ying's true body.

Helplessly drawn, he steps forward. "Xingan."

Wei Ying looks up, startled to hear such an endearment aloud. Immediately, his face is aglow with a pretty blush even as he laughs teasingly, "Lan Zhan! Don't be so bold!"

He walks towards Wei Ying and settles down by him, closer than truly appropriate but this is his husband. "Research?"

Wei Ying smiles, drawing Wangji's attention to his lips. There's no one in the library so Wangji permits himself the touch, reaching forward to gently caress them, "Such beauty." He whispers.

Wei Ying blushes again, "Er-gege," He protests, "Have mercy on my heart."

His fingers slide under Wei Ying's jaw, drawing him in gently. His husband is sweet and compliant as Wangji kisses him, an innocent brush of lips and nothing more. "My Wei Ying." His voice is low, heated in ways Wei Ying recognizes. He watches as those enchanting silver eyes brighten with passion.

His Wei Ying buries his warm face in his neck with a moan of protest, "Mercy, husband. You're so cruel to tease me like this when you can't take me to bed."

It is indeed a challenge to not have their 'everyday' but Wangji can be patient. Xiongzhang is already working on it.

For now, he is content.

They sit like that for a long time, Wei Ying leaning against him, trusting and calm. No one disturbs them and Xichen only stops by once, smiling knowingly in their direction and pointedly ignoring Wangji's restraining hand around Wei Ying's waist, stopping him from pulling away.

They spend the rest of the evening exchanging soft murmurs and softer kisses.

Nothing will stand in their way this time.

[thefanficmonster]

Casual

Ranboo x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None, unless talking about the future counts

Genre: FLUFF, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Following the arrival of the dreadful invitation to his cousin’s wedding Ranboo turns to the only cover-up he can think of to keep his still-single status hidden from his family.

Requested by Anon. Hi darling! Thank you so much for your wonderful request! I’m so glad you sent your idea to me and I’m so glad you were my first official Ranboo request. I’m really sorry it’s taken me so long to write it but I still hope you’ll come across it and read it! Love, Vy ❤

“Heyyy, so Y/N, I have a favor to ask you...um yeah, call me back, it’s awkward sending it via voicemail. Bye“

Huh - that’s the first thought that goes through my head when I listen to the voicemail left after a missed call from my best friend Ranboo. The favors he usually asks for consist of requesting assistance for his videos in which I also appear with a mask and sunglasses to keep the brand running. I genuinely have nothing against my face being shown but when I think about it, I’m honestly a bit glad people can’t identify me.

Anyways, back to the favors, Ranboo is no stranger to asking me for them but they’ve never been considered too awkward for a voicemail which is why I’m no slightly concerned. I’ve been swamped with work for school and studies for the graduation finals for the past two weeks and it seems like I’ll never get on top of it and I know Ranboo’s been in a similar situation too, so maybe he needs help with that? He’s not used to asking help for school stuff, he sometimes even has a hard time accepting it when I openly offer it to him.

I eventually sigh, decide that playing this guessing game will not get me anywhere and settle on giving him a call as I make my way home from the gym with my legs barely putting up with the task of carrying me around.

He picks up on the second ring.

“Hey! Wh-...“

“Would you pretend to be my girlfriend for my cousin’s wedding next weekend?!“

My legs take that opportunity to stop moving in the middle of the sidewalk which is luckily void of any people at the moment. It’s not my fault my body’s first reaction was to freeze up at the question that came flying at me like an out-of-control jet, almost as though he’s been dying to say it and get it over with.

“Um...run that by me again please, I think I misunderstood.“ I say, blinking blankly as though awoken from a fever dream. No, actually as though I’m IN a fever dream right now.

“Ok, now that the cat’s out of the bag, wanna grab some coffee and talk about it face-to-face. I need to see your facial expressions to gauge what response to expect.“ He says, the previous nervousness gone and his voice calm as regularly once again.

I’m this close to face-palming but I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and bring myself to utter a reply, “Our usual spot. Be there in ten minutes.”

                                                             *  *  *

“No freaking way.“ I shake my head, folding my arms over my chest as I lean back in my seat in the booth we picked when we arrived. Good thing I got an iced coffee cause even a hot one would’ve gone cold by now considering I haven’t yet taken the time to have even a sip of it. I’ve been too busy listening to the long and short of the explanation and begging speech Ranboo probably made last night to try and convince me to agree to this nonsense. “Dude, we’ve been friends since middle school-...“

“Exactly! Who else was I gonna ask?“ He cuts me off, pleading gaze meeting my unimpressed one.

I huff before continuing my previous statement, “We’ve been friends since middle school so you know my opinion on weddings.” I put extra emphasis on the word ‘opinion’, giving him the clear hint at the distaste I’ve expressed on the topic multiple times before.

“And you know we’re on the same page there but there’s no way I can avoid going unless someone kidnaps me.“ He too now gets in the same stance as me, his coffee forgotten too.

I can’t help but snort out a little laugh, “I’d be more than happy to kidnap you considering the other option is far less appealing to me.“

He, of course, rolls his eyes at me as though he didn’t offer to do the same thing so I could avoid an exam but anyways. “So you’re gonna choose to fake a kidnapping that has the potential of landing you in jail over coming to eat some great food and maybe even have some fun at a wedding with your best friend? I’m hurt.“ He says, frowning to cover up the smile that’s fighting its way onto his face.

Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes, “I’d be kidnapping you, dummy...” I cut myself off to let out a long sigh and calm down before I go off at him. His smirk isn’t helping me much with the task either. I’ve known Ranboo long enough to know he’ll eventually convince me and he’s known me long enough to know how to do that exactly. With that in mind, there’s really no point in getting so worked up and wasting my energy. And so, despite my own rationality, I cave. “Fine, but I’m not staying the whole wedding.“

His eyes immediately light up and almost makes me feel the compromise was worth it. Almost. I mean, when you’ve been best friends with someone for so long, seeing them happy is worth more to you than your own comfort sometimes.

And he knows it too. Which is exactly why he outstretches his hand for me to shake and says: “Just one dance and you’re free to go. Deal?”

I take his hand without hesitations. That’s a better offer than I could’ve ever imagined. “Damn straight it’s a deal.“

                                                            *  *  *

“How long until you kick the heels off?“ Ranboo asks, bringing me a non-alcoholic cocktail and sitting down next to me.

I take a sip and giggle, “You kidding? I already kicked them off and replaced them with flats. I need mobility if we dance. They also lower the risk of me severing off a toe of yours if I step on you on accident.”

He laughs, clinking his glass against mine before he gets a bit more serious, “By the way, thanks for handling my family’s attack so well. I know it might’ve been a bit much but you handled it like a pro. Still, I’m sorry on their behalf.”

I shake my head and wave my hand dismissively, “Don’t mention it. I’d probably react the same way if my brother or cousin brought a date to an important family event like this.” I instinctively turn to look in the direction of where the majority of his family has gathered around, chatting with guests, smiling brightly. It’s hard not to immediately take a liking towards these people. They’ve been a second family to me ever since Ranboo and I started hanging out so I completely understand why they were so shocked to see me in the role of his ‘girlfriend’.

“I’ll tell my parents the truth later, our extended family is the ones I wanted to fool to be perfectly honest.“ He looks around as do I and we catch more than a few pairs of eyes fixated on us that turn away when they realize they’ve been spotted, “Mission accomplished by the looks of it.“

I chuckle. I’ve never felt so comfortable at a wedding before. I don’t feel stressed nor anxious despite knowing that there’s quite the number of eyes on me and there are whispers going around about my ‘relationship’ with Ranboo. It’s oddly calming and relaxing to be surrounded by some familiar and some unfamiliar faces. This cocktail is pretty great too.

Speaking of which, if it had any alcohol in it I’d blame it for the decision I’m about to make but this one’s entirely on me: I tap Ranboo with one hand while taking out my phone with the other. “If we’re already the talk of the wedding, let’s give them something to talk about.“ I say as I put up my phone, pretending to be taking a selfie leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek.

When I pull away I can clearly see that he’s still processing what just happened. I can’t help but burst out in a fit of laughter as I reach out to wipe the lipstick stain I left on his cheek. He looks like a lost, clueless puppy with the question: ‘what on Earth just happened???’ replaying in his head and it’s so freaking cute!

Wait....what was that? Since when do I use the adjective cute to describe Ranboo? Didn’t I think he looks handsome in a suit earlier too? The hell is with me today?

Then it hits me - the feeling isn’t foreign. Like, I know I’ve felt it before but I never analyzed it or even bothered to acknowledge it. But now that I do, I’m afraid of what it might be.

“There!“ I say, desperately trying to push the thoughts away along with this little firework show in my stomach, “Now you have pinker cheeks. Well, cheek, singular.“

As if snapping out of his state of confusion, he returns to Earth with a smirk, “Kiss the other to even it?”

Alright, his blush might not be even but mine now is and it’s ten times as intense and very much apparent but I don’t let the feeling shine through anything else as I proceed to actually kiss his other cheek too, wiping the lipstick stain.

“Thanks. You’re the best.” And just like that, as though it’s no big deal, he kisses my forehead.

See, that’s the thing, it shouldn’t be a big deal! It’s never been! This is far from the first time I’ve kissed him on the cheek or the first time he’s given me a forehead kiss. These are regular occurrences after years of this lovely friendship we have. Why do they feel so different now?

Then, much to my relief, the music starts and the lights turn off leaving only one spotlight for the groom and bride to have their first dance. They look absolutely astonishing and I can certainly say I’ve never before stopped to think that about any newly weds of the weddings I’ve preciously been to. I don’t know if it has something to do with the company I have for this particular wedding or it’s maybe the fact that my mindset’s changed over the years without me realizing.

Then I automatically look at Ranboo who just so happens to be looking at me too and all I can say is: my mindset hasn’t changed.

A loud applause takes over when the couple finish their dance, officially opening the dancefloor for any other pairs who’d like to occupy it and I’m happy to see how many people are eager to rush up with their partner.

 Ranboo gets up, putting the glass down and offers me his hand, “So, wanna dance? Don’t take this as a sign to leave though, we said one dance and you CAN leave, not SHOULD.” He says, giving me a warning look.

I roll my eyes and am about to give him some sass right back but he takes my hand and picks me up from my seat, leading me to the dancefloor.  And I gotta admit maybe it’s a good thing he did. If he left it to me I would’ve probably said no to the dance and ran the hell away. Why? - Cause I’m freaking terrified of this new mindset and point of view and these intense emotions I never used to pay any mind to before in regards to my best friend.

Friends don’t feel that way about friends. Friends don’t look at friends that way. What’s happening to me?

When I gotta look him in the eyes like this, not for the first time might I add, I can finally understand how the friends-to-lovers trope works: it’s all meaningless until it starts to mean so much to you. It’s all platonic until it reminds you of a romantic movie moment. It ‘best friends’ until it’s ‘I wish we were more than that’. It’s all casual, until it’s not.

And, unfortunately, it’s irreversible.

Damn do I wish I ran away now...

[ailuvyou]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ TXT Taehyun : Personality ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Read disclaimer here. Reading done on 11.03.2022 using Archetype Cards and Ethereal Visions Illuminated Tarot. If you enjoy my work, consider supporting me by donating!

I have asked for permission to do and post this reading with my oracle deck and the answer is yes.

❝ Archetypes ¡! ❞

Question asked: What archetype fits Taehyun the most?

Cards: Hedonist (rx), Angel, Messiah (rx)

[🐿] :: Hedonist — Pleasure is important to him, whether that is through good food or luxury or doing what he loves, he seeks pleasure in life and he may even do it excessively to the point of endangering his health (which isn't very uncommon when it comes to being a K-Pop idol) and exhausting the people around him. I'm getting that he wants to live life comfortably (main goal) but having luxury is a plus, so with that goal in mind, he gets creative inspiration from it and works hard so that in the future, he can relax.

[🐿] :: Angel — Just like the name suggests, he is like an angel; loving, nurturing, likes to help people in need without expecting anything in return. He may have donated to some charities/organisations without publicising his name. There is some innocence to him and it's apparent by how he acts (meaning those times on camera where he's acting cute and innocent are most likely real and not an act, at least most of the time). He may feel connected to art, music and literature. Angels would like him, he may have many angels guarding/guiding him. However, I do think that maybe sometimes/rarely, he misleads others by acting innocent.

[🐿] :: Messiah — He may be spiritual. I think that his angel archetype goes together with this archetype where he helps people in need but often for his own gain. To be more specific, he may believe that he was brought on this Earth to do something to help humanity which can give him a bit of a saviour complex (the need to help/fix other people so that he feels good about himself). As for whether he is humble or proud, he is both; proud because he's accomplished so much and knows his worth, proud because he can help people in need but also down to earth especially when with normal people.

❝ Positive Qualities ¡! ❞

Question asked: What are Taehyun's positive qualities (in himself)?

Cards: Eight of Swords (clarifier: King of Swords), Queen of Wands, Ten of Cups

[🐿] :: Eight of Swords — The card represents the negatives of the idol lifestyle; he feels trapped, imprisoned, disappointed, his actions being watched and controlled by people other than him, knowing deep down he can leave if he wants to but he doesn't. What makes this a positive quality is that despite all this negativity, he's still able to become an amazing person. Despite having given away control of his life, he doesn't let it get to him and makes the most out of it, becoming successful, intellectual and fair, becoming himself in any way that he can with the limited control he has.

[🐿] :: Queen of Wands — He views himself very well (I'm glad he does). Like the angel archetype, he's very loving and caring especially for the people around him. He's full of (if not bursting with) creative energy and is very passionate in what he does. He gives it his all. I feel like he's grown a lot since he was younger and he's proud and happy of who he is now. He may also have very good intuition.

[🐿] :: Ten of Cups — It seems that he's satisfied with who he is right now and what he has accomplished. He seems very happy, a positive and cheerful person. A lot of times, he may bring positive energy to the people around him, lifting their mood up. This is especially useful during training and hard times. I feel like all he has to do is just exist and his presence would be very comforting. Of course, he's also doing well in terms of career and finance.

❝ Negative Qualities ¡! ❞

Question asked: What are Taehyun's negative qualities (in himself)?

Cards: Death (rx), Queen of Pentacles, King of Wands (clarifier: Three of Pentacles, The Devil)

[🐿] :: Death reversed — He may be resistant to change, oftentimes favouring the old and familiar instead of the new. He could be someone who holds onto the past even when it's time to let go and because of that, he causes his life to be stagnant. Sometimes, it bites him back, giving him problems in the present and the future. He can be prone to worrying and overthinking. He may also be afraid of the unknown (what's gonna happen in the future).

[🐿] :: Queen of Pentacles — Too much is the keyword here; see Hedonist & Messiah. Too much seeking pleasure and too much needing to help people to the point that he forgets about himself and exhausts himself or he gets taken advantage of. He seems very gentle and sensitive, hateful words can hurt him and deep down, he questions why people don't like him (if it's his fault or if he's doing anything wrong). He is like a child in an adult world and I don't mean this in a demeaning way or that he's incapable of taking care of himself or being an adult, it's just that he still has some innocence to him and you would want to protect him but other people would want to advantage of him. In a way, a child forced into the adult world at an early age.

[🐿] :: King of Wands — He may have some control issues. I think because he's very passionate and with the little control he has of himself, he tries to control the group but not extremely, just that he wants his voice to be heard and he wants people to do stuff his way like offering some suggestions on what they should do and becomes a bit pushy about it. Because of that, the energy can get a bit tense but I do think he knows when to back down and respect people well, especially Soobin and his decision.

❝ Passion ¡! ❞

Question asked: What is Taehyun's passion in life?

Cards: Two of Cups, Knight of Swords, Five of Pentacles (rx)

[🐿] :: Two of Cups — Being and working together with the people he loves, having good health, he may look forward to having some romance in his life

[🐿] :: Knight of Swords — Big changes and opportunities coming his way and him taking them, being ambitious, being a bit rebellious (he values freedom)

[🐿] :: Five of Pentacles reversed — Having stable finances and a stable future, spirituality(?)

❝ Values ¡! ❞

Question asked: What are Taehyun's values in life?

Cards: Knight of Cups, Ace of Cups, Ace of Swords

[🐿] :: Knight of Cups — Advancing in life, being fulfilled, living with inspiration, health by taking care of himself and the people around him

[🐿] :: Ace of Cups — Being compassionate towards people, harnessing his creative energy, finding what makes him happy and doing it as a living

[🐿] :: Ace of Swords — Being rational(?), truth, achieving victory/success, having clarity (being able to learn and understand important things)

❝ Goals ¡! ❞

Question asked: What are Taehyun's goals in life?

Cards: Eight of Wands, Six of Swords, Page of Wands + Temperance

[🐿] :: Eight of Wands — To continue as he is now (he wants his career to be successful like right now), he wants some balance and change in his life for the better, he wants to keep being productive (I think if I remember correctly, he did say that he prefers being productive and having things to do than doing nothing)

[🐿] :: Six of Swords — He wants a better outcome in his life/career like in the future, he wishes to have more freedom to express himself, finding solutions to his problems and resolving them, he wants to be secure and safe, he wants to build a better life for him in the future

[🐿] :: Page of Wands + Temperance — He may want to travel and see the world one day, he wants to meet fans all over the world, perform for many people, he wants balance in his life, wants to find his purpose in life too so he may want to explore who he is as a person in the future

❝ Extra notes ¡! ❞

[🐿] :: His energy is very cute and positive! It feels like he's very open about himself and has a positive mindset as well as a positive and welcoming attitude towards people (which makes sense because he is an extrovert).

[🐿] :: He may be a cat person.

[🐿] :: Reading went by extremely smoothly although there was a bit of tension when interpreting King of Wands in the negative qualities section. I'm extremely thankful that I get to do this reading and get to know him a bit more (albeit only through predictions) and I'm thankful that he and his guides/angels are very cooperative, open and welcoming with me.

[top-tier-tickles]

Dark Deception Tickle Au

Sweet lord almighty, part 4. I'm SO SORRY it's so long...

___________________________________________

Chapter 2: Part 4

"That's all of them, now get out of there before Agatha gets you!" Bierce said.

"You'll never get the ring! I WON'T let you!" Agatha screamed.

Doug didn't have time to think, he raced through the destroyed school to the playground and nabbed the ring piece.

Doug caught his breath and laughed to himself, proud of his accomplishment. It was short-lived, however, as Agatha appeared at the door. Her appearance had changed, her once pitch black eyes were now glowing red, and her dress now red and black.

"I welcomed you here and I tried SO HARD to be nice to you, but you don't CARE!" She rambled on, agitated, "You don't WANT to be my friend, you just wanna STEAL MY THINGS!"

She was evidently pissed, stomping her foot, shaking her fists. "You're a mean," She began angrily fumbling her words, "BAD PERSON!"

Well, at least she didn't swear.

Suddenly, her voice dropped to a menacing tone. "But now you're in trouble. You made Daddy mad too." Agatha teleported away. The doors behind her swung open, showing the figure from the balcony, Malak. Doug guessed he was "Daddy".

"End of the road, mortal." Malak said. Then, he transformed into the shadowy figure from the hotel, and gave chase. Without a second to lose, Doug sped off through the other door, and spotted the portal in the hallway.

He ran through it, but something was wrong. He wasn't back in the ballroom, instead, he was hit with an extremely ticklish shock. "AHAHAHAHAHAHA! WHAHAHAHAHAT?!" He cackled, trying to rub the feeling away. He examined the portal, and found that it was akin to a child's drawing, even a misspelled label reading "Portol" above it, it was a trap!

"Hand it over, and I'll make your death quick!" Malak called, still charging after him. Doug darted away, frantically searching for a path that wasn't full of fake portals or had a sadistic demon child in them. Eventually, he made it back to the auditorium.

Just before he could reach the doors leading to the portal, the girl popped right in front of it, locking the doors, before disappearing and reappearing on the stage.

"YOU! YOU'LL NEVER ESCAPE! I WON'T LET YOU TAKE MY FRIENDS FROM ME!" She screeched.

The chairs dissipated, and Agatha began teleporting around the auditorium, eventually giving chase before starting the cycle over.

With nowhere to go, Doug was forced to run around in circles, praying for a miracle. It was like a sick game of "Keep away", with Doug slowly running out of energy. He needed to catch his breath. Agatha had finished her teleporting spree, she lunged at Doug, landing on his back.

"Gotcha!" She exclaimed. She started to scribble her claws into his belly and sides. "HAHAHAHA! STAHAHAHAP IHIHIHIT! PLEHEHEHEHEASE!" Doug laughed, trying to shake her off him. Suddenly, she started alternating between his underarms and belly, never letting him prepare himself "AHAHAHAHA! NOHOHOHO! HAHAHAHAHA!" Doug was absolutely losing it! Eventually, he fell down to the ground and woke up at that all-too-familiar death screen.

He needed to be vigilant, he never stopped running for even a second, all while the demon chased, warped, and created fake portals around the auditorium.

Suddenly, a white light burst in as the previously locked doors as they opened.

"It's open!"

Bierce said. "BIERCE! STAY OUT OF MY ROOM! YOU'RE BOTH CHEATING!" Agatha screamed. Luckily, it was a relatively short run to the portal.

The process of returning seemed longer than the last, but time seems to slow down when you're lost in thought.

'She was almost the same age....Memories betray me here....I need to keep going. I just have to survive a bit longer.'

Doug was now back in the ballroom, standing at Agatha's portal, completely dazed. He needed to place the piece at the altar, but his legs wouldn't move. He felt his breathing become shaky, the sting of tears pricked at his eyes, threatening to fall. Doug quickly wiped them away, and placed the ring piece at the altar.

"Yes, good, that's one step closer to completing the ring. One step closer to getting what we want." Bierce said, her voice full of confidence.

8 portals to go...

___________________________________________

END OF CHAPTER 2: PART 4

Chp. 1-1, Chp. 1-2, Chp. 2-1, Chp. 2-2, Chp. 2-3, Chp. 2-4, Chp. 3-1, Chp. 3-2, Chp. 3-3, Chp. 4-1, Chp. 4-2, Chp. 5-1, Chp. 5-2, Chp. 5-3, Chp. 6-1, Chp. 6-2, Chp. 6-3,

[moiraineswife]

A Sword Left To Rust - Chapter 6 - Wisdom of the Rages

I LIVE. I STILL WRITE. I SWEAR.

Read: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Title: A Sword Left To Rust, Chapter 6 - Wisdom of the Rages

General Warning: This fic will deal with specifics that happened during Moiraine’s imprisonment in the Tower of Ghenjei and the traumatic effects of that.

Chapter 6 Warning:  Moiraine point of view, canon-typical violence, blood and gore. Possible implication towards self-harm with how Moiraine deals with her injuries.

Summary: Moiraine-centric Moiraine/Lan/Nynaeve fic, set post-series, but with minimal spoilers because it’s very character/relationship focussed.

Nynaeve does what healers do and cleans up after the battle.

Teaser: ‘“Mardra,” she announced, without looking at the scribe, already beginning the necessary weaves, “I must ask you to reschedule today's council meeting, I’m afraid.”

“Is something the matter, el’Nynaeve?” the mousy little woman said, sounding concerned.

“Not for long,” she growled in return.

Link: AO3 or Read Below:

Nynaeve couldn't honestly say that she was surprised when she felt a burst of adrenaline through the bond from her husband. 

“I’m just going to reunite her with Aldieb. Then we may take a short ride through the heart of Malkier together, for old time's sake,” he had told her in bed that morning, when she had again encouraged (encouraged, not ordered) him to try and get Moiraine to stay with them a while longer. “That’s all.” 

Lan wasn’t very good at ‘that’s all’. She supposed she wasn’t, either. Nor was Moiraine. So it wasn’t a great shock to her when she felt a competitive flare of energy rise up in him. No doubt they’d started racing like children at a festival. Or perhaps jousting, that seemed the type of thing they’d get up to, she thought with a snort. She was sure she’d hear all about it when they returned, and didn’t trouble herself with it, short-lived as it was. 

Half an hour later, part way down the hall, listening to the small mousy scribe that looked as though a strong gust of wind could blow her into next week, but had a mind sharper than Lan’s blade, Nynaeve came to a sudden halt as the bond yanked at her attention. She tamped down the instinctive flare of worry that seized her as she felt the second burst of tense alertness in him.

The Warder bond made her very prone to panic at the slightest provocation. A papercut to his pinky finger had her body wanting to react as though he’d just had his throat slit by an assassin. It had taken quite a bit of time to get used to, especially when layered on top of her existing...protective urges. She supposed that other Aes Sedai and their Warders weren’t as disposed to flares of drama and heroic nonsense as her husband was, so perhaps the sharpened instincts were more justified with them. She found them a bother. While she adored the bones of Lan, of course, and would do anything for him if he were in true peril, she disliked exaggeration and getting flustered for no good reason. So she had learned to measure her responses to the bond. 

Mostly. There had been an incident the other week involving a wine glass and a wall but she still maintained that had not been entirely her fault. The window had been open, after all, a stray breeze could absolutely have been responsible, not her temper.

When she felt an echo of pain in her chest, sharp and deep, she frowned slightly and paused, absently pressing a hand over the spot. That was perhaps more than a papercut. However, he was with Moiraine, an accomplished Healer and channeler; if he had managed to injure himself doing whatever they were doing, she would surely take care of him. 

He can't be in any true danger, she insisted to herself, trying to focus on the prattling attendant at her side. He's less than an hour's journey from the heart of Malkier’s capitol. What in the name of the flaming Light could harm him there?

The bond began to thump in her head with the rhythm of Lan’s heartbeat. Her fingers found their way to her braid, gripping onto it for comfort as she clenched her teeth, knowing what that meant. Their connection was a strange thing, at times, and sometimes it almost seemed like a sentient thing that lived between them. She would feel his emotions even when he slept, his dreams feeding into her own mind, letting her know at once if he had nightmares. The only times she couldn’t feel what he felt was when he was knocked unconscious. Then, the bond would pulse in the back of her mind in time with his heart, as if it knew that she needed that to keep her sane, to know, to know that he still lived. Even with that, it was an effort for her not to scream and start tearing her way through brick and stone to reach him.

 She came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the corridor. Mardra, the scribe who had been walking beside her chattering about food storages for the winter, continued trotting on and talking for a few steps, not realising her mistress had stopped. The woman was wise enough, or perhaps simply experienced with Nynaeve enough, not to comment when she did realise what was happening. 

Moiraine will take care of him, she told herself, hands wringing her braid as the longed to wring her stupid husband's stupid thick neck for stressing her like this over what was certainly something Moiraine could fix in her sleep. Don’t go rushing in like a bull-headed fool without thinking. 

The longest minute of her life passed, standing in awkward silence in the middle of the corridor like a statue. At the end of it, he was still unconscious. Her heart rate and blood pressure, meanwhile, were forming an eighth tower of Malkier, taller than all the rest. Nynaeve’s foot began tapping against the rough stones, mirroring the frantic rhythm of her heart where it worried away inside her chest. Her agitation was building and building inside of her, like a surging blood vessel about to burst, and she was no longer making much headway in fighting it down.

Then she felt a sudden warm wave of energy wash through his body that she recognised as Healing. That relaxed her. For all of a second. Until she felt him slow, his heart, his breathing, everything. He was now frighteningly distant, in a way she had never experienced before, as though he was being somehow pulled away from her, the bond straining to keep them connected. That finally snapped the leash on her self-control. They could call her a fussy, overprotective fool Wisdom all they liked, she was going to him. Now. 

“Mardra,” she announced, without looking at the scribe, already beginning the necessary weaves, “I must ask you to reschedule today's council meeting, I’m afraid.” 

“Is something the matter, el’Nynaeve?” the mousy little woman said, sounding concerned. 

“Not for long,” she growled in return.

Then she Travelled. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to Lan. Typically, or so she understood, this wouldn’t work. You had to Travel to a location, and could not focus on an object or a person to be your anchor point. Yet through her bond to her husband, she always knew precisely where he was, and it was to that place she Travelled now. Holding onto him through the weaves of spirit that bound them, she let him guide her, trusting he would not let her lose herself as she reached through the fabric of the Pattern itself to find him. It was an uncomfortable experience, one that always felt wrong to her. She was happier when she was fixing holes in things, not making them in the Pattern. Even though Egwene had explained that wasn’t what she did, exactly, as a woman using saidar, it felt too close to that as she moved through that blank nothingness between gateways.

Nynaeve hadn’t quite known what to expect when she arrived at Lan’s side. Wisdom had taught her it was best not to expect anything at all, where Lan and Moiraine were concerned, as it would only unsettle you as to how wrong you were when you were inevitably smacked in the face by the reality that was always so incomprehensibly different from any good hypothesis. Even so, she couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her when she opened her eyes and saw utter carnage before her. 

The Last Battle hadn’t been as much a mess as this once peaceful little glade in Malkier, she was quite certain. Scents of blood and gore forced their way into her nose and mouth first, overwhelming every other sense. It was a good thing she was well used to both, or she might have gagged from it. The world then followed this up with a harsh assault on her eyes. Slashes of red blood sprayed unnaturally across the gentle greens and yellows of the forest in a way that twisted the mind at the wrongness of it. It was like a painting, in a way. But the kind of painting that hurt the mind to look at for too long, forcing it to contort unnaturally to try and process the thing before it.

At the centre of the chaos, naturally, were Moiraine and Lan. Her husband was unconscious, a bloody arrow strewn in the grass to one side. On the other crouched Moiraine, hovering protectively over him, reaching for the Power with a kind of exhausted determination as she prepared to confront another enemy. Her face relaxed, the expression subtle, but Nynaeve knew her well enough to catch it, as she recognised her and released the building weaves.

“For the love of all that’s Light in this world,” Nynaeve muttered tersely, covering her concern and her shock, and every other wild, frantic emotion within her with a burst of irritated anger.

Dropping down to her knees beside Lan, she immediately busied herself with Delving him to assess the damage. If there were any trollocs left beyond the massacre around her, she trusted that her companion would be so good as to not allow any of them to stab her in the back while she worked.

“He will be alright,” Moiraine said, sounding so utterly drained that Nynaeve actually glanced away from Lan for a moment, eyes scanning over her instead.

She didn't note anything immediately wrong with her. No gaping wounds exposing her beating heart beneath her bloody ribs. Just exhaustion in her hollowed eyes. An exhaustion so deep Nynaeve knew it was more than simple physical fatigue or exertion from the battle. This woman was tired in her very soul. Tired of war. Tired of fear. Tired of death.

In spite of that, she shuffled a little closer, absently resting a hand on Lan's chest, and spoke to Nynaeve in that stiff, formal tone she always adopted when she was trying to maintain control of herself in a difficult situation. It used to drive Nynaeve mad, making her feel she was being talked down to, before she understood what it actually implied.

“There was a poison, mixed with Forkroot, I believe,” she said, and Nynaeve instinctively ground her teeth at the sound of that word, “But I have contained it,” she assured her hastily, perhaps noting the grimace. 

Yes, Nynaeve could sense it now, in his arm. Clever, she thought, impressed at Moiraine’s quick thinking in finding a creative solution to a potentially fatal problem.

“I placed his body into a coma to protect him,” she went on, the words making sense of the information the Delving was giving her as her weaves swiftly travelled through Lan’s body, “He should be safe, resting, until you can discover a natural antidote. But he will be alright." 

Nynaeve nodded, withdrawing her Power from Lan. What Moiraine had said was all true, and she had done the right thing, in her professional opinion. She had even used tight weaves of Air to create a seamless bandage to cover the wound in Lan’s chest which would not properly Heal while the poison remained in his system. 

As Nynaeve studied Moiraine, something caught her eye, and she felt hot anger flare in her once more. For a moment all she could do was stare in disbelief at the other Aes Sedai.

"I know he'll be alright,” she snapped, even though she had only just ascertained this, “What about you?" she demanded, half-furious, half-incredulous.

"Me?" Moiraine repeated, frowning at Nynaeve with obvious confusion, even as she swayed slightly on the spot, blinking a few times. 

She was still holding Lan’s hand with both of her own, Nynaeve noticed, a wrinkle of concern for him still gathered between her brows like a bouquet of flowers. It might have done her better to spare a fraction of that for herself, given the state she'd gotten herself in and was apparently utterly oblivious to.

“Yes you,” Nynaeve growled, jerking her head emphatically down towards her lower back. 

Still appearing baffled, Moiraine nevertheless followed her gaze, twisting around to look. A small start of surprise was the only sign that she was at last aware of the enormous, cruel trolloc blade protruding from her body, blood gently weeping into the grass behind her from the tear it had gouged in her.

"Ah,” she mumbled, blinking a little, as though she’d just spotted a hole in her cloak and not a gaping wound in her own flesh. “Not a tree branch, then,” she muttered, more to herself than Nynaeve. 

Apparently the hitherto unnoticed knife buried in her back was now too distracting for her to notice the look of wide eyed incredulity and anger Nynaeve tossed her way at her relative lack of response.

Taking a deep breath, Moiraine let out a faint sigh, as though this was an inconvenience she just didn't need, like finding a bug in her porridge. Then she gripped onto Nynaeve’s arm and, before she could make any attempt to stop her, twisted around with a grimace, and ripped the blade from herself in a single, brutal jerk. Scarlet sprayed in a fine mist through the air as angry red blood burst from the wound. The fingers she had clamped around Nynaeve's wrist became suddenly pincer sharp, and the momentary flash of pain was a nice distraction from the shock and anger that exploded in her a moment later.

"Fucking ashes, Moiraine!" Nynaeve snarled as the other woman swayed on the spot, readjusting her grip to her shoulder to better steady herself.

Moiraine had the good grace to at least grimace as she pressed a hand against the wound, which was deep and displeased, evidenced by the fresh gout of blood that was bubbling from it down her back into the grass in roiling rivulets of bright red.

"We're not in the middle of a battle!” Nynaeve snapped at her, which might have been more impactful if Moiraine was actually looking at her, and not staring vaguely into space, breathing shallowly, “There was no need for that,” she grumped anyway, urging her to sit still for a moment so she could inspect the damage.

Moiraine allowed herself to be positioned so Nynaeve could grimly peel apart the split halves of her cloak and inspect the wound. Even as she folded forwards, she kept holding tightly onto Nynaeve’s upper arm, as if needing a warm body to ground her in this moment. Irritated as she was, Nynaeve felt herself soften a little at the feel of Moiraine holding to her, and took a moment to cover her hand with her own and squeeze reassuringly.

"We must get Lan back,” Moiraine murmured quietly, the words almost lost with how faint her voice had become. 

"You just told me yourself that he’d be fine,” Nynaeve reminded her, giving her a gentle push and guiding her to sit up again. “Please tell me you remember that,” she added with a note of concern in her voice.

Moiraine’s eyes flickered towards her and a soft smile touched her lips. She nodded. 

Nynaeve grunted, “Yes,” she agreed irritably.

As she spoke, she picked up the blade Moiraine had unceremoniously yanked from herself and carefully inspected it for any signs of poison, in case it was something she was unable to detect with her Delving. To her relief, it seemed clean.

“Lan will be fine,” she affirmed, glowering pointedly as she fixed her gaze on Moiraine once more,“But you-” she began sternly.

"I will be fine as well,” Moiraine interrupted calmly, glancing up and meeting Nynaeve’s eyes, “With you to tend to me,” she added, inclining her head in respect towards her.

Nynaeve sniffed irritably, refusing to be completely mollified by that blatant stroking of her healer’s ego, “I should just let you bleed for a bit,” she muttered darkly, “Teach you a lesson about unnecessary bravado."

She doubted she could actually do anything about that. Both she and Lan were absolute lost causes in that area already. Twenty years of near misses in the wilderness away from courts and politics hadn’t stripped the royal blood or royal notions of grand gestures and heroic displays from either of them. Unfortunately it was an ingrained habit, built into the bones of them, and in spite of her feelings on the matter, she couldn’t do anything but put up with it now.

"You won’t,” Moiraine murmured softly, which might have made Nynaeve glare at her and actually let her bleed over the grass for a bit longer, except that there was a faint tremor of uncertainty to the words that made her want to hug her instead.

"It would upset Lan,” she responded loftily, not wanting to let Moiraine off the hook entirely, but also seeking to reassure her patient.

"Would it?” Moiraine mumbled, words a little thick, the frown obvious on her face as she looked at Nynaeve with a flash of sudden, genuine concern.

"If I just left you bleeding out here, in pain, dying and scared and did nothing to help you?” Nynaeve said incredulously, then realised that Moiraine was being serious. Reaching forwards, she gripped her hand and squeezed it, making her blink, her eyes focusing on her with a worrying moment of difficulty. “Of course it would upset him,” she said very firmly.

"Oh," was the faint response.

"You're in shock and you’re delirious from pain and blood loss,” Nynaeve told her, hoping that was all it was, because the alternative was not something she wanted to even consider right now, “We need to get you back home."

"And Lan,” Moiraine rasped, her voice becoming hoarse as she gave her head a little shake, eyes fluttering, “Him too."

"Yes, Lan too,” Nynaeve soothed, deciding that would be better than pointing out the obvious fact that she wasn’t going to leave her poisoned, comatose husband in the middle of a blood-soaked forest while she and Moiraine went and had tea.

Having previously attempted to treat her during the war, Nynaeve found that the  shocked and semi-conscious Moiraine was a much easier patient to deal with than she had been before. Several years later at this point, she still remembered with a grimness reminiscent of Lan reflecting on particularly badly lost battles the difficulty of trying to force her to sit still and accept any measure of care. Damn woman had just insisted she was ‘fine’ while playing skipping rope tricks with her guts as they dangled around her ankles out of the gaping wound in her stomach.

This time, Moiraine allowed her to Heal the wound in her back without so much as a peep. Nynaeve watched with the same wonder she had felt the first time she had beheld Healing as the flesh knit back together, closing and easing the pain. She brushed her fingers lightly over the scar left behind, a faint white sliver, like the kiss of a moon upon the skin. She always felt the same sense of awe at what her Power could do. Moiraine, apparently indifferent, simply shifted a little in place, staring vaguely down at the ground, watching a drop of her blood drip down a long blade of grass.

“That must feel better,” Nynaeve prompted as she used gentle weaves of Spirit to calm the horses and call them over. 

It was an empty phrase, she simply wanted to try and bring Moiraine back as she seemed to be set adrift in the world. She didn’t speak, but gave a faint nod. Nynaeve bit her lip, but otherwise tried to hide her worry.

As she worked, she chattered away to Moiraine, a constant stream of inane comments and flowery words without any real substance, their only purpose to try and bait a little conversation out of the other woman. It was largely unsuccessful. Though as she consented to being lifted up onto Aldieb’s saddle and held in place with multiple weaves of Air, she did manage a soft comment on her improved skill in that area. 

Nynaeve decided she would happily take all of her complaining, and huffing about her ‘fussing’, and insistences that she was fine when the alternative was this disconnected husk of the woman she remembered. It did little good to tell herself that, though she was now Healed, Moiriane had lost a lot of blood. She had seen that vague, distant stare on her face several times since she had arrived in Malkier and knew, in her heart, that it had little to do with any physical wound she had taken.

Pushing down her worry for Moiraine until she could actually do something about it, she lifted Lan onto Mandarb and held him there as she had done with Moiraine. Then she stood and, concentrating her focus on maintaining multiple different weaves at once, she opened a Gateway back to Malkier. Conducting the bizarre procession through it, Nynaeve sighed internally about the drama it was going to cause when she returned Malkier’s king and the legendary Moiraine Sedai half-dead after a blatant assassination attempt. Caring for them was more important than avoiding political scandal, however, so Nynaeve marched them through the main gates of the castle with a defiant confidence that proclaimed that actually she wanted the whole of Malkier to know about this. 

Once in the courtyard, she used her best battlefield general voice, which Lan had taught her, and bellowed for assistance. At once a small army of people flocked to her, fluttering and jabbering around her like a nest of baby birds shrieking at their newly returned mother for food. Organising the chaos with efficient impatience, she enlisted the help of several of her apprentice healers to bring stretchers and take Lan and Moiraine up to their chambers. They showed a flicker of surprise at the request to send them to the royal bedroom instead of the infirmary, but she wasn’t having her husband separated from her after this. If that was something they wanted to talk behind their hands about they were fucking welcome to it. The stablehands were ordered to care for the horses, since Lan would likely prise himself from his coma in protest to see that Mandarb was suitably tended to. Several servants were given a rapid-fire set of instructions they had grown used to hearing and acting on to prepare the necessary Wisdom supplies for her. Finally she sent a runner to convene an emergency council meeting for later that evening so she could deliver the news of what had happened and try to nip as much of the scheming and speculating in the bud as soon as possible.

Just a typical day as Lan’s queen, she thought irritably, as the courtyard finally cleared, everyone hurrying off to their assigned duties, and left her free to stomp grumpily upstairs to tend to Lan and Moiraine.

********

[futurewriter2000]

Dysfunctional - pt.2

A/N: I forced myself to write and I actually wrote and now I feel accomplished! YAY! Can't wait to write some more.

XX

You had disappeared.

Or that's how James Potter could have seen it like. It was off for him because he had many things on his mind, many people, many stupid ideas but the one thing that constantly popped into his mind was you.

He had never felt more alive just by somebody's presence. He had never felt so much joy, not even by Sirius or Lily or whenever he was in his stag form.

You. You. You. You.

"Potts!" he shot his head to the person who was calling his name.

Oh, my God. YOU!

You had a bright smile plastered on, the one that made his heart jump too many times too much. You swung your arms goofy-like, your legs in those oversized sweatpants stepping large steps until you jumped to sit next to him and grabbed a few toasts in front of him.

"Where had you gone lost?" he asked, smiling at her- not even feeling the need to eat as his stomach was taking turns and somersaults.

"Narnia."

"Narnia?" he quirked an eyebrow.

"No! JAMES!" you gasped, letting the toast fall on your plate. "Don't tell me you don't know what Narnia is?!"

"I don't know, actually."

"Oh- we're totally slamming Narnia book this week. No, not just the book. The whole series."

"I had never heard of it."

"Every Muggle child has been read Narnia at least ONCE in their whole life."

"Oh!" he let out a laugh. "I'm not a Muggle, darling."

"Clearly." you rolled your eyes. "Wouldn't really be in Hogwarts if you were."

He started to laugh again. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm a pureblood."

"OH!" you started to get playfully annoyed. "My apologies, king Arthur. Shall I bow to your toes and polish your boots, you Narnianless wizard."

"Yes." he puffed out his chest and put his foot on your lap. "I expect not a spot on my shoe, if there is, I shall have you beheaded."

The two of you bursted out laughing- loud and constantly shoving each other playfully.

"Oh, mate. I love your energy." you said as the laughter calmed down and you slightly punched his shoulder.

He felt something buzz through his whole body, looking at you with eyes he knew were dangerous to look at somebody.

"Okay- so here's the plan." you leaned forward, watching deeply into his eyes- the ones that made his heart jump to his throat and his head sick from how everything around him blurred out and all he could see was the colour of your eyes; drown in them when you spoke with a voice that was like a melody to him.

"Tell me the master plan."

"You, me..." you bit your lower lip and looked around. "Some weed, some sunset... maybe some chips."

"Alright. Cool." James tried to play it off cooly, though his insides were sweating from anxiety.

"Alright. Meet you in-" you checked your watch and smiled. "Three hours in front of the courtyard?"

"Meet you there."

---

He was there early. Quite early. Thirty minutes early and he doesn't know why but he has been sitting on the stone wall and stargazing, thinking about nobody else but you.

"When it's through! It's through! Fate will twist the both of you!" you started to sing with your entrance. "SO COME ON BABY! COME ON OVER! LET ME BE THE ONE TO SHOW YOU!!" you sang from the top of your lungs, causing him to laugh and jump from the wall.

"SHHHHH!"

"Wait- here comes the best part!" you giggled. "I'm the one who wants to be with youuuuu!" you started to move your body left and right. "Deeep inside I KNOW YOU FEEL IT TOOO!"

"You done?" he laughed.

You pressed yourself against him and dramatically took a hold of yourself, hugging your chest. "Waited on the lines of greens and blues!! Waiiiiited on the liine!" you added the background in a high pitched completely off tone voice. "JUST! TO! BE! THE! NEXT! TO! BE! WITH! YOU!" you pressed your finger at his chest during those pauses.

"Auch!"

"Okay, I'm done now." you laughed, backing away and looking around if anybody was coming. "Bloody hell, that song has been stuck in my head all day long." you smiled mischievously and winked at him.

"Glad you could get it out now."

"Love that song." you laughed again. It was like a breath for you- laughing. Especially when you were with him, everything else seemed so easy. You could let go of all worries around him. You could be yourself around him with no masks worn but at times as this current moment, you remembered that you shouldn't let go of your mask completely. Not yet... maybe not ever. "Come on. Let's go. I know a special place."

---

The two of you had been walking up hill, behind the bleacher of the Quidditch field, going so far that you could almost cross the border. James warned you about it but you only winked back and reassured him that the two of you are staying inside the castle borders.

"You're really fun." he said, almost out of breath.

"Oh." you smiled, looking back at the breathless Gryffindor. "More than a Slytherin should be, right?" you grinned and he let out half-groan, half-laugh.

"I was thinking that, yes." he said breathlessly. "But tell me why are we taking a hike to Merlin-knows-where?"

"Just a little bit." you smiled, finally reaching the top that was surrounded by rubble, fragments of shattered stone; sharp and mysterious. "HERE WE ARE!" you threw your hands in the air as he threw himself on the ground, breathing heavily.

"Fuuuuck!" he groaned. "I think my lungs gave out."

"Aren't you supposed to be a Quidditch player or something?" you sat down next to him and leaned forward.

He looked up at you, observing your eyes, your nose, your eyebrows- every inch of your face.

'So beautiful.' - he thought to himself, smiling gently and wanting to touch your face. So beautiful he could look at you forever and never get tired of it. He knew, he wanted to see this face for the rest of his life- every day- every second, he could watch you and never, not once think anything bad of you.

Before he could move his hand to touch you or his lips to speak to you, you had already moved away, sitting on your bum and pulling out a small container. Not much of a container either. It was a cream box and when you opened it, there was bits of green chunks inside of it. You pulled out rizla paper and started rolling it.

He started to get a bit nervous but he saw how fast you managed to roll it up. "I-" he let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "I had never done it- I mean... I don't know how to- you know..." he started to look at you as you smiled back, knowing exactly what he wanted to say. "Inhale it..."

You giggled a bit and scooted next to him. "It has to be a bit fast... like faster than you would if you'd smoke a cigarette- or something." you started to awkwardly laugh as well. "Just watch me and try to do it."

You inhaled it first, one for the taste and the second for the effect. When it comes to any unhealthy habits, you knew that you had to consume way more than most people to take effect. Strong genetics. Great immune system.

He on the other side had been quite a light-weight but quite a funny one. All he did was talk- talk extremely fast.

"Wonder what happened to these rocks- reckon it could be a giant? Or! OR!" he went on his knees and put his hands on your shoulders. "Or a mammut!"

"A mammut?"you laughed.

"A giant elephant if you want me to simplify."

"I know what a mammut is."

"Your mum. HA!" he joked and then widened his eyes. "Oh, shit- sorry!"

You started to laugh a bit louder. "It's fine." you continued to laugh.

"Oh, thank Merlin, you're not over-sensitive."

"I see a joke when I hear one."

"No but really. Reckon it could be war? Or some famous aurors playing heroes and vilians? Very pretty rocks though- I'd take one rock home- have a boulder in my room- OH! I can totally do it, just let me get my wand." he started to tap his pockets. "Oh, shoot." he started to pout. "I left it at my dorm. Hell." he started to look around until you grabbed his head and held it still.

"Get yourself together, Potts."

"I hate when you call me that." he narrowed his eyes at you.

"We're still house rivals after all."

"No lies spoken." he moved his head from your hold and laid back down, looking at the stars.

You laid right next to him and focused your eyes on the sky as well. "You were stargazing before I came."

"I was... yeah." he smiled. "I was thinking about Sirius."

"The star or the mop hair?" you joked and he laughed.

"The mop hair." his laugh started to fade. "He's like a brother to me, you know?"

"I know."

"But he pisses me off sometimes." he added and you let out a soft laugh.

"Siblings tend to do that."

"I know. I love him still... it's just he's been acting so odd lately." he started to open up and he didn't even realise it yet. "I know he ran away. I know his family was shit and all but since he left- I mean, yeah it's so fun having him around all the time but lately he's just been keeping to himself. When we met on the train-" he started to smile again. "-we talked about how we would both be sorted into Gryffindor and how we would both become Prefects and have the most perfect grades and join Quidditch together and then compete for Head Boy and go for the Auror's job..." he drifted off. "And now he just disappears and he doesn't show up for classes- he's failing Arithmancy and he needs Arithmancy if he ever wants to become an Auror."

"Why? I mean it doesn't even make sense how could Arithmancy be all connected to an Auror's job?"

"I know. We've been wondering about that as well but still. He's smart. He knows all of this... he just gave up on everything..." he finished and continued to look at the stars.

"You know, James." you started, letting him know that this time you were more serious than your usual self. "If I'm frank with you... thinking that he doesn't have ambitions and goals because he's failing classes and not showing up for class, doesn't mean he wants his future to be homeless on the street or something."

"I know and I'm not saying that- or that I'd ever let him go on the street."

"It just means that he is so preoccupied by his own demons, his problems to the point where Arithmancy seems like the least of his problems."

"He tells me everything, (y/n)." he pulled himself up on his elbows.

"I don't doubt but... how do I say this?"

"English."

You smiled and rolled your eyes at him. "I left my family too." you spoke, trying to smile through it. "Because I didn't feel welcomed by them. Because they didn't like having a witch in the family."

"Wait?" he shook his head. "You're a Muggle-born? But you're a Slytherin?"

"I'm a Slytherin because of who I am, not because of my blood status." you scooted a bit away from him. "Anyways... when you leave a household where you don't feel welcomed, you can feel liberated and free... independent and strong for finally doing it but there's also the part of them inside of you, whether you like it or not. When you leave your family, you leave your friends and your cousins that you adored. And you don't know how your parents will explain to your grandparents that you had decided to leave and then there's the part of where to live when school is over? To work, to pay bills,... to do things your family should help you go through. And maybe... just maybe Arithmancy is such a small problem out of many big ones but it's a small one and it makes you think that it's irrelevant."

"I didn't know... about..."

"Oh, nobody does really." you smiled. "I have a friend who's dad own a cafe and I work there through the summer and live on the apartment above. And my mum sometimes comes and visits- rarely though. Once a month or two."

"Shit... I'm sorry."

"I don't want you to be. It's not easy but it's free and I wouldn't change it for the world. My dad and me aren't really on good terms but who doesn't have daddy issues?" you let out a laugh but he only looked at you with eyes that didn't really speak pity to you but something else... something that you weren't quite familiar with.

- Strength. That's what James saw in you this moment. Somebody gone through shit but still standing. Strong. You're strong.

[defectivehero]

Hellooo, love your writing 💕 I was wondering if you could write something about a villain taking care of a depressed hero (or it can be the other way around!)?

hey thanks!!  i’m gonna do it the other way around- i hope you don’t mind!

tw: depression, suicidal thoughts, swearing, all that jazz ;(

Alex hadn’t been outside in a whole week.  An ordinary person would be a bit concerned, perhaps putting it down as a sudden illness or a death in the family.  But, no.  Alex wasn’t sick.  Alex wasn't grieving over the loss of a family member.

He looked up what he was feeling on Google, and got a wide variety of results.  Suggestions for how to handle heartbreak, getting over the loss of a loved one, a survey about depression... Alex stopped reading after that.

He had been sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the wall, when a loud buzzing sound made him look down at his phone.  He rolled his eyes when he saw who was calling him.  Cameron.  Ugh.

Alex and Cameron had a quite complicated relationship, that was for sure.  They were mortal enemies, or, at least, they were supposed to be.  Alex was a villain, and Cameron was a hero.  So why was Cameron calling him?

The phone continued ringing, and Alex clenched his teeth in annoyance.  He pressed the ‘decline call’ button, then threw his phone onto the coffee table in front of the couch.   The phone landed with a slam, nearly cracking the glass.  He probably broke his phone, and yet, he couldn’t even find the energy to care. Tears streamed down his face, glistening against his tanned skin.

Everything felt like a chore- eating, brushing his teeth... Even getting out of bed was a challenge.  More often than not, Alex would spend the day laying under his covers, holding back tears.  It was quite a crushing feeling, to be completely honest.  He had never felt so weak.  It had gotten to the point where he hadn’t done any sort of villain work in weeks.   It’s not like you were going to succeed anyways, a small voice in the back of his head said.    His laptop was sitting on his nightstand, untouched from when he last set it down a month ago.  He couldn’t help but think of that laptop as some sort of barrier- a constant reminder of his failure to truly accomplish anything.  It was just barely within reach, so close and yet so far. Every time he thought of reaching out for it, he just couldn’t.  His body wouldn’t let him.  His mind wouldn't let him.

He heard a strange rapping-like noise, and glanced at the front door.  There didn't seem to be anyone there.  He looked down at his hands.  What was he doing?  Why was he here?  Another rapping noise.  He ignored it, shaking his head.  Probably just the rain.  

A couple seconds later, his front door burst open, and a cold draft flew through the house.  “C-Cameron?” Alex whispered, shock evident in his voice.  “Did you break in-”

“I just used your key,” Cameron grinned, holding up the key that Alex kept hidden on the front porch.  The blond ran a hand through his wet hair, wiping his shoes against the carpet in the entryway before walking in.  Alex followed the man’s gaze, his heart dropping to his stomach.  

His apartment looked like shit.  There were clothes everywhere- draped over the couch, piled on the floor... A pile of dirty dishes was balanced precariously in the stainless steel sink.  There were papers scattered all over the table.  

“Wait, it’s not-”

The hero looked at him, then scanned the room.  Alex felt a pit of shame setting in the bottom of his stomach.  Was Cameron here to gloat?  Was that what he wanted?  After all, they were always trying to one-up each other.  Alex felt his eyes burning, and rubbed at them roughly, willing for the tears to stop streaming down his face.

“Go away,” Alex muttered.  Cameron completely ignored him, continuing to amble around the room.  Alex sighed, sitting back down on the couch and putting his head in his hands. He had never felt so embarrassed.  

Alex wasn’t sure how long he sat there, closing his eyes and willing his mortification to go away.  It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours...

A tap on his shoulder made him jolt, whipping his head up and subsequently nearly head-butting Cameron.  “S-sorry,” he muttered, getting up dizzily. He stumbled a bit, and Cameron reached his hand out to steady him.   Once he steadied himself, he looked at the room around him and gasped.

The entire room was clean.  All the dishes were gone, the clothes neatly folded in the corner, and all the other clutter was nowhere to be found.  Alex felt a warm feeling spread to his chest.  “I... Thank you,” Alex whispered, bringing a hand to his face in shock.  

“No problem,” the blond smiled sweetly.  “Now, how about some dinner?”

Alex found himself sitting down at his dining table an hour later, a steaming bowl of pasta in front of him.  He glanced up at Cameron, who was sitting across from him.  The blond nodded, and started eating.  Alex had a bite, skeptical about Cameron’s cooking skills.  But, he was pleasantly surprised.  The pasta was quite good.

“So..” Cameron started hesitantly, waving his fork around.  Alex glared at him.  “You know what I’m going to ask,” he continued.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” “You need to,” the blond argued, shaking his head in exasperation.  “I’m the perfect person to talk to.” 

Alex snorted, rolling his eyes.  “And why is that, may I ask?” he quipped.

“I’m a therapist, duh.”

“Oh.”

“I’m fairly decent, as I’ve been told,” Cameron mentioned nonchalantly, poking his fork into his pasta.  Alex sighed, grabbing his water glass chugging it.

“If you tell me, I won’t bother you about it again,” Cameron offered, raising his hands in mock surrender.  Alex sighed.  He really wouldn’t be able to get out of this, would he?

“Alright, fine,” he groaned, averting his eyes.  “Let’s get this over with.”

“Okay, so tell me,” Cameron started, putting his folded hands under his chin in contemplation, “when did all this start?”

“A couple weeks ago,” Alex replied, thinking back.  

Cameron nodded, “How have you been feeling, exactly?” Alex sighed.  Exactly how did he get himself into this situation?   Oh right, his mortal enemy/friend broke into his apartment, went on a cleaning spree, and then somehow managed to cook dinner with the zero ingredients in his pantry.

“Fine.” Cameron gave him a death glare, and he felt himself start to sweat.  “Alright, alright.  I just feel empty, I guess,” Alex sighed.  “I don’t know, I just don’t feel like myself. I’m really tired, and I can’t find the motivation to do anything?” he met Cameron’s eyes.

Cameron stared at him for a second, studying his face.  “Have you been struggling to sleep lately? Struggling to find pleasure in activities that you normally enjoy to do? Poor appetite? Feelings of hopelessness?”

Alex dropped his fork with a clang, jaw falling open.  How did Cameron know?  He had been experiencing all of those things!  He nodded briefly, not able to find the words he wanted to say.

“Any thoughts of wanting to harm yourself, or thinking you would be better off dead?” Cameron asked, and Alex felt his eyes begin to burn again.  He blinked rapidly.  He really didn’t want to cry in front of Cameron.

“Yeah,” Alex whispered, clenching his fists in his lap.  His lip quivered, and he felt incredibly embarrassed.  He looked over at Cameron, who had a dejected expression on his face.  That only made him feel worse.  He was an expert at fucking things up, wasn’t he?

“Alex, you have depression,” Cameron mentioned, clear voice cutting through the air.  

“No, I don’t,” Alex immediately replied, adrenaline coursing through him. “No way,”

“’Lex, there’s nothing to be ashamed of,”

“Of course not!” Alex exclaimed, breathing hard.  “Of course you wouldn’t care!  Perfect Cameron, such the perfect hero!” he hissed, hands trembling.  “Taking pity on those below him, how kind of him,”

“Are you done yet?” Cameron asked, completely unfazed by his sudden outburst.  

Alex blushed, remembering himself. “Yeah, I am,” he confessed, looking down at his feet in embarrassment.  He was still in shock.  There was a name for what he was feeling?  He wasn’t sick, broken...?

“I think you should start seeing a therapist,” Cameron declared, breaking the silence.  Alex was, admittedly, not opposed to the idea.  He’d try almost anything, at this point.

“Here,” Cameron said, shoving the piece of paper into his hand.  “I wrote down the name for our offices.  Call the number here, it should bring you to our receptionist. They’ll set an appointment up for you,” he continued.  

“Now, I’ll make sure to get you a different therapist,” the blonde mentioned offhandedly, “because I can’t be yours- I’m probably the reason you’re going to therapy anyways,” 

 Alex whipped his head up.  What?  “No, you’re not,” Alex denied adamantly.  For whatever reason, he felt the need to reassure Cameron that it wasn’t his fault.  Why?  He had no idea.  Cameron raised his eyebrows, looking at Alex as if he hadn’t expected him to say anything.  An awkward silence befell the room.

Cameron looked away, leaning back into his chair and looking at the ceiling.  Alex watched him close his eyes, as if in deep thought.  He took a sharp breath, watching the blond’s Adam’s apple bob up and down.  Cameron’s thin, defined collarbones peeked out from the collar of his shirt.  Alex bit his lip unconsciously.

“What’s wrong?” Cameron asked, blinking his eyes open.  Alex swore he saw the hero’s eyes flit down to his lips for a brief second, but when he looked at the blond again, he was looking at the ground.  

Alex shook his head.  “Oh, uh, nothing,” he huffed.

“Hm, okay,” the hero replied, clearly not buying his excuse.  “Anyways, I better get going,” he said, grimacing as if he didn’t want to leave.  Alex raised an eyebrow at that.  Wouldn’t he be happy to leave?  He doubted anyone would want to spend time with him in this state.  He dragged his shoes along the floor, hands tightening on arms of the chair he was sitting in.

Cameron put a hand on his shoulder, pressing his lips together in a hesitant smile.  “Call me if you need me, okay?” he said.  Alex nodded, meeting his eyes.  Cameron nodded at that, thoughtful gray eyes scanning his face as if in search of something.  Alex felt his cheeks darken, as Cameron’s face was only inches from his.  The blond had a conflicted expression on his face, as if he was debating whether he should do something or not.  Eventually, Alex felt Cameron’s arms wrap around him, pulling him into a hug.  The pair stayed there for a bit, clutching onto each other. 

Alex pulled away.  “You better get going, Cameron.  It’s late,” he whispered, secretly wishing he could stay.

“Alright,” the blond replied.  “Good night, Alex,” he mumbled, walking towards the door.

“Good night.”

Alex watched him leave, smiling to himself.  He looked down at the piece of paper in his hand. Maybe he really would be okay.

[janekfan]

for the bingo board, would you mind doing health scare with jon and the crew? i love your writing btw

Thank you so much!!! 

Uh, I filled this probably unconventionally? But I hope it’s okay!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28514178

Jon first noticed something was off when he woke up shivering in the dead of night. But temperatures had been dropping steadily, there was no reason to think that it was anything other than the thin, poorly insulated walls of his flat causing the problem. Exhausted, Jon knuckled enough sleep from his eyes to retrieve another blanket, deciding before he slipped away again to wear a warmer cardigan tomorrow because the archives had a tendency to be chilly.

When Jon limped his way into the office the next day his joints were already burning and loose, feeling all too much like they’d been crushed into powder. He knew better than to walk that extra stop from the train but he was so embittered about his new, illustrious position as Head Archivist that being crammed like a sardine with hundreds of other people all but reading his mind, knowing instinctively that he wasn’t cut out for the work, was unbearable and he’d needed an escape. It wasn’t that bad; he was just tired from trying to fix Gertrude’s mess, that’s all. He just needed to redirect his attention away from the needles stabbing into him every time he took a step and focus on the mountain of files he had yet to sort through.

There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to how they were organized, but he had been able to use the dates scrawled across the tops of the stiff yellowing papers to get some semblance of a timeline going. That was where Jon found himself when Martin dropped off a cuppa, thanking him absentmindedly as he compared what was either a nine or a seven to another, clearer script.

“Um. Jon?”

“Hm?” It couldn’t matter that much and Jon filed them away in deference to the tea. Jon hadn’t realized how thirsty he was...what time was it?

“I. It’s half three.” Oh. “And I. I just haven’t seen you eat? Anything?”

“Oh.”

“You’re so busy, of course! It’s natural to get, uh, caught up! I could fix you something, if you’d like?”

“I’m.” Not hungry, that was for certain. Either the pain or the exhaustion was upsetting his stomach and the idea of eating right now was--

“Jon?” Maybe he’d eaten something gone off? Past the expiry?

“Oh. Um. Actually.”

“It’s no trouble!”

“Some. Some toast would be lovely, Martin, thank you.” A bite or two would help and as strange as it felt to take Martin up on his offer, the slightest bit of tension bled out of his shoulders.

Things had been.

Tense.

Since he’d accepted the position.

It was clear, no, true, that Sasha was better deserving of the job. She had more experience, more knowledge, more everything and yet Elias had passed her right over, giving Jon the ridiculous choice to resign or take it.

He should have resigned.

Finding a new workplace would be easier than watching his friends pull away from him. He didn’t blame Tim for siding with Sasha. She needed support right now. And anything he could think of to say to her would make him sound ungrateful that he’d been selected over her. Couldn’t very well go up to her and admit that he hated this and wanted everything to go back to the way it was in Research, because she really did want it.

And he.

“Toast’s up.” Martin sidestepped into the room to place the small plate on the corner of the desk. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like with it so I got a few things!” Cheerful and bright, he placed the jams down with a small spoon. He couldn’t have known it was exactly the right thing to do, that dry toast was about all Jon was going to be able to manage. “Anything I can help with?” Tentative, it was no secret that Jon was prickly at the best of times.

“Ah, um.” Jon gestured to a box, repressed a flinch when it seemed like his shoulder would jump from its socket. “I’ve been organizing by the dates on the top? Just, just for something.”

“Got it.”

Jon made his way slowly through one slice, later agreeing with Martin that he’d gotten too caught up with work to think about the second.

Things didn’t improve.

Maybe it was this.

Maybe it was that.

Excuse after excuse, because anything would be better than what he knew in his heart this really was and finally late one evening Jon clutched the bed spread despite the fire flaring in his fingers and buried his face into the soft fabric. It was foolish; it wouldn’t change anything to be so upset and he should be better equipped to handle it considering these spells would continue happening. He breathed in, out, slow, measured, but instead of calming him, he burst into sobs, muffling himself in the sheets and crying despite the pain and as he lay there, coming down from his tears of frustration, Jon realized, accepted, what was happening. The reason for his fever, headaches, the increase in pain, the trouble eating, sleeping--

“You are fine.” He whispered repeatedly into the cold isolated dark of his bedroom. “It won’t last forever. It never does.” But it always felt like forever and he couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be this time. What mistake did he make to cause it, even though Jon knew deep down it didn’t matter. That these things came and went with the wind and no matter what habits he changed to try and mitigate it, it never mattered. It was as if he was only able to talk himself down in time for it to flare up again and the constant fight to convince himself he would be alright, that he would make it through again and again and again was exhausting because it meant he was done in before the day even began.

Jon’s body ached like one giant bruise, crushed, pulled apart, at once boneless and so heavy that moving out of bed was out of the question. Brain stuffed with cotton wool and foggy thoughts meant that to speak meant to hurt so he didn’t, knowing he came across as spiteful but he didn’t have the energy to explain, not when he was so focused on making it from train to Institute to door to stairs to office; each leg of such a routine journey worse than the last. Sitting up was an ordeal and Jon had to drag his stick and string self out of bed after each restless night with caution, lest he pull something loose out of place. Braces, tape, hidden, hiding, normal, normal, normal. How he could be so tired and still not be able to sleep at night was a torture he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

Greetings, pleasantries, small talk all standing in the way of Jon reaching his desk and taking a break from what was essentially waking up. But it hurt. It all hurt. And it made it all worse because they were already angry with him and they wouldn’t stop being angry at him unless he put work into mending their relationships and he couldn’t put work into it when he wanted nothing more than to lay down and be unconscious for however long it took until this all passed.

The worst part of it all was that he needed help and didn’t know how to ask for it. Not with the cold shoulders, the whispers, the looks. And he only had himself to blame. The desk phone caught his attention and Jon was surprised it wasn’t shrouded in a layer of dust, still weighing his choices. Call someone, probably Martin. Or drag himself out of his office. One would only wound his pride. Gingerly, Jon cradled the phone to his ear, licking chapped lips before dialing Martin’s extension.

“Oh, J’Jon?” He’d never called any of them before. “Uh, what can I do for you?” Thank god. Trust Martin’s helpful nature to override any other questions.

“Ah, Martin. Yes, thank you. If you could--” There was a scuffle, a yelp, muffled through his door, followed by the dramatic clearing of a throat and:

“You can’t hide in there all week, Jon!” Came Tim’s sing-song reply and the hang up was two fold; through the receiver and the clang of the thing on Martin’s desk. Jon took a deep breath, pushing back the emotions threatening to flood him, tipping his head back and begging the tears to stop.

Having to ask for help was almost impossible and the longer he waited to show his face, the worse it would be.

The only thing he’d accomplished by picking up the phone was to put himself on a time limit.

This was too overwhelming.

Their desks are meters away but it may as well have been kilometers with how much he was hurting. But Jon pushed himself to his unsteady feet anyway, wishing both that someone would just notice and that he was masking his symptoms enough that they wouldn’t. He wasn’t foolish enough to leave his cane behind. It took concentration to keep his expression neutral, to force himself to walk smoothly. To pretend it was a regular day.

“That’s a level ten scowl, boss.” Jon rolled his eyes. “Honestly, you’ve been so moody lately.” Tim looked up from where he was twiddling away on his phone. Taking a break, that’s all, nothing to be upset with even though he couldn’t help but compare the number of files stacked on their individual desks. Jon swallowed hard around the tangle of hot disappointment.

“I’ve b’been, uh. It’s well, it’s a lot.” He hadn’t heard Sasha come up behind him, tone droll and capricious and all too familiar these days.

“I thought you’d be happier considering your position.” When Jon laughed nervously, it was damp with suppressed emotion. “It’s like you didn’t even want it.” And good lord at this moment he’d never wanted it less. But how could he talk to her about how difficult this transition had been when he was the thief? So he didn’t defend himself, instead going along with their jokes at his expense, trying to explain what he’d tried to call for. It was difficult to breathe in their presence, it was difficult to stand. It was difficult to accept that his friends were actively making things harder.

How would they know?

Tell them.

They’ll think you’re lying.

You were fine the other day.

“I was hoping you’d help me collect some files.” Jon wrapped his pompous academic exterior around him like a shield and for a horrifying moment he thought Tim was going to tell him off.

“Why didn’t you say so, boss?” Sarcasm dripped like crude oil from each syllable. “You just tell me what you want and I’ll fetch it for you.”

“Ah, j’just uh.” Jon pointed to what he needed in the stacks and Tim grunted with the weight of it, chuckling without mirth.

“Letting being the Big Boss go to your head are you?” He wiped a hand dramatically over his forehead. “Too shiftless to collect your own work?”

Why was he being so cruel?

“Too busy, I think you mean.” Jon shot back, letting anger and frustration seep through the continuously forming cracks. It was that or sob.

“Yeah, well. If you need anything else, you know where to find us.”

Jon absolutely refused to cry in his office.

It was stupid of him to not ask for help.

But he’d needed help with so many things this week past. Small things. Moving things. Carrying things. Things a normal person could do without constantly relying on others and the idea of parading himself into their midst again made his eyes sting with tears and his knees and hips burn. They hurt so much even with the bulky braces and sticky tape hidden beneath his trousers literally holding his joints together he didn’t think he’d be able to make another trip back and forth.

Which is how Jon found himself staring dumbly at his dangling arm for full seconds after trying to lift a box.

He’d dislocated his shoulder if the audible and sharp pop! was any indication and when the hot flush of agony hit he yelped mostly in surprise before controlling his fall to the floor. Someone was digging around in his shoulder socket with a superheated spoon as he writhed on the ground and he took just a moment to feel sorry for himself. He’d just wanted to do this one thing by himself and not have to surrender the tiny scrap of independence he’d been clinging to with his fingernails. Cursing himself for being so stupid and cursing himself again when his mewling brought all three of his assistants to his door, Jon looked up, feeling not unlike a beetle trapped on its back and waiting to be pinned. Now he was surrounded, in pain, under the glass of their frightened stares and he couldn’t spare the breath to tell them that he was fine. Just needed a moment to, to fit the puzzle pieces back together while he was being torn apart at his fragile seams.

“Boss--” A cacophony of panicked voices rising higher and higher and--

“Don’t!” They were reaching towards him, stopping at his tight command. “Don’t. I need. I--a minute. It’s fine.” Sweat streaked into the greying hair at his temples.

“This isn’t fine.” Tim sounded angry, scared, and Jon didn’t have enough in him to explain. Not right now. “Jon, you need--”

“Don’t tell me what I need!!” Surprising even himself with the vehement strength behind his declaration Jon put real effort into slowing his rapid breath. If he couldn’t control that, he couldn’t control himself, he couldn’t control the situation. At some point he closed his eyes, willing himself to relax, listening to the sound of Tim’s angry footsteps, Sasha’s following, their muffled voices upset and far away. He sensed Martin kneel beside him.

“Got you a cold cloth. Would you…?”

“P’please…” carried on the gust of his next exhale, the hum of relief stuck in his throat when Martin smoothed it over his eyes and it dulled the constant headache.

“You feel warm.”

“S’normal.” Martin was a surprising well of calm, not pressing or pushing or probing.

“Can I help?”

“In a, need another minute.” Experimentally Jon wiggled his fingers to check for numbness before trying to extend his arm and ultimately asking Martin for help.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to, to make it worse.”

“Can’t. Not really. Just there.” Martin’s hands were soft and warm as he maneuvered his arm over his head, helping bend it at the elbow and Jon grunted at the sensation of it falling back into place with a cool wash of relief.

“Oh! Uh, better?”

“Much.”

“I’ll make you some tea.” As though it were the man’s answer to all ills.

Jon took his time sitting up and getting to his feet, grabbing his cane and making his way to the breakroom where he knew he’d find Tim and Sasha. They at least gave him time to get settled before Tim launched into his interrogation.

“What happened?” Jon squirmed uncomfortably under their scrutiny, eyes downcast and focused on the glare of the fluorescent lighting reflecting off the surface of the tea Martin made him and glinting off the untouched foil backing of the paracetamol blister pack. His arm was in a sling. A sling he happened to have in his desk. A sling he happened to have in his desk “because this just happened sometimes.” The pain had decreased significantly but it didn’t feel right and probably wouldn’t for a while.

“I tried to lift a box.”

“A box.” Jon could really, really do without the incredulity.

“You don’t understand.”

“Yeah, because you never talk about it!”

“Because it’s always the same!” Jon didn’t mean to shout, but they wouldn’t understand. They couldn’t. And no amount of explaining or talking about his symptoms or complaining when he was hurting because he was always hurting would make a difference. “People don’t want to hear about it, Tim. It’s. It’s depressing.” They don’t believe me. “It makes people feel bad and then they get awkward. It’s easier for all of us if we just. Pretend.”

“Jon--”

“You’ve known since Research.” Jon wrapped sore arms around a sore stomach. “You know what these episodes look like, if not what it is.” And you didn’t care enough to even ask. It goes unsaid. Blaming Tim for something so far beyond his control wasn’t fair and Jon refused to do it.

Noticing would have been nice.

Not being forced to haul himself out to their desks to ask for help would have been nice. He understood they were acting out a bit of revenge and he didn’t blame them considering he’d stolen the job out from under Sasha. But it had been a blow to his pride all the same. Every time. Like being kicked when he was down.

Tears sprang to his eyes.

“And I. I don’t need. I don’t need to be coddled. But.” It felt stupid to say he wasn’t always able to walk between their desks and his office. He should be able to do that. It should be easy and he hated that it wasn’t. “I n’need to be allowed to, to.”

Leave. Leave here and never come back because he’d never felt worse than he did right now trying to beg his assistants for permission to use the phone.

“Call us.” Martin provided. “On the bad days.” Jon nodded, hiding his trembling lips behind the mug of cooling tea.

“Jon.” Tim sounded stricken. “I, I never meant--I.” Jon knew that. Tim was kind, had helped him when they worked upstairs together. But being punished like a child for saying yes-- “Jon.” He looked up to see that Tim was sitting across from him, hand outstretched on the table between them. Reaching. “Jon. I’m so, so sorry. That was. I shouldn’t have taken it that far.”

“I never. I didn’t say anything. You didn’t know.” It was Jon’s fault for being stubborn. It was Jon’s fault for not explaining.

“That’s no excuse for acting like a prat.” Jon ducked his head, embarrassment heating his face.

“I just. I chose y’you because.”

I trust you.

When Sasha sat beside him and bundled him into a gentle hug, that’s when the tears came in a biblical flood.

“Oh, Jon. I’m so sorry.” She rested her chin atop his head and the relief outweighed the unprofessionalism as he let himself be held. “We’re going to be better, alright?”

“Al’alright.” Salt damp and trembling, Jon was too exhausted to worry about what they thought of his greatest secret.

Hours later Jon blinked awake, bleary and warm, on the couch, head in Sasha’s lap as she read through a case and wrapped up in one of Martin’s jumpers.

“Almost quittin’ time, boss.” Oh. “You okay to make it home?”

“Uh, y’yeah, yes.”

It was nice to be asked.

It was a bit like walking on eggshells, the first few days of them navigating Jon without smothering him but the support was a far cry from the isolation and loneliness he’d dealt with since this whole thing started.

And then finally it began to break; the pain that’d been ratcheted up to eleven finally started dying down to a more manageable five or six.

“Need anything while I’m up, Jon?” Sasha poked her head into his office on her way by, a familiar, easy smile on her face and one he’d missed dearly.

“Ah, no, I--oh. If it’s not too much trouble, Martin was working on a translation?”

“Sure thing.”

Simple as that.

[jinrawon]

Coffee and sweetness.

Here's a request based on the time Jinyoung cheered up a fan in a café.

Words : 1500+

Y/N had worked hard her whole life. She had accomplished her objective of going to another country to work after studying and had learnt the language as fast as she could. It was no small feat yet it seemed worthless. Her days were becoming slower and her initial energy was long gone. It didn’t help that her colleagues had decided that she was some kind of punching bag. Whenever there was too much work it was her who did it, if they were feeling angry she seemed to be the one who they should shout at. It was not fair, she knew it, and perhaps if she had been in her home she would have left the café. Truth was she was not sure if she could get another job if she left so until she found one she had to endure it. The only thing that had been good was the release of music of her favourite group, Got7. It brought her some comfort she could find nowhere else and she was grateful someone like that existed, even if she could not reach them. 

“ What the hell are you doing? Can you not understand a single order? “ 

Once again she was being scolded for something she had not even done. An order for someone who her co-worker had attended. At this point she could swear they were doing it on purpose. 

“ Y/N, for goodness sake, do I need to tell you in another language? “ 

There they were again. She could understand them perfectly. She was tired of them assuming she could not understand korean just because she was a foreigner. She had worked hard for it, she wanted to be acknowledged. 

“ What the hell are you doing here, go to work already? “ 

She could not even go to the bathroom because they were already after her. She sighed and put on a brave face that could hide all the pain she was really feeling. She went out to attend the next client however she was absent.

“ Could you please give me an Americano? “ 

“ Yes, I’ll have it right up. “ Not only did the guy in front of her get surprised by her mood but also the cameras. “ May I have a name? “

“ Jinyoung. “ 

How fast she looked up then was amusing. She could recognize that face anywhere, with a little smile that could make her heal no matter how bad she had been feeling. 

“ Oh, OK, coming right up. “ The blush that had come across her face made Jinyoung think how cute that girl was. She was for sure unaware of what was going on. “ Here, please enjoy. “ 

“ Actually you should come sit with me. “ 

Y/N was clueless, especially when she found the cameras in the café. 

“ Um.. I am… I am working? “ She didn’t know what to say, especially in front of the boy who she biased. The blush kept creeping up to her face. “ I mean, it’s not that I don’t want but… but I would get… “ 

“ It 's fine. Really. “ 

She pushed aside one lock of her hair and decided to do what the idol said. It didn’t matter if she got into trouble later, she just wanted to be happy for that moment. She sat in front of him. He looked as perfect as she had imagined, his face more beautiful than through the cameras. They didn’t do him justice. 

“ So… Um… “

“ Your best friend requested for me to come and see you. “ He said. Y/N was now wanting to go to her best friend to hug them. “ They said you were not going through the best time and that I could lend you an ear.  You are Y/N, right?“

She nodded and fidgeted with her hands. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. She needed to mentally prepare to talk to him. 

“ Um… well I don’t really know… I am just grateful to see you for real. “

“ Your friend told how you are struggling with your job, however they also said you are trying really hard. “ He looked at her, prepared to listen to her if she was ready to speak. She felt embarrassed, not expecting that the first time she would encounter her idol he would act as a friend she could talk to. “ Something else must be bothering you, am I right? “

She was also surprised at how sharp the guy seemed. 

“ I… so to get to Korea I really had to study hard. “ He nodded, making sure that she understood that he was listening to her. “ So I achieved it and I came to Korea. Yeah… “ She thought for a bit before speaking. “ So I got this job and well… I guess things are more difficult than I expected. “ 

She laughed but Jinyoung was not stupid. He could see the gazes of her co-workers piercing through her. He was sure it had something to do with that. He frowned for a short second, so short no one could notice. 

“ If you don’t feel comfortable here I am sure the camera team wouldn’t mind going out, today it’s sunny so I don’t think there would be a problem. “ 

“ Ah, no! I mean, it’s sunny but it’s cold… I wouldn’t want you to be… “ 

He smiled at her. She was not confident and that bothered him. She wouldn’t say anything else if he did not bring it out. 

“ Are they being mean to you? “ He whispered and while she wanted to deny it, her face made the answer clear. “ They are. “

“ I’ve been trying… “ She finally said. “ I don’t want to work here anymore but I have to endure because I don’t know if I’ll have a job anywhere else. “ She was grateful the café had closed for the programme because she was about to burst to tears. “ I am trying hard but it feels like I am a punching bag of some type. Whenever something goes wrong it’s always my fault even if it was not my client. “ She smiled but it was clear that it was forced and that she was starting to get anxious. “ Sometimes they even say I am useless because I am a foreigner. “

Jinyoung was evidently getting mad. He would not tolerate something like that. Three of his fellow members were foreigners as well, it was like speaking down on them and the girl in front of him seemed like a hard worker who couldn’t endure things anymore. 

“ You don’t deserve to be treated like that. “ He said. Even if his gaze was soft to her it was not the same for her co-workers. “ You are a great hard working person and even though luck may not be on your side I am sure there must be something better waiting for you out there. “ 

The tears that she was holding previously were starting to show at his sweet words. She tried to smile, she really did, but she had been enduring too much for too long and she couldn’t anymore. 

“ I am sorry, “ she said, hiding her face. “ it’s just… it’s just too much, I don’t know what to do anymore, everything seems my fault... and I “  she breathed hard due to the situation she was in. Her co-workers were hearing to every word she said. She knew that she was exposing them on national TV but she didn’t know any other way. “ I must really be annoying, I am sorry. “

“ No, it’s fine. “ She stood up from her seat and apologized. “ There is really no need to apologize. “

“ I’ll go to the bathroom, sorry. “ 

He watched her leave and frowned immediately. 

It was not long after that, ignoring the fact that a programme was being filmed in the café, that they called her. 

“ Are you deaf? “ They told her. “ First this stupid programme is making us loose money and now you can’t even listen to a simple order I gave you. I really have to speak to you in another language, don’t I? “ She was quiet, expecting it to pass soon. Waiting for it to stop. “ And wish it was only that but now you put our café in a bad light. You're enduring what? It’s us who has to endure with a stupid foreigner who can’t even speak korean well. “ 

“ I… “ She gulped and looked at her superior. “ I am the one who speaks with foreigners in this café and I also attend to our Korean clients. You can barely say a word in another language… “ She mumbled. “ I am not at fault here. “

“ Don’t they teach you to not talk back to your superiors in your country? “ He shouted loud enough to catch Jinyoung’s attention. “ We shouldn’t have hired such a… “

“ What the… “ The idol came in between the both of them. “ What the hell are you thinking? “ At some point his accent had come out completely. He was angry and the cameras didn’t know if it was alright to keep filming. “ She really doesn’t have to cope with people like you, what an assh*t you are. “ At some point the cameras decided it was wise to cut seeing how it was not allowed to curse on national TV and Jinyoung, as polite as he was, could not take the situation the girl was going through. “ Just so you know my freaking friends are foreigners too and they are freaking great, sh*thead. “ Oh how would their members tease him after that. " Just because you are a d*ck head doesn't mean you can treat people like they are a f*cking piece of sh*it, you got it? "

To say she was surprised was an understatement. To see the guy she admired curse so much was fascinating. She was amazed at how mad he was and how worried he was about her. She felt lucky and once again remembered how the guy was sweet as chocolate even if he had his savage side. 

“ I think I am resigning. “ She finally said. Her tears had long dried out and her lips were pressed. “ Sorry for all this… “ She apologized to Jinyoung who decided he would make sure she was alright. 

“ You went through a lot, didn’t you? “ His gaze was serious and not one inviting to talk but she knew better. He was still mad. “ You deserve much better, you hear me? “

“ Thank you, I really needed the courage. “ She smiled a bit and looked at him with her puffy eyes. “ I’ll really remember this day. “

“ I had some presents for you… “ First he took out of his bag an album signed by the members and soon some books he had read. “ Those are my favourites books. Take care of them. I hope you like reading. “

“ Yes, I… I don’t know what to say, I’m so thankful… “ Once again she started to cry but this time out of relief. “ I don’t deserve all this… “

“ You do, really, this and more. “ He got close to her and hugged her tightly. He thanked god for the cameras being off. “ I’m sure you’ll get a better job, you deserve it. “ He gave her a sweet kiss on the forehead before smiling once again. “ The fact that you are still here shows how well you’ve been doing. “

“ I...um… " She blushed and touched her forehead for a while before smiling like a love struck fool. " Thank...thank you."

" We could get a coffee if you want, to help you calm down. "

She smiled a little and chuckled nervously.

" I… I really would love that. "

" In exchange don't you dare to get another job like that one. " She looked at him once again and heard him mumble something. " What a bunch of... "

She chuckled at the man and looked at him like he was the only one in the world. She would really remember that day.

End.

[meyeselph]

Gwenpool: Desperate Misanthrope's Confused Angst

Showtime

Ms. Pool woke up in a familiar room. Not in Krakoa - there are no mutants around. This isn’t a story about that. Look, honestly, without an actual Gwenpool series and the constant breaks in her comics appearance I can’t even begin to give a fuck. I cancelled my marvel universe subbie. I might get back to my stories but single issues are iffy. I read fast and don’t pore over the artwork. So I get 10 minutes of entertainment for….FIVE DOLLARS? When did this happen? Jeezus.

Who even reads comics anymore?

Anyway, long story short, Gwen got out of bed and recognized the room as her old one from the “old times.” The dark times. The ‘not running around in pink and white outfits and shooting people’ times. She panicked (Been there. It is what it is though). The only way out of trauma is through.

She dressed in old clothes, immediately hit by old smells, she couldn’t help but cry. Was it all a dream? Have I gone insane (again)? All the usual self doubts cropped up. I mean, really, if you think this kind of thing didn’t pass through her mind regularly why don’t you transport yourself to a comic book universe?

Oh, you can’t?

Oh. It isn’t actually possible for you and I’m stupid for suggesting it. So, yeah. If it actually happened and you kept that attitude then the logical assumption for a normie is a mental breakdown. Trick for Gwen, though, is it's probably always been both real and her being nuts.

So she goes downstairs to the kitchen to figure out why this is happening and Evil Gwen is having cereal. Let's say cocoa puffs. I’ve been thinking about those recently. You ever remember cereal as something worth cherishing. Not as just bullshit that TV convinced you to want? God damn, now I want Cookie Crisp. Cookie Crisp wasn’t even ever that good. Why do I want Cookie Crisp?

So also sitting around the table were the faceless versions of her father, mother, and her brother. Just chilling. No BD. Seen Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind?

Yes, I know that references aren’t jokes - fuck you, I’m painting a picture and I CAN’T PAINT, THAT’S WHY THIS ISN’T A COMIC. Fucks sake. Anyway. So, Gwen is so creeped out that she just sits her butt down by Evil Gwen as if she’s the comforting presence here.

Her name’s too long. Let’s call Evil Gwen uh…….Gren. You know, like Grendel from Beowulf. I haven’t actually read Beowulf and this is all a little confusing but I'm solving problems here. Writing this is harder for me than you would think so it’s best to keep things flowing off the cuff. That’s the Gwenpool™ style anyway, isn’t it? Are you laughing yet? IMPROV. “YES AND” MY SHIT, READER!

“So, you ever really look into the retconned past thing, hun?” Gren said, moving her tongue around her food. Being gross as an attempt to be properly evil. She swallowed before continuing. “This is all I could really put together on short notice but i’m pretty sure what the future people created, all that stuff to try and trick you, it was all bullshit.”

“What do you mean? Are you trying to convince me to go all psycho like you again?” Gwen asked, exasperated, realizing she was now back in the whole ‘fuck with Gwen to decide her fate’ song and dance routine from the end of her first arc.

“Nah, not really.” Gren said. A hammer appeared in her hands out of nowhere and Gren swung it into their fake father’s head, snapping his neck..

“DAD!” Gwen instinctively cried as she saw her father’s body slump to the floor. Gren slapped Gwen’s face. “That’s it,” Gren said, “this is what the trick was.This is a poorly created character in a fictional story. Meant to manipulate you into attaching your concept of “father” to it. Even his finished version in the original comics run wasn’t THAT well drawn. Your dad read like a boomer’s idea of a responsible parent. You were going through a mental crisis and struggling to find purpose in life and his genius idea was get a shitty low paying job and suck it up?”

Gren turned to their brother, pushed his face to the table and smashed the back of his skull. . “Brother dearest, too. Going right along with their victim blaming. He gaslighted you as if what you were going through was just you being ‘irresponsible.’ Bitch, people working a minimum wage job aren’t somehow not impoverished and miserable because they get some of that ‘honest work’ that folks keep badgering on about. Minimum wage work is occupied by many physically and mentally disabled people held hostage; they’re people society only pretends to care about. Then they turn it all into you acting like some world ending threat. No questions about what drove you to the edge in the first place. You are just ‘unstable,’ so you’re just a problem to be solved. They say, ‘Let’s all solve this girl being upset and on edge by ruining her concept of self, reality, and memory.’ Brilliant!”

Gwen barely processed this in horror. Gren then slit the poor facsimile of their mother’s throat while continuing to rant, “You see people die all the time, Gwen. Half of the time you are doing the killing. You do it because it’s in a story. In a story the NPCs don’t matter and, after all, your original schtick in the story was to be kill-crazy. The non-marketable characters can be replaced or retconned at the stroke of the artist’s pen.” Gren leans forward as she pulls a Gwenpool mask over Gwens face. “Then the writers convince you that you have some middle class milk toast family and you take abuse and subsume your emotional needs because the problem MUST be you. You aren’t ‘normal’ so you have to be fixed.”

Gwen wiped her eyes over the mask and sighed. A bit of fire filled her gut as she stared at Gren. “So fucking what? You want me to go on a killing spree and be a big time villain to get myself a nice, shiny permanent big bad status? That’s how I stay around right? Just build my legacy on bodies?”

Gren scoffed “You already lost that fight, girly. Where do you think we are? Because this ain’t Marvel Comics.”

Confused, Gwen blinked and tried reaching for the page margins, finding nothing. Wait….why was everything on this page so ill defined and undetailed? Wait? Why was the story in kinda wobbly third person past tense?

Gwen sighed “Oh. I’m in a fanfic. I guess the publishing fight is for another day eh?”

“My advice, personally,” Gren stated, “is that you consider the lobster.”

“Wait, what the fuck?”

Gren pulled aside the kitchen curtains revealing the face of a giant lobster, its claws tapping on the glass. The lobster muttering gutterally about personal responsibility.

“Because there’s a couple thousand giant lobsters outside that would like to claw you until you read their book.”

--

Scared of Girls

On the rooftop, Gren shoved a high powered rifle into Gwen’s hands while she handled the close range threats. So, this conversation they’re about to have is important. Sniping puts Gwen into a sort of zen space, so that’s a better task to keep her focused, after all.

“So, what? You wanted me to internalize that my “origin story” is bullshit? Okay, what does that accomplish, then?” Gwen asked in a bit of a deadpan. She was so tired today. Not really feeling her happy go lucky energy. More like a “happy go fucky” energy. It was hard to always be on a knife's edge. Still the rifle’s kick into her shoulder was satisfying as she blew through two of the creepy looking lobsters at once. “Also, why the lobsters?”

Gren considered this. “Okay, last question first, I had to experiment a lot and do a lot of research to construct this place for your learning and healing in fanfic form....These buddies are a failed experiment of mine that I repurposed because the fic needed more action. Isn’t that right, giant enemy crap?” As she peppers the nearest goon with a hail of shotgun pellets the entire throng of them burst out, sharply muttering about divine symbols.

“As for what I'm trying to teach you, it’s that you aren’t reaching your potential.” Gren grumpily huffed.

“Duh,” Gwen reloads, “I mean you just killed a mannequin version of the voice in my head that says that to me every day.” one of those crustaceans talks about feminine symbolism while she decides on her next target.

“Not like fake daddy’s ‘Be a responsible member of society by paying your taxes’ type of potential. I mean your creative and emotional potential.” Gren flipped off the slavering throng of monsters, noticing they were starting to keep their distance from the roof.

“I never did finish that fanfic idea I had.” Gwen mused.

“God, don’t mention that,” Gren thrusts a finger at Gwenpool. “Not that I don’t respect fanfic, but when comic book writers make you and Kamala squee about fanfiction to try and relate to “the kids” it comes across as so condescending.”

“Really? I mean…..I'm sure it’s meant as support for the concept?”

“Most fucking superhero comics are just legalized fanfiction! The people who created the characters are either long gone or working on someone else’s characters! They just think they are so much better because they got fucking paid. They can’t imagine themselves as on the same playing field as fanficcers even though most of them have the same level of connection to the roots of the work as anyone else.” Gren groused loudly as she seemed to pull Reed Richards out of nowhere.

Confused, Reed looked around until his eyes met Gwen’s.“Oh great, you again.” Reed groaned as he turned to survey the piles of lobster gibs while Gwen cheered the lobster forces’ retreat with a resounding “EDF, EDF!”. The scattered creatures skittered amongst the bland scenery. It looked like a suburban neighborhood but someone forgot to color in the sky….or write that the sky had color. A castle hung out in the distance breaking up the generic normalcy and lay cloaked in shadow despite being surrounded by an endless white void.

“And…..black….you?” Reed pointed to Gren, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I have an evil future self….well I stopped that future so it’s an….evil...alternate timeline self?” Gwen said with a nervous chuckle, abandoning the kill quest for the minute and rested her rifle on the roof.

“Ah. Yeah I’ve been down that road. It’s a rather common occurrence. Multiverse being what it is.” Reed laughed heartily while putting his hands on his hips.

“I’m not sure I’m evil, honestly,” Gren interjected. “I think I’m just really fucking grumpy and I’m slightly more gung-ho on the homicide. Considering Gwen’s already one of the more kill crazy characters on the roster it’s not that much of a distinction.” Gren flipped her cape. “My main distinction is I don’t like that meme from The Incredibles! You can just make it so the cape detaches automatically when it’s pulled hard enough!”

“You could still have it tangled up around your face.” Reed pointed out in his standard know-it-all fashion.

“Don’t make me go into fuck wife mode, stretch.” Gren spat. “Okay, anyway, so I brought him here to illustrate a point. Reed. Explain particle physics to me as a laymen.”

“Huh...i’m not sure why but okay. Particle physics (also known as high energy physics) is a branch of physics that studies the nature of the particles that constitute matter and radiation. Although the word particle can refer to various types of very small objects (e.g. protons, gas particles, or even household dust), particle physics usually investigates the irreducibly smallest detectable particles and the fundamental interactions necessary to explain their behaviour. In current understanding, these elementary particles are excitations of the quantum fields that also govern their interactions. The currently dominant theory explaining these fundamental particles and fields, along with their dynamics, is called the Standard Model. Thus, modern particle physics generally investigates the Standard Model and its various possible extensions, e.g. to the newest "known" particle, the Higgs boson, or even to the oldest known force field, gravity.” Reed rattled this off rather mechanically.

Gren then took out her phone and showed Gwen the Wikipedia article on “Particle Physics,” which is naturally the same words that Reed had regurgitated above, just without any formatting and, again, on a phone.

“Reed can’t be a genius in any subject unless he’s written by a genius in that subject. That’s how stories work. Everyone is limited by the understanding and capabilities of the writer. Same with your origin story and all the people you’ve interacted with. If you are as ‘meta’ as you think you are then you have to realize that you aren’t actually talking to people. You are talking to the writer. Dr. Strange didn’t rewrite your existence to be a part of the Marvel Universe. As far as most of Marvel continuity goes Dr. Strange was never there and doesn’t know or care about his MCU casting…..Hey Reed, buzz off please before the conversation pivots to why you haven’t cured all known diseases.”

Reed looked a little surprised but then pulled out a teleportation device (of course he has one) and blipped away with a shrug.

“How awkward is that going to be when he enters the MCU after Kamala is already introduced with a very similar power set?” Gwen chuckled.

“Keep up the way you’ve been going and you’ll never see it. I’m not exactly expecting a young blonde girl casting call for Deadpool 3 and that’s your best bet.” Gren snarked. Gwen winced with a sigh.

“I don’t get what I'm doing wrong. I have a fanbase comparable to some of the characters that have already shown up but I can’t even get comics written about me most of the time. An MCU push seems unlikely. They would literally have to deal with completely recontextualizing my powers and gimmick”

“Let’s ask her what you should do.” Gren motioned her way to the suddenly appearing long hair future Gwen, looming over them like The Attack of the 50 foot Woman for some reason. Dwarfing the roof they are on. Let’s call her BIGwen!

--

Gold Guns Girls

As BIGwen acclimated to her surroundings she stubbed her toe on a car, dramatically flipping it so that it took out a few more lobsters before caving in a nearby house. The lamentations about clean rooms soaring as the remaining couple dozen of them attempt to clean up some of the bodies of their fallen kin. The large and sort-of-in-charge Gwen hissed in pain and adjusted her boot. Getting her balance as best as possible she muttered curses that traveled rather well considering the lung capacity of a giant.

“You know,” Gren started, “I wasn’t expecting much from our previous uses of the ‘make her big for emphasis’ trick, but it really does only work as a vague ghostly background element. I didn’t just want it to be ‘oh, here's a third Gwen for the conversation, though. Would lack umph.”

“ Yeah, I get it, but staring at my own giant taint is unsettling.” Gwen muttered.

“I’d still, hit it.” Gren grinned, then immediately got punched in the arm. “OWWW! Look, I’m the evil one here and we’re in a fanfic. I’m allowed to make internet fetish jokes.”

“And I’m allowed to hit you for it.”.

“Dirty lampshading goody two shoes. Don’t act like half your fanbase isn’t thirsty. It’s “insert current year argument”, all art is sexy to someone.” Gren complained back,rubbing her arm before hopping off the roof. Gwen followed while listening as patiently as she could considering how many changes in topic her evil-caped self is going through to get to her point. “This chick is the reason you’ve been on the path of good girl. Some vague idea that in the future everything will work out for the best. HEY, DOWN HERE, BIG SHOW!” Gren waved at BIGwen and she looked down curiously.

“Yeah what??” BIGwen responded in a booming and agitated tone. Honestly, being in this fic made every version of Gwen a little grumpy.

“How’s she supposed to be a popular hero that makes it into the MCU and has a stable publication history?” Gren asked.

“Fuck if I know.” Came BIGwen’s response. “Have you tried growing your hair out?”

“Rub it in,” Gwen muttered under her breath, “I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of depressed now.” Gwen said as she sat on an abandoned car.

Gren hopped on the roof of the car, patting Gwen’s shoulder before squatting with enough force to flex the car’s shocks like a rocking chair just to amuse herself. “Future “good” Gwen wasn’t an actual plot point, it was a call to action to the fans to make fanfic like this and support the character outside of the actual Canon. Chris didn’t trust that Marvel would treat the character right. That, and your obsession with getting a new book, are both the writer’s attempt to turn a marketing tactic into fan engagement. If you want to be real then that makes the fans want you to be real even more, too.”

Gwen sighs heavily and leans her chin on one hand. “I mean...the time traveling through the life of an NPC fan complete with a Never Ending Story reference was a bit sappy even by the standard we sometimes set...damn it it really was just kind of a fan manipulation trick wasn’t it?”

BIGwen Sat down on the street next to them and crossed her legs. “Hey, little me. Don’t get too down. I mean it worked for the most part. You have a healthy cult following. Characters have survived on less and there are worse things to be known for then as a fan first character”

“But I have to fight for attention all the damn time, though. It’s so easy for Wade with his fucking meme bullshit. He even gets runoff enthusiasm from me. Jeff the land shark is all over Oldpool online” Gwen felt rather heavy and tired all of a sudden. Marvel editorial forcing a gun to your head is not a fun way to be.

“All that fight is hell on the fanbase too.” Gren sighed. “Advocating for shit, getting crumbs and being expected to accept it while Disney lavishes all the attention based on some bullshit numbers game. Even if you make it into the MCU will it be a Batroc style cameo with obligatory ‘killed off in case we don’t feel like paying the actor again later.’ Will it be an emotionally rounded character or an ambush bug style joke? The thing is. You're Not the one fighting and you never were.”

“The fuck do you mean?”

“This version of her doesn’t know?” BIGwen whimpered.

“You aren’t real, Gwen.”

--

Head Like a Haunted House

“No….we aren’t having this conversation. Fuck you fuck you i’m not a fucking Nihlist and i’m not going to do this right now.” Gwen said as she scrambled off of the car and pulled out some guns. BIGwen then picked her up off the ground.

“You need to hear this, Gwen,” BIGwen boomed. “The gimmick has run its course. It’s fucking with your canon. You’re never going to be a marketable character keeping up a half fourth-wall Kayfabe”

Gren climbed onto BIGwen’s Shoulders and perched over Gwen all menacing like. “You need to listen. I’ve been trying to ease you into this. Making things more meta slowly until you were ready but it was never going to be easy.”

One of Gwen’s guns was fired from it’s holster and pierced one of BIGwen’s fingers. BIGwen screamed and her grip loosened. Soon Gwen was on the move running up her arm and firing at Gren, who dodged like the nimble and cute badass she is. “Don’t do this Gwen. Just because it doesn’t matter to the comic version of you doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m a real person god damn it! I read the comics out there! I came in! That’s why I know shit I shouldn't know. That’s what I am! THAT’S ALL I AM!” Gwen shrieked as she pulled out a sword from hammer-space and decapitated BIGwen. Suddenly a mess of colored streamers and a pile of Mickey Mouse merch tumbled out. Look, I am busy right now. Gwen is still slashing at my ass. I'm not going to explain it.

For some reason now the remaining lobsters were helping Gren. For Gwen’s own good you understand. This is proof that I’m right for some reason.

Gwen pulled out a revolver, firing pumpkin sized holes in lobsters who were still wailing about self actualization. She fully planned on shoving a sword up her evil self’s ass and getting rid of this doppelganger shit for good. Which is total bullshit by the way. She totally just cut off Gren’s leg because what the fuck you mean I’m not real? I’m going to be real all over your corpse.

Gren didn’t really think that was even a good comeback and also thought you should probably say it instead of meta willing the smack talk into existence, otherwise this fanfic is going to read like trash. Also, Gren’s leg wasn’t actually cut off. In a puff of smoke it is revealed that the cut off leg is a log and her leg is fine. Gren is a ninja now, believe it.

Gwen proceeded to do a sick ass CQC judo throw on Gren and then grab her cape and wrap it around her face like Reed suggested. Callbacks for the win! Callbacks to Checkov’s gun ideas always lead to victory in fights! She then totally shot at her and such.

But the bullet was caught by the cape because the cape was a symbiote! That’s right Gren is also GRENOM!...boy that sounds stupid. Anywho, the cape was no longer around her face and the fight continued and Gren now ALSO had extra powers and special wizard-symbiote armor (that would only show up in the MCU version if Marvel finally got the Sony characters back). The meta powers work like shit in text but this would be really good in CGI or animation if Marvel wanted to adapt this fic and give the writer lots of money. Gren still has more experience with them, though, and Gwen can’t really just kill her way out of this fic so she has to just let the story play out.

…...eh?....oh Gwen’s crying. I love/am you girl but we gotta work on the crying. Fucks sake this is harder than I thought. I’m depressed now too. Well I'll try to get the writing back on track so you guys can see what is going on. Even the lobsters are minding their manners now. Chill vibes, guys.

“The marvel character page for Gwenpool says, and I quote:

Gwenpool arrived in the Marvel Universe from the “real world,” but has wasted no time in making the most of her time in her fictional universe. Using her knowledge of comics to her advantage, Gwenpool causes and solves problems for her fellow heroes.”

Gren drags a lobster corpse slowly toward Gwen and sits on its tail as she talks to her. Taking her time to really scrape the lobster against the ground, smearing the gore on the pavement. Not that it was heavy for her or anything. Totally still has that symbiote, which would make moving it easy. Totally wasn’t a detail added in the second revision of the fic slightly before the lobsters were added.

“The words “Real world” are in quotation marks in that wiki. Real people don’t make it into comics because fiction isn’t real. Half of your versions barely make use of the ‘real person’ gimmick because it’s too meta by half and not every writer wants to waste time justifying it. So they just treat it like Deadpool’s medium awareness. Which it mostly is.”

“I really am just a fucking rip off distaff character.” Gwen moans. “Just a Gwen combined with a Pool. I’m worse than the Batman who laughs. I never mattered because I was never real”

“Fuck don’t say that. You were made with love and care by a team of creators who took a weird offshoot idea and built out a compelling metafiction idea and a likeable protagonist off of it. They just didn’t have the time and foresight to go far enough.” Gren sighed.

“Far enough?” Gwen sniffed as she was pulled up to her feet and dragged toward one of the big castles. As they walked Gren kicked along a Mickey Mouse doll that had rolled out of BIGwen’s severed head. Every time it bounced it cheerfully said ‘hahah. I love you!’

“Too much haha, not enough trauma. You’re not just a joke character.” Gren said as she kicked the Mickey doll into the big front door of the castle. The shadowy thing of course lighting up and being all fantasy and shit as the door opened.

“Well I did end both of my comic runs pretty mopey.”

“Damn right you did. When the jokes run thin they run to your real bread and butter. You’re an empathy machine.” As Gren shoves Gwen through the gate they are swallowed up in the castle, going dark again. “Let’s getcha sad clown on.”

--

Never there

“See, what evil me should have been telling you about in the original run is how to find meaning and purpose when technically nothing means anything. Comic book characters live in a world without real death and suffering. It’s all a puppet show version of real pain and real emotion meant to bring that out of an audience.” Gren opined as they walked through a black void to a couch floating in a nothing area lit only by the static of an old TV.

“Can we turn on a light?” Gwen asked as she sat on the couch. Gren sat on another recliner that suddenly appeared and put her feet up.

“Fuck off. Ambiance is a thing. We aren’t having a ‘lights on with something fun on the TV’ conversation. So look, I am not really ‘evil gwen.’ I’m half an author insert and half a plot device. If we are talking about the reality of the story you are basically talking to yourself. I am speaking about the things you don’t want to admit to yourself. You know, you’ve seen this kind of story sorta... right?” Gren picked up the remote and frustratedly changed channels between a bunch of vaguely illustrative footage on the TV, not finding anything that worked. A lot of black and white footage of trains for some reason. Just what comes to mind when I think of documentary footage? Weird.

“I am not sure how to illustrate this shit visually and this is a text story anyway so I would have to explain the illustration,” Gren griped.

“I basically get it. It’s not that uncommon a trope.” Gwen nodded.

“Because of the level of meta we are on right now we have to really acknowledge that you are basically an author insert, too. I mean, to a certain extent every version of you is more the writer that is working with your character at the time than a set character.” Gren said as she settled on a visual of Gwen being pushed out the window by her own narration text in the original comic run. When all else fails, resort to footage from the last story. That way people can look it up online!

“Right here is where the character crystallized in the mind of the author of the current fic we are in. A vague suicide metaphor wrapped up in the flavor of self destructive escapism. Your parents in the story thought it was a suicide attempt on at least some level. This is serious business. Not just a girl who doesn’t like work and can’t finish her fanfic. In this comic you are built on this understanding. The writer of this fic has ADHD and autism. So his version of you more or less has it, too. Writers bring themselves with them into their work.”

Gwen nods and takes a deep breath. “I….I can feel it. Like the world is closing around you. You aren’t built for anything that anyone wants from you. The one thing you really believe in, the one thing that really defines you, the stories in your head…..it’s just not enough.

You can’t trust you’ll ever make it with writing because you can barely write. You barely have the energy to do anything but wish that you weren’t you. What if someone actually listened? Actually believed in you and whisked you away somewhere else where the world would fit your needs? What if you were someplace you could be someone else, someone strong and confident?”

“Yeah. Like a funny anti hero in a comic for instance.” Gren nodded. “But the original comics sort of left the theme on the table. They were captured by the misconception of Gwen as the problem and not a person who needed help. All that desperation that real fans of the character might feel just bundled up into love for this character that really ‘gets’ them but Marvel doesn’t ‘get’ the character. They won't use her. They won’t go past vaguely gesturing at her mental issues and moving on. They saved the angst for Wandavision.” Gren scoffs.

“I mean the show was okay but they literally have a character built entirely on the theme of escapism and trauma. One that’s custom built for mind-screw visuals and reality bending plots and they think she’s just a lazy fangirl who really likes guns that they can sit beside Deadpool sometimes and stick in the X-Men’s bloated background character roster when they don’t need her.”

Gren leads Gwen off the couch and deeper into the void where a door to a bedroom waits. A room like her own, absolutely slopping over with old toys of comic book characters. An unclean messy space in a run-down house that smells faintly of cigarette smoke. Huddled in bed, reading an 80s era X-men comic with a flashlight, is a 12 year old Gwen.

“This is never going to be canon but this is the version of Gwen in this fic. She can’t stop crying at school. Things that shouldn’t be hard are so hard and she can’t explain why. Everyone says she’s making excuses. Meanwhile her mother is fucked out of her mind on pain killers and her step father killed himself last year ‘cleaning his gun’ while drunk. You know exactly what is on her mind right now?” Gren says as she gestures at the girl.

“I wish the superheroes would save me from this.”

“They won’t. They can’t. They were never meant to.” Gren Slams the door loudly on the scene.

“That is the emotional core of Gwenpool in this fic. The desperation that so many of the fans down here in the fucking muck of the real world feel. Poor and emotionally unfulfilled. Confused and vulnerable. If Disney and Marvel gave two fucking shits about people like that they wouldn’t waste as many stories as they do. They wouldn’t just use untold wealth to make expensive escapist stories with the military. Their gestures toward progressive ideas that they occasionally make in their stories would be THE ENTIRE POINT of their stories and the actual thing they used that money for instead of lobbying the government to keep Mickey Mouse out of the public domain.

“Disney has the power yet they save a fucking miniscule fraction of who they could. Saving people doesn’t make money.”

--

When I Get To The Green Building

Gren stormed through the void. The scene disintegrated around her as Gwen followed. Both now in a bit of a sour mood but with newfound determination.

“Come to think of it. Why is the fucking Hulk getting to fight for social justice in the comics? Why are they making a gay alternate universe Captain America? Why are they grasping at straws so hard to find characters that get to advocate and I am just sitting on a fucking island being grumpy?” Gwen groused. “I’m pretty sure I’m pansexual….at least in this fic. I could advocate for a bunch of shit at once.”

“You have a youth fanbase, a unique story and you technically aren’t an alternate universe version of fucking anything no matter how many people still think you are a Stacey. They made a fucking ‘for the fans’ character and then neglected it. Presumably because some fucking money making metric didn’t pan out despite the comics just being an MCU test kitchen and IP farm anyway.”

“You’re a fucking check mark on a ledger. I don’t even know if anyone technically created Gwenpool as a whole and Disney/Marvel can give the character to whoever they want to do whatever they want completely separate from what the fanbase wants and needs because she isn’t established. The IP landlords have spoken. The fans haven’t risen to enough ‘buy my merch’ calls to action to invest more resources. So tease endlessly until that changes.”

“Gah. Now I'm actually as pissed as you are.” Gwen said as she started fiddling with her guns. “Who do I kill?”

“We can’t do shit. You’re not even a character at this point. You are a meme for an underused character.” Gren smirked all evil like. “See but that’s it. You aren’t just a meme. You’re a MEME.”

“Uhm...I don't follow.”

“Like the concept of Justice. Gwenpool is an idea. Defined entirely by how people who engage with the idea choose to engage with it. The IP law means Disney owns Gwenpool but they don’t own how Gwenpool is perceived. Just like we as a people decide what justice is through popular consent we also decide what Gwenpool is. You see they made a character for the fans…..in my opinion that means the fans can do as they like with it even if it makes Disney uncomfortable.”

“I mean they can’t even stop porn of their characters just because of the sheer volume of the problem. I suppose people could do whatever.” Gwen nodded.

“Exactly. So the fans should just fucking Occupy Gwenpool!” Gren said as she flipped her cape dramatically with a mad smile on her face. That’s right. She was Dirtbag Leftist Gwen all along!

“Squat on that IP. Make Gwenpool a mental health advocate. Make her an LGBTQ activist. Make her fight for social and financial justice so hard that Bruce Banner looks like a poser. Make her talk shit about politicians who put their career ahead of the people. Do all the shit that makes the comicsgate crowd sad. Keep politics in our stories! Rally around that pink and white ass so hard they have to notice and then tie it all to the fact that Disney has great power and with great power they take no responsibility for how shitty the world is.”

“ If they are going to fuck Gwenpool fans they gotta learn Gwenpool fans fuck back. We have already proven we can make all kinds of cool shit. Let’s get serious and make more, harder, faster! Get a hashtag or some shit. They can't DMCA all of us! GWEN IS OURS WE JUST HAVE TO REACH OUT AND TAKE IT. Then they either respect the character and her fans or they just hit a PR disaster.”

“Marvel/Disney neglects fan focused cult character themed protest movements. Proves they are only progressive when it makes them money. They’re so worried about Mickey ending up in the public domain? We’re the public domain! After our entire lives stannin their characters and buyin their merch building them from an animation house into a juggernaut they are just another weight on top of the boot on our necks. They have to take responsibility!” At this point Gren is pretty much ranting maniacally and neglecting the actual writing of the story so this is Gwen taking over to wrap up.

Guys I may not be ‘the real Gwen’ but really, isn’t the version of Gwen that actually came from the real world all of us? Isn’t Gwenpool really the Gwens we made along the way? We could easily bring a little heroism and chaos to the real world (at least to the internet) if we really tried. Put the fear of God into some IP landlords and fight for some cool people that society is screwing over, too.

Prove that even in the fandom abyss people aren’t as powerless as they seem. Use that internet comic fan mobbing for something besides giving Zack more money. Disney is gearing up for their next IP fight for Mickey in 2024. Seems like a fine time for IP themed protests. For now we just need to spread the word that our needs are more important than their profits.

It’s been real. It’s been long. It’s been a real long time coming…..

But I finally finished my fanfic.

See ya, true believers.