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stariikis · 4 days

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operation : be your boyfriend | yang jungwon

synopsis ; thousands of ways to say, 'i love you,' and jungwon can't even carry out one special procedure without messing up. that is, until your birthday rolls around and you're greeted by the kitten you've always dreamed of owning, at your doorstep...

pairing ; clumsy!jungwon x fem!reader | genre ; fluff, crushing, confessions | wc ; 2721 | warnings n notes ; you're not oblivious, you're just a little bit of a mastermind sociopath! appearances of sunoo riki heeseung and eunchae in this fic!

baby... i'm just tryna play it cool... but i just can't hide that... i want you ઇઉ

OPERATION 1 : SECRET ADMIRER

“Clearly, he’s not listening to us.”

“Yang Jungwon…”

“Yang Jungwon!”

Jolting back to the present, Jungwon coughs awkwardly and jerks his gaze away from the girl across the room. He didn’t realise he was staring at the mere back of her head the whole time… how embarrassing for him. Shifting his gaze back to his groupmates, staring at him with a bemused expression, he clears his throat.

“I’m on task,” he tries to say, but it comes out as a pathetic croak from the roof of his mouth. He has to clear his throat again.

“What a liar,” Riki scoffs, following Jungwon’s prior gaze all the way to the front of the classroom. Doubled over with laughter by the board, yn seems to have an aura of gold surrounding her figure. In between rays of sunlight and flecks of fairydust, the way she smiles lights up the whole room like she’s in a fantasy book.

Barely trying to conceal it, Sunoo stares towards her direction. Ironically, the words that leave his mouth as he does so are, “can you at least try to hide it? You’re too obvious.”

“I can’t believe she can’t tell yet,” Heeseung mutters.

For some reason, the whole table goes quiet. In the middle of the silence, Jungwon can only hear the clacking heels of their Maths teacher walking around and the soft rustle of papers, amiable chatter as groups begin to complete their assigned project. But a single voice stands out in the crowd.

Never mind. Jungwon only hears her now.

Isn’t it ridiculous? How he believed that his initial crush on her would be short-lived, nothing more than an impulsive attraction that would fade once he got to know her. When she walked up to him, however, saying nothing but a simple ‘thank you for sending me notes for yesterday’s class!’, he felt like his heart would race out of his chest. Unfortunately for him, she was too charismatic.

With a perfect all-kill streak of grades, she’s never gotten a grade below 90. Not a point out of place. It’s the kind of person Jungwon aspires to be, a much better version of himself. Yes, he gets straight As every term and yes he’s been the class president for three years on end, but it’s nothing compared to her level.

For the past two years, ever since she joined the class with an air exuding and radiating sheer confidence, Jungwon has been trying hard to beat her. Once would be enough for him. He’s been trying so hard to defeat her, however, that he’s forgotten to try to tame his feelings for her too.

About a week after he met her, the butterflies churning deep inside his stomach were already too much for him. In her locker, silver letters Jungwon begged Sunoo to help him calligraph donned the bottom of an indirect, vague love letter. From your secret admirer. He doesn’t even remember now what he wrote inside, but he does recall many descriptions of her pretty smile and easygoing personality.

It was only a day later he found out that he had accidentally dropped it in the locker next to hers. Lee Heeseung from the class beside them walked past, a basketball under one arm and the other hand holding the letter and reading it aloud to Riki, walking briskly beside him. In an instant, Riki looked straight at Jungwon across the hallway and facepalmed.

OPERATION 1 : SECRET ADMIRER : FAILED

wait a minute, what is this? my heart is going lub-dub, just keeps pounding

even from afar, oh, my, gosh! ; pulling me close, you're, my, crush, like a superpower

OPERATION 2 : INDIRECT CONFESSIONS

Daydreams. Flitting endlessly through your mind, like a paradox. It’s impossible to zone out during Biology. How dull you find the zoomed in aspects of all the systems in your body. Sure, you want to pursue something medical-related, but this class just isn’t it.

“Jungwon’s staring at you again,” whispers your seatmate, Eunchae. She uses her pen to gesture behind you. Two seats diagonal to you both, Jungwon notices your glances his way and pretends to look elsewhere. He’s resting on the palm of his hand, the paper he took out to take notes on completely blank.

“I can’t believe he’s the class president again,” you mutter with a tinge of bitterness.

Eunchae sighs. She’s clearly heard enough of your one-sided disliking towards the student leader, and it shows in the way she decides to disregard you. “You don’t have to hate him. He obviously doesn’t reciprocate the hard feelings.”

Of course he doesn’t.

You try to hide a triumphant smile. Of course Jungwon doesn’t harbor any hatred towards you. Rather, it’s quite evident in the way he always asks you to be the first player in his team during PE, asks you if you want to group up with him, makes excuses to brush past you in the hallway – he’s always wanted something more than friendship.

The one time you did agree to do a Korean Language project with him, however, when he came over to record the podcast you had written, all that got done was a bunch of giggles into the portable microphone. Jungwon, admitably, had a good sense of humor. And it, unfortunately, matched well with yours.

You’re making this more solemn than it needs to be, you think to yourself, biting back a small smile to yourself. Shouldn’t it be a good thing that you’ve got Jungwon wrapped around your finger?

Spinning your pen smartly, you sit up. Right. You’ve gotten out of many late homework submissions and responsibilities because Jungwon would literally cover for you with visible hearts in his eyes when he talks about you. You know you should feel guilty for exploiting him, but it’s just what a friend does, isn’t it?

Friend. Another memory fades in.

“Yahh, you’re so down bad you can’t even let her do her own work,” Sunoo mutters to Jungwon, quietly rearranging the papers. He thinks you’re out of earshot, but you can hear their conversation clearly from your desk.

Jungwon shrugs his shoulders in the corner of your eye, and you swear he glances over at you for a second. “She’s my friend. Are you trying to say you never copy my homework?”

Sunoo tsks loudly. “It’s different. She doesn’t need the help! You’ve seen her grades.”

They divert into a small argument about whose grades are better, but you’re not really listening anymore. Your heart is starting to race uncontrollably, and you look desperately down at your chest. You’re trembling from the fact that Jungwon called you his friend? How pathetic. You bite your lip, squeezing your eyes shut as if juicing your brains of unwanted thoughts.

But you can’t help but let out a short curse when your heart doesn’t slow down, your cheeks don’t cool off. Only Jungwon wants this. Not you too…

And so when Eunchae finally gets bored of Bio once again, she leans in and pokes you. “Anyway, you know Jungwon has the fattest crush on you.”

“Oh really?” you murmur, averting your eyes back to the liver diagram in front of you. Where you’re supposed to label, ‘oxygen-rich-blood’, you’ve scribbled ‘only jungwon’ in illegible handwriting. You pretend to act surprised, hiding the words with the palm of your hand. “He didn’t ask you to say that? Did he? As a prank?”

Eunchae rolls her eyes. “It’s not a prank.”

“So he asked you to say it.”

“...”

“I see.” You reach into your pencil case and pull out an eraser to wipe away the traces of your daydreams. It’s a good thing you do, because Eunchae suddenly looks over and teases you for falling asleep in lesson when you’re usually such a good student. If only she knew about the homework incidences. If only she knew about the thoughts that run through your head.

What he’s trying to do is kind of… cute.

OPERATION 2 : INDIRECT CONFESSIONS : FAILED

my heart feels like a giant magnet, everything about you sticks to my heart, boy

we're magnetized, i admit it. this time, i want!

OPERATION 3 : LET'S GET IT!

She’s got to be joking, right? There’s no way…

“Yeah, idiot, you’re invited to my birthday party. You got a problem with that?” (Name) scoffs at Jungwon, retracting the simplistic black and white invitation card in her hand. “Maybe you don’t deserve this?”

“No!” He says a little too fast, reaching out to snatch it from her playfully.

He reads it with a poorly hidden smile. Is he even trying at this point? He’s been on the verge of a proper confession for a while now. Why would he want to hide the fact that he really really really wants her to be his?

“15 May?” He sighs, feigning disappointment. “Too bad, I can’t make it.”

Wait for it…

“Really? That’s too bad,” she replies monotonously, walking away without a care. Not the reaction Jungwon was expecting. He releases a breath of air, only now realising that he’s been holding his breath. How boring of her.

“I was lying!” He calls, smoothing out his school uniform and running down the hallway after her. “I’m definitely coming!”

She clearly starts to laugh as she runs away from him, yelling, “come or not, it doesn’t matter to me!”

Jungwon doesn’t give up. With a hand running through his hair, he chases her down the halls. He would chase after her for eternity if he had to. Eventually, he catches up to her with a tap on the shoulder. WIth a mock-annoyed look, she slows down, shoving his shoulder.

“What’s your problem?” She huffs, “Can’t I get a break around here?”

Jungwon smiles. With just the right amount of delusion, maybe he can convince himself that whatever she’s spouting is just a white lie. Untruths to cover up the truth. She wants him back, he swears!

“You’ll never get a break,” he mumbles, suddenly going shy as he leans in closer. Just like I practiced with Riki. Just like I practiced…

“Annoyi–”

“From running through my mind all day.”

When Jungwon finally dares to open his eyes (yes, he was so scared he closed them), he’s shocked to see an empty spot next to him. When he looks up and down the hallway, (Name) sticks out her tongue at him, taunting him. The unbothered glimmer in her eyes reveals that she hasn’t heard a thing.

Once again, Jungwon leaves school with a pit of mild disappointment in his stomach. Not so upset that it hurts like hell, but the wound’s deep enough to leave a scratch.

OPERATION 03 : LET'S GET IT! : FAILED

completely opposite, our type ; you're J and i'm so P

S and N, polar opposites, but that's what pulls us in

INTERMISSION : BABY YOU'RE MY CRUSH

You hear it all.

What would Jungwon say when he finds out, that for a while now, you’ve been wrestling with your own complicated feelings, playing a game of tug of war inside your own heart? Nobody even knows you know. Nobody would even suspect you, of all people, to reciprocate Jungwon’s feelings. And, by this encounter, even Jungwon himself has no idea.

i'll make it have a green light, girl's gotta have guts. so, let's go let's go, let's go let's go!

don't wanna hide it, the magnet in my heart. gonna follow my feelings and get with you, boy

OPERATION 4 : CATCH SOME FELINES (FEELINGS)

What would Jungwon do for love? Just ask him this one question. He’ll probably lie and tell you he doesn’t know, and doesn’t fall for the traps set out by catching feelings, but it won’t explain why he’s outside (name)’s house on her birthday at 8 in the morning. He could very well have come at 9, an hour before the party starts, but he wants to have some time alone with her.

To present his gift to her, snugly bundled up in his arms. And to, uh, say some other stuff.

He looks down at the pearl-white fluffy being, purring contently in his arms. Just a while ago, he got his inspiration for a birthday gift for her. She may have casually brought it up in the midst of discussion for yet another group project, but miniscule things like that stick with Jungwon for ages.

“I want a cat…” she whines, when their group’s gotten sidetracked from their discussion topic. (what do you think the rate of pet ownership is like in Korea?) “they’re so cute. Oh, even better, a kitten!”

“Just get one then?” Eunchae rolls her eyes, and Riki hums in agreement.

“I would. Even my mum wants one. But it’s so much work to adopt one.”

So much work to adopt one? Jungwon scoffs in his mind. Now take a look at the lengths I’ve gone to for you. And I don’t even know if you like me back. Am I stupid or am I stupid?

“Yes, Jungwon? Can I know why you’ve summoned me so early in the morning?” Suddenly, the front door opens after many persistent tries to ring the doorbell. “I know you’re excited for my birthday… but this is just weird.”

She doesn’t notice the kitten squirming in his arms, still rubbing her eyes blearily. She looks so exhausted that Jungwon wants to apologise for awakening her and almost runs away to save himself from the awkwardness. But he stands his ground. This time, he will succeed.

The chronicles of Yang Jungwon’s confession story. It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

“Happy birthday.” He murmurs softly, daring to take a step closer and hold out his arms. At first, she squints down at the blur of fur in his hands, face smeared with confusion. It’s only when the furry ball lets out a small mew that she gasps and jerks her head back up. “I… I, uh…”

Seeing her so amazed, with tears gathering in her eyes from the euphoria, he loses track of his words. His mind goes blank. Not knowing whether to continue calmly, or panic and die on the spot, he struggles to speak and feels his cheeks quickly growing with warmth.

What if, just like we practiced doesn’t reassure him anymore, with the last time he used it as an affirmation turning out to be the greatest embarrassment of his life? Just like we practiced? He’s never practiced to be fluent and smooth. He’s always naturally been that way. He’s never had to fumble for the right words to say. Just like we practiced? When would he ever practice worst comes to worst with Riki? Come to think of it, he probably should have. He can’t handle standing here with such shame any longer.

“I’m sorry for being so annoying I just really really like you and I don’t know whether you’ll like this gift or not, but I can’t go another day thinking you probably don’t like me back you can just reject me that’ll be better than misleading myself forever and ever…”

He blurts in a small voice.

And then, he repeats himself, louder and more confident. Like he usually is. “I like you…”

“You must be blind, Yang Jungwon,” she says, laughing through the tears. A moment of silence passes as Jungwon tries to comprehend what he’s just heard. Blind? Why? She’s not going to say… “I like you, too?”

It’s a question. It makes his heart race, but it doesn’t seem like enough.

“You do?” He chokes, his voice failing him. Blood rushes to his ears. “You don’t.”

“Wait.” She clears her throat and claims, “I got nervous. I do. And it’s not the kitten, I know what you’re thinking…”

Taking a step back, she receives the kitten into her arms and coos while Jungwon tries to process everything. “Though I’m so surprised, and so grateful. This gift is the most thoughtful thing ever. No joke.”

She knows what I’m thinking…

Jungwon frowns and steps even closer. He’s so close and she’s so pretty, teary eyelashes gleaming in the morning sunlight. “So you’ve known what I’ve been thinking, huh?”

“I have.”

The hard, challenging tone that seeps into her voice is all too familiar to Jungwon. When she leads him into her house for the second time in his life, all he’s thinking is, what a way to reminisce the moment he fell in love with her.

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“Oh, but I do!”

A game of wits, you could call it, is what sixteen year old them are playing. Head to head in number of points, they’re competing for first place. Jungwon hides behind his whiteboard, eagerly awaiting her response. She’s never going to guess what he had in mind. She’ll never write the same exact thing, letter for letter—

“I know what you’re thinking.” She whispers mockingly, smirking as she reveals her answer while peeking over the top of his board. The answers match up. She’s won. “I know exactly what goes on in your head.”

OPERATION 4 : CATCH SOME FELINES (FEELINGS) : SUCCESS!

no push and pull, gonna run to you ; our chemistry yeah, i'm in too deep now no push and pull, no regrets, gonna zero in on you ; never holding back straight ahead, yeah

this time, i want!

more of my works >

#stariikis #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen jungwon #jungwon #yang jungwon #enhypen yang jungwon #jungwon x you #jungwon x yn #jungwon x reader #enhypen x yn #enhypen x you #enhypen x y/n #jungwon au #jungwon fluff #enhypen au #enhypen fic #jungwon fic #jungwon imagines

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stainlesssteellocust · 5 months

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Names in the Laundry Files books are interesting because a good chunk of them might just be made up. Total in-universe lies.

The protagonist for most of the series is explicitly using a fake name, supposedly for magical real-names-are-dangerous purposes, combined with a 'don't use your real name online' gag courtesy of the series' technomagical parody elements. He isn't actually called 'Bob Howard', that is in fact just a meme name cause he's a nerd and chose to name himself after the guy who wrote Conan the Barbarian and Kull the Conqueror. And that whole Bastard Operator thing too, but Conan's the main one.

But it's a fair bet that he does this to other people, too. Including the other leads.

If he believes there's a risk to using real names (nobody else seems to care except the elves, my draft fic compares it how he doesn't like using his name on social media either), he'd change the names of the people who come up in his stories too, right? And there's evidence - if I remember right, in one book he spends time in a police station where the guy on the desk is called Fred Colon.

Of course, doylistically, that's Stross homaging Discworld. But from a watsonian perspective, that could well be Bob homaging Discworld, because he's British and a meme loving fuck*. That cop wasn't really a Sargeant Colon, Bob just reread Feet of Clay recently. His spymaster is called 'Angleton', but James Angleton was a real guy and this bloke isn't him, he's not even...Well, spoilers. Again, cutesy fake homage-name to hide dangerous knowledge.

The other leads don't do this. Explicitly, they don't bother. And you'd think that was that, right?

Except all of the other protagonists are introduced in Bob novels. Where Bob is, presumably, giving them fake names.

Is his wife Mo O'Brien really called that? Her narration says she uses her real name when she gets a solo outing, but we met her in a Bob story where he could have just made something up to sanitise people's identities and her real name is like, Sandra or something. Maybe her book is just continuing that convention because swapping names six stories in is confusing. She never tells us Bob's real name, after all.

A mutual who I won't tag 'cause they've gone quiet for a while once picked up how there's at least four guys called Alex across the series. One becomes a protagonist who does in fact use his real name, but again, he first appeared in a Bob-narrated novel so the 'real name' he's mentioned as using in story could be totally different, and the novel is just keeping 'Alex' as...legacy code, sorta. Maybe there's multiple Alex's because it's just the first name Bob jumps to? Starts with an A, Alex, Bob, A B C...

Same goes for Mhari 'Bob's psycho ex cliche rehabilitated into an actual character through the wonders of unreliable narration' Murphy/Grey, who rounds out our core narration cast. Introduced by Bob. Again.

About the only ones I'm sure of are those who were introduced in non-Bob novels. Jim is presumably an actual Jim. Maybe that Anekka girl, because it was a combo-narration outing. Cassie is...well that's its own can of worms, she's not originally called Cassie but the girl she abducted, mind-merged with like a perfect lyctor and flung into a portal to be eaten by vampires probably was (oh Cassie you're so problematic lmao). The guys in the spinoffs I still haven't read. Etc.

Of course this is very much me thinking too hard about things, and it can be safely ignored as a snarl of the setting conceit. in my fics i ignore this; their names are their names. Similarly, I don't actually think that when the leads write their case reports in-universe they're producing novel-length and professionally edited stories with dramatic flow, or are putting in lurid descriptions of their exes sex lives to fill in the gaps, or going on pop-cultural tangents, or what have you. You can usually tell when they're 'actually' delivering a report or whatever because the style changes. None of this is real; the style and naming stuff is just a quirk of fictionalisation.

But it's fun to think about, sometimes.

*it could also be fuel for fanfic in that 'people like Fred, Nobby, Dibbler, Jackrum etc are archetypes who show up all over the world and multiverse' sort of way, of course. When he makes a joke about apes in the library, maybe that was just the Librarian taking a shortcut through L-Space...

#the laundry files #charles stross #discworld #adjacent at least #if laundry! colon was really called that does that mean the unicorns got nobby #i hope not #they might get a tummy ache #writing #writing meta

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midnightfangz · 7 months

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Hello and welcome everyone to my newest project called Pluto reviews where I gush about the amazing fanfics my dear friends wrote <3

I've always (kind of?) wanted to do this for a pretty long time, but was too shy to actually write and post something, so I wanted to thank my very cool friend Nova (aka @min1nova) for asking me to review their fic called To the bone.

Without further ado, let's get to it :3c

Contents:

Introduction ✦ Story summary ✦ My thoughts ✦ Excerpts ✦

‧₊˚✩彡 Introduction

⤷ To the bone is a dark industrial fantasy fanfic based on the Hades video game from 2018. What is dark industrial fantasy, you ask? Imagine Andrzej Sapkowski's Witcher without the high fantasy elements-- heavily inspired by industrial towns in eastern Europe. The main pairing is Thanaots/Zagreus, but there's a smidge of Charon/Hermes in the background, if you're into that too. It is rated as mature, mostly because of its serious and grim nature. It currently has over 4k words, but I'm sure that's gonna change soon, since Nova has a few more chapters planned.

⤷ TW for the first chapter (as described by Nova): blood, mediocre surgery description, Thanatos with the usual amount of stick up his ass(!)

✦•····················································•✦•····················································•✦

‧₊˚✩彡 Story summary

⤷ Author's summary:

A small town enshrouded in the march of industrial abuse of the land is the home of many curious figures. Darkness is afoot, sons harbour secret enterprises and death is only a comforting constant here. The gloomy barista of a quiet cafeteria begins to unravel a mystery as an uneventful night turns into a rather harried operation.

⤷ My summary:

The story focuses on a young man named Thanatos, who is trying to make a living as a coffee shop owner in a small mining town called Grobniki. One evening, a heavily wounded man passes out on the doorstep of his establishment and Thanatos decides to take him in and patch him up.

‧₊˚✩彡 My thoughts

⤷ I might be slightly biased since I got this was a very, very cool story gifted to me by Nova, however! Nova's writing style is so fucking good I simply must promote it whenever I can :3c

⤷ I absolutely love how Nova manages to nail the characterisation no matter the tone she sets for her story. Not only that, the characterisation makes sense within her story. Take Thanatos, for example. He's deadly serious (pun intended) and takes his job very seriously in the game, so it makes sense he would be the same in To the bone. Nova, however takes it to a next level-- we get Thanatos who's kinda scary and is absolutely terrible at social interactions, despite a coffee shop owner. Never would I have thought that Than would choose to talk to people as a job, but holy shit Nova pulls it off so well. And Zagreus-- my god Zagreus!! He's still the talkative, flighty himbo we see in the game, but you can feel he's hiding something behind that smug smile of his. Not gonna lie, when I first read his lines, I could hear his voice saying them.

⤷ Also the general vibe of the story is?? so good?? Nova's fics tend to gravitate towards grittier, more serious aesthetics and I'm all here for it.

‧₊˚✩彡 Excerpts

And lastly, here are my favourite parts from the first chapter, It begins in the darkness:

The doctor’s son had indeed ventured to open a business of his own. His greyish, darker skin would gleam in the lamplight and contrasted sharply with his ashy platinum hair, hands working deftly and his stride quick as he prepared the orders. Amongst those could be a strange liquid, dark as the night, imported from the imposing, large city so far beyond their reach. The bitter end, a name that caused many a chuckle, was not well visited in the evening, but more and more of the workforce would make their way to the shop in the morning, nursing a cup of the death that served them, even if the only deadly thing about it was the amounts of precious sugar deposited in each and every cup quickly drained before a long day of hard labour and shallow breaths.

⤷ hrrghrgrgh you have. no idea. how much I love Nova's worldbuilding and scene descriptions i mean are you seeing this??? I swear to god they're hogging all that talent it's not fair

“Dear bartender, I would like a small cup of your darkest, with two spoons of sugar please!” The postman all but draped himself over the counter every morning, quite dramatically so. It would be the same every morning, before he ran all the way to the larger town down the river to pick up the post, and in the afternoon he would distribute it among the townsfolk, in their little letterboxes.

⤷ HERMES IS MY FAVOURITE LITTLE FELLA AND NOVA WRITES HIM SO WELL

“–and then I nearly fell down the bridge, and I saw them all! The fish you were speaking of, I knew it was bad, but not nearly as I saw it, oh the stench!” The postman had seated himself across the fisherman–if one could call the draping that he always tended to do just that–and spoke animatedly. A strange companionship the two nursed over drinks, but Thanatos found himself just a tiny bit envious between the laughter that bounced off the floorboards and the easy way in which they seemed to understand each other, even if they didn’t quite speak each other’s language.

⤷ woe! background charon/hermes be upon ye! (foaming at the mouth they make me so ill in the best way possible)

Thanatos would like to claim that he was not so different from these townsfolk, but that was not entirely true. It took him some time, when he’d been younger, to learn to discern. The vacant eyes were not so different from the vacancy that could dwell in the mind sometimes, after all. Pale skin could glitter so sickly, when one happened to be a patient of his loving mother.

⤷ i need to print this out and shove it in my mouth this is so fucking good oh my god

After thorough inspection, Thanatos did not find any more grave injuries that needed immediate attention, other than a clean rag over the numerous scrapes that mapped a concerning picture for the observer. The bruises that would certainly grow darker soon, the pale, sweaty skin stretched over a body that would fail the host soon if the wound wasn’t closed soon. When he checked for a pulse, despite the assurance that the body was still breathing, rapidly, there seemed to be next to none. He frowned.

⤷ another banger paragraph that makes me want to jump up and down while screaming like an ape because i can't handle how beautiful Nova's writing style is

Anyways, that's all I have for today!

What did you think? Would you like me to continue doing reviews like this? Or better, would you like me to read YOUR fic and do a review of it?

(youtuber voice) let me know what you think in the comments! Until next time!

Yours truly,

Pluto aka midnightfangz <3

#pluto.reviews #fanfic review #fanfiction #ao3 #writeblr #midnightfangz.txt #uhhhhh i have no idea how to tag this ? this should be enough right

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slashbitch2 · 3 years

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The Very Nosy Neighbour

this fic was 100% inspired by this one here , but I mean it practically wrote itself I couldn't resist

NSFW

You can't remember much past waking up in an unfamiliar room- though 'room' is really a sugarcoated description, as in reality it qualifies more as some kind of cavern. You're sitting in a chair, ankles and wrists bound by an indistinguishable material. Whatever the binds are made of feels strong, so any attempts to struggle against it are futile. Yet, in spite of what really should be an extremely stressful situation, you find yourself completely relaxed. You briefly wonder whether you've been drugged, but with every sense feeling fully operational, that theory is soon dismissed.

Instead of choosing a more logical response to the circumstances you've found yourself in, you decided to focus more on your surroundings: not to form any resemblance of an escape plan, but simply out of curiosity. Although, the investigation is equally as ineffective. You're unable to name anything around you except for stone walls, strange (glowing?) vines and weird symbols carved above a few archways. Everything beyond that is either entirely lost to you, or shrouded in darkness.

With little else to do, you start to think back on the events that led you there, trying to glean any useful information from the blurry memories. The clearest image, therefore the most recent, is the smirking face of a woman, Agnes you realise. Though the malicious glint in her eyes doesn't quite match your perception of the nosy neighbour. But where is she now? Is she also in danger? You may not have known Agnes for very long, but are reluctant to let any harm come to her regardless.

With a clearer head, you consider calling for help, but a small voice at the back of your subconscious warns you against this. And the voice sounds smart, so you elect to listen to it. But what should you do instead? Where did this voice come from? And most importantly, should you trust it? Luckily, you aren't given much time to overthink the decision.

While trying to tune into this voice, footsteps echo in the distance, gradually drawing nearer. You hold your breath as the sound suddenly stops, leaving your eyes scanning the vicinity for any movement. The unpleasant reality dawns on you all too quickly: the footsteps were approaching from behind you.

“Well, well, well.” Someone says playfully, then snorts as they start walking closer. "Sorry to be a total cliché. I couldn't resist." It's Agnes. She narrows her eyes and smirks, folding her arms as she examines your constrained form. Subjected to her scrutiny, you find yourself swallowing, but your throat is too dry. Other small discomforts also become noticeable; your cramped limbs, aching back and the bruises on your hands. Well at least you put up a fight. The more rational part of you, however, realises that your hands are no longer bound. You stare down at them, flexing each finger as if checking they were all still fully functional.

Something suddenly knocks into your head and you grimace. Left reeling from the impact, you realise that you're slightly nauseated. Though not enough to stop you from reaching out to grasp the floating cup of water. The fact that the glass is suspended in mid-air doesn't go unnoticed, rather ignored, since there's too much happening simultaneously to comprehend any of it in sufficient detail. You swirl the liquid round, hesitant to drink, unwilling to trust your captor's apparent mercy.

"Drink up, dear." Agnes drags a chair forward, which seems to have just appeared out of thin air. She sits backwards on it, legs spread and arms resting on the back casually. "That's all you're getting until we're done here." The tone of her voice is both threatening and teasing. You're reluctant to admit it's quite a turn on.

One glance up at her prying expression and you relent, downing the chilled water way too quickly. Though you aren't given a chance to mourn your impatience, as with an effortless wave of her hand, Agnes refills the glass. While you sip at the water, she refuses to tear her eyes away from you for even a second. It's slightly disconcerting.

“Now," She claps her hands, startling you. "I assume you know why you’re here?”

“Not really.” You confess, unable to pinpoint why anyone would go to so much effort to kidnap you, especially Agnes, who up to this point had been an eccentric yet kind neighbour.

She sighs, more for show than anything else, and rubs at her temple. "Come on Y/N, let's not play dumb now."

Embarrassingly, a heat begins to pool deep in your gut, but you quickly dismiss the unwarranted lust. "I don't know what you mean."

"Oh really?" She quirks an eyebrow, sitting upright. "You really have no idea?" The inquiry is ridiculing, and you can see that your naivety is starting to annoy her.

All you can do is shake your head and pray the sincerity is reflected in your eyes.

"Okay." She slams her hands down on her thighs. "I guess we'll have to go about this the hard way then, toots." A sharp gesture and your hands are bound before you once again.

By the time you're looking up, she's striding toward you with purpose, which does nothing to ease the building heat between your legs. Her hands clasp on the armrests either side, essentially trapping you, not like escape would've been possible without the extra precaution. Up close you finally recognize this isn't Agnes- in fact it never has been. There's a feral yet wise appearance to her, the facade of nosy neighbour dissolved in an instance to be replaced by a deranged, frighteningly powerful woman (or witch, you're undecided).

Despite your better judgement, you're unable to stop yourself from asking. "Who are you?" Your voice barely breaches a whisper, but she's standing close enough that nothing less intimate is required.

She looks mildly impressed, the corner of her mouth twitching almost indiscernibly. "Agatha Harkness." She extends a hand, smirking upon realisation that you're a little too tied up at the minute to reciprocate. "Lovely to meet you."

You swallow again, finding your throat to be a little less dry. "Likewise." Then decide to take another risk. "So what do you want from me?"

“Wanda's true identity.” She replies so quickly that you almost miss it, looking at you with an eagerly expectant expression.

Agatha's question confuses you further. “I don’t know what you mean.” Although your answer is honest, something at the back of your mind hisses lies.

"There's no need to lie here." Her patient humour had disappeared. "Trust me, no one will hear you, so drop the act."

For some unbeknown reason, her accusation angers you. "I'm not putting on an act, I don't know why I'm here or what you want from me." The bravery dissipates all of a sudden as you remember that you're not exactly in the position to command such authority. "Please, stop this."

Agatha purses her lips, stands up and turns away from you. She calmly moves forwards a few paces, and in the short amount of time you manage to convince yourself that she's given up. Until in a completely unprovoked move, she swings her hands to the left, sending her chair crashing into the wall in frustration. Whether this is part of her interrogation performance or not, it works. Your heart starts racing, and confusingly, the awkward heat between your legs pulses.

She runs a hand through her hair, still facing away from you. "Don't make this any harder harder than it needs to be." You can practically hear her grinding her teeth, but don't doubt that she was getting some enjoyment out of the situation.

"I can tell you that Wanda is my sister and only real family, that I moved to Westview with her and that I couldn't live without her." You start listing off some basic facts, desperate to prove to Agatha that nothing is hidden. That you're normal.

"What about your brother?" She swivels round, clicking her fingers as she tries to recall something. "Pietro!" She exclaims.

"Pietro..." You falter. Why does the name sound so familiar? The nausea worsens. You shake off the feeling. "Never heard of him."

“Liar.” In one swift movement, Agatha is right by your ear. The feeling of her lips brushing against your skin causes you to close your eyes. The close proximity was becoming overwhelming, and your body had chosen to react in a rather unfortunate way. Admittedly, you'd always had a thing for Agnes, but Agatha was on a whole other level. You dreaded to open your eyes, worried that she'd noticed your current state. Instead, you internally begged for mercy.

“Don't go all shy on me now.” She pushes your shoulder into the chair, compelling you to open your eyes. "If you don't want to talk, I have other methods." Her hand raises, a purple flow emanating from the tips of her fingers. It crackles and sparks, as if the power was barely contained, yet as she shifts closer to brush the hair out of your face, you don't flinch. One finger remained touching your forehead, then traced down to your jaw, and finally along to grasp your chin.

While the vaguely sinister movement terrified you, it also forced you hold your breath and grip onto the armrests for dear life. Why you'd decided this was hot was beyond you considering the many connotations of her words, yet your thighs pressed tighter together as she drew closer. You attempted to turn your head to the side, longing for distraction, but her hold on you kept your head still.

"This won't be much fun for you, dear." She sighed in mock pity, her breath hot against your skin... Which just tipped you over the edge. As hard as you tried to stifle the noise, a broken moan escaped your lips. You'd definitely hit a low point here. Too ashamed to face your apparent arousal, you screwed your eyes shut. Although, at Agatha's silence, you relented and opened them barely a minute later.

To your relief, or perhaps dismay, the woman was grinning like a maniac. Her eyes flickered down to your parted lips as she chewed on her own. Then carefully, as if she were testing the waters, her fingers began to rub against your jaw, and upwards to your mouth. Your breath deceives you by hitching as her thumb slips between your lips, stroking your tongue. At the contact, you can't help but arch into the touch. Agatha chuckles.

"I take it back." She murmurs, removing her hand. "This will be fun." Although the intimidation factor prevails, there's a certain desire mirrored in Agatha's expression which cancels out any remaining common sense. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, and even if you wanted to, there was little you could do to stop her. So, you give into your yearning, sighing as she climbs to sit on your lap. Immediately, her hand switches to gripping the back of your neck as she slams her mouth onto yours. You willingly indulge by opening further, allowing her tongue to slide between your lips. Her other hand lowers to grab at your chest, like she were trying to tug herself impossibly closer.

Without removing her lips, the hand massaging your chest shifts to your thigh. She still keeps her lips firmly pressed to yours, and with the lack of oxygen, you can feel yourself growing lightheaded. It almost feels like a challenge, one which you're determined to succeed at. Though when she eventually does break away, her hand suddenly slips between your thighs, and your breath is stolen from you once more. Wasting no time, she massages you through your clothes, dragging out an inevitable whine. The touch is both too much, and not enough. But judging by her malevolent smirk, that was exactly her intention.

Even though you were currently incapable of producing any reasonable thought, you still noticed that Agatha wasn't entirely unaffected. Her breathing was laboured, hips occasionally jerking against your thigh and eyes struggling to stay open. The influence you were having on her only encouraged you to moan louder, craving to see her equally dishevelled. Your plan seemed to momentarily fail as her hand retreated. But you'd certainly earned her attention.

She licks her lips, then abruptly changes her expression to look disturbingly like that of Agnes. "You wouldn't leave me out of the fun now, would you dear?" Her voice is high pitched as she basically sings her words. Although the question must've been rhetorical as doesn't await a response, instead you find your hands unbound, flung behind your back and bound together all in a matter of seconds. Then, she shifted her position, yanking your bodies closer so that your crotches were pressed together. She grunts, heaving forward to rest against you for a moment and regain her composure. And finally, without warning, starts to grind your hips together.

It doesn't take long for her movement to become more frantic, accompanied by her hair spilling onto her face. She remains impressively quiet, however, or perhaps you were just comparably loud. With the little pride you have left, you decide to take matters into your own hands, and start meeting each thrust with equal vigour. Miraculously, it works. She throws her head back with a remarkably loud moan, proceeded by change in strategy as she starts almost bouncing on top of you, hips losing their rhythm, pleasure overwhelming her. Startled by her lack of self-control, the heat in your stomach begins building exponentially fast. Your eyes slam shut.

A hand grasps onto your face. “Look at me!” She growls, then emphasises her demand by rolling her hips torturously slowly. The movement ceases. She leans her forehead against yours, staring directly into your eyes. “Come with me.” To your surprise, there's an audible plea in her voice.

At a loss for words, you nod. The pleasure had been building for so long that you knew it'd only take a few more grinds to push you over the edge. With your confirmation, Agatha resumes her thrusting, though soon succumbs, throwing her head back and uttering an exceptionally loud, high-pitched moan. She arches her back, pressing herself so far into you that the pleasure peaks. You groan, lurching backwards in a moment of pure bliss. All you can feel is Agatha, all you can think about is Agatha. Coming down from the high, you sigh and collapse forward to bury your face in the crook of her neck.

She tenses slightly at the contact, but soon relaxes into the strange embrace. You gently press your lips against her skin and feel her shiver, confirming your suspicion that it'd been a while since Agatha had received such affection. Motivated by a new, more innocent desire, you continue to pepper light kisses across her throat and behind her ear, simply enjoying the unexpectedly intimate moment.

Agatha finally breaks the silence, leaning away from your touch to look down at you curiously. "Wanda really has you under her mind control too, huh?"

Although still stuck in a post-coital haze, you muster enough brainpower to consider her words. "Mind control?"

"Oh, right." She smirks, a slight sadness perceptible in her eyes. "Forgot to mention." Before you can say anything, she swings one leg to the side, stiffly sliding off your lap and clasping her hands together. "You might want to reconsider where your loyalties lie, dear." She glances at you, then ambles to the opposite side of the room. "That's one fucked up family situation right there." Her voice teasingly calls out.

You feel yourself flush, strangely offended by her comment, and annoyed by her vagueness. "Like you can talk." Your response is a total shot in the dark, but must've hit a nerve since she slowly turns back to you, a suspicious expression upon her face. "Just a guess." You add, unwilling to know the details of whatever sensitive topic you'd just touched upon. Agatha easily shrugs it off, leaving behind a stifling silence. Eventually, it's a mixture of your own boredom and concern that prompts you to end the lull in conversation. "Are you still planning on interrogating me about something I know nothing about?"

"Oh, no I read your mind." She waves a dismissive hand over her shoulder. "Got all I needed."

Again, you're left suffocating in the confusion her ambiguity provokes, with nothing else to ask except. "How...?"

The inquiry must've been exactly what Agatha wanted to hear as she immediately dropped what she was doing to turn around and lean on the wall, arms folded in a casually smug pose. "Sex leaves you vulnerable." She smirked. "All I did was take advantage of the opportunity- but I'll spare you the boring details." With a flourish of her hand and a flash of purple, the binds holding your ankles and wrists disappeared. "You can go now. First door on the left."

Without sparing you another glance, she busied herself with some witchy task, allowing you to see yourself out. Massaging your wrists, you stood slowly, watching her expectantly. Surely she wouldn't just let you leave? Yet as you sauntered over to the door she'd directed you to, she made no move to stop you. "Bye then?"

Agatha looked up at you and winked. "See you around, neighbour."

#agatha harkness x reader #agnes x reader #agatha harkness

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gwtwoimpsarewe · 5 years

Text

Welcome to the Family

So, this story won’t make a lot of sense without context; but I’ll save that for another post. I wrote it to enjoy it and it’s my first full OC full prose. Hopefully ya’ll enjoy it too.

A quick helper tho set after the prologue bound by blood. So mild? Spoilers?

Lorcan Vulthon - Norn, Roughly about 26 (circa 1332),(Ex-)Wolf Shaman, (Ex-)Auxiliary Iron Legion Engineer, Vigil Initiate. Yes he was raised by wolves. (Not literally)

Zariah Dào - Human, Roughly about 42 (circa 1332), (My Commander for the game, but operates under Lt. Commander to allow for easier rp), Warmaster of a Vigil Company, Lorcan’s new Boss, Has not tapped out since Claw Island.

Veeck - my necromancer reaper I haven’t made but am taking from an old DnD character of mine, Asura, age unknown, The Deacon of Pain,

A jungle stalker, tiger and one other feline mini follow him around that’s the joke. One of the JP’s for the Tiger den Achievement is what sparked this.

Not sure what to tag it but it starts funny ends feelsy, found family vibes, if descriptions of eyes squick you (no harm just who’s looking at you, sudden eye contact etc) be wary or pass on, fluffy angst I suppose, emotional breakdown,

it ends happily I swear!

(Don’t panic if things seem to change, I post and edit as I go otherwise I get locked in perfectionism spiral and never post at all.)

“Boss.”

Eyes shielded from the setting sun, Lorcan peered out over the landscape, comm at the ready.

“Boooossssss.”

Dusk crawled toward the horizon. Hazy smoke trails blown over the open fields lazily from the nearby mill, an end of a lovely day, on all accounts.

“Boss!”

The receiver came to life in Lorcan’s hand with an exhausted sigh of static as Lt. Commander Zariah sluggishly answered, “Yes, Lorcan. What is it?”

The smile pulled over Lorcan’s face, unable to resist the urge to tease. “Kinda, an odd time of day to be sleeping sir.”

It was utterly incredible how he could feel the dry stare-down and complex half lecture on the misuse of communications equipment in a brief pause.

That was talent right there.

Another sigh brought his attention back in, “I wasn’t, thank you, did you need something?”

Brightening, Lorcan sat down in front of the mess of fur and leaves, “Yeah! I found your cat bed!”

“… What.”

Lorcan gestures at the pile of leaves at his feet although his officer couldn’t see it. “Yeah! One of your Sylvari, the one with the monotone-”

“-Ours, and their name is Eir, -”

“-Said one of your weird tiny death machines-“

“-Again, wild animals, and not mine-”

“-Yeah, yeah, the striped one ran off and went to bed everything-”

“-Tiger; and has been making beds not bedding, your Common is improving-”

“I found one!”

The crackle and whine from a heavy static sigh made Lorcan wince and pull the device from his ear.

“...… You’ve found a tiger.”

Something about the suddenly calculating monotone made his insides squirm as he forced the cheerful up another notch. “Well no, but I’ve found its bed, and now we have each other’s scents, and I probably will find it and we’ll form a life-long bond like rangers and shaman-”

“Lorcan.” His name came gently, cutting off his rambling in a way that had nausea setting in.

“I’m grateful you found one, does it look fresh?” The genial tone was almost disconcerting after seeing nothing but jaded exhaustion, and it was wrong.

This was not how this works.

This was a crank call. Because he’s Lorcan. The rambling loud, obnoxious idiot whose superiors while agitated are fond of. Lorcan, who did not want to do this all over again but here they are, and Zariah! Who’d barely known him three days!

Who took him in without blinking after getting cut off from his war-band, who trusted him enough for a reconnaissance mission. Who put up with all his antics so far with a droll but benign stare; who—

A rustling came finally, along with the clink and slosh of what Lorcan knew to be the large mug of coffee usually in hand.

“Lorcan-”

“Stop that,” his throat felt tight, half leaping to his feet into a defensive stance, “You—Don’t-” The plains suddenly felt suffocatingly small, leaving him on edge and snarling into his comm.

Burn him, what was he doing.

“Lorcan.”

“Stop that!” his ears were burning, eyes stinging against the smoke in the air. It was his name; it was just his name what the tar was his problem?

The placid silence that followed nearly had him throw the damn thing down onto the rocks. Embarrassment burned viciously under his skin. He was better than this now. He wasn’t-

“Lo-”

He turned the comm offline.

It was long past dark by the time he’d calmed down, eyes red and throat raw, hunched at the base of the tree.

Great first impression.

Really sold it this time.

Groaning, he dug his face into his knees to do something other than mope in the dark like a moody cub. Or worse start up again.

A skittering of rocks and not entirely muffled metal had him look up in time to see a silhouette with an obnoxious Asuran light nearly blind him.

“Mind if I come over? You turned your comm off.” Zariah inquired tilting his head to the side just before the last jump. “I can stay over here. Just wanted to-”

Lorcan waved him off with a flippant hand and shoved his face back down. “Make sure I hadn’t broken-”

“-Your bones. Yes. Or anything else important to your personal self.” Zariah moved over the outburst with both a note of finality and comfort that had Lorcan looking up out of instinct, only to wince again at the mini sun in his Commanders hand.

“… If you're going to jump over, douse the Mouse-Light. Before I lose my eyes.”

Immediately, the object dimmed down and out before far more familiar sounds came and a torch sparked to life. “Sorry about that, but I’ll ask you to refrain from derogatory names. Veeck is a valued member of our team and cares deeply about our survival.”

“… The Asura.”

“Yes.”

“Who rambles on about some new Entity?”

“Of Pain, yes.”

“… Boss.”

“Not up for debate, Lorcan.”

Heaving to his feet with a sigh, Lorcan reached out to him; “Well, can’t let them upstage me now can I. C’mon I’ll catch you; it won’t give you enough light without the M--……. beacon. From the Deacon.”

Zariah landed with a grunt into his grip. “You’ll have to share that one, they’d love that-what is that an idiom?”

“Not a clue.” Wearily sitting again, Lorcan stopped short as something small and purring wormed its way into his lap. “… Uh…”

“She likes belly rubs, and she can smell tears.” Was all Zariah offered settling next to him and safely anchoring the torch in front of them, while the Stalker wiggled about before she settled solidly into Lorcan’s lap. Big eyes batted up at him, as if pointedly proving Zariah’s point; said belly up and offered.

Slowly, Lorcan answered the demand, a new deeper slew of purrs unleashed in repayment. “I thought you said they’re wild.”

“They are. Or were, a few years ago. They found me in the Maguuma, when Mordremoth was; well you know.” came the easy answer, as Zariah set about digging in his pack and handing over a wrapped meat smelling something to Lorcan who merely blinked at it.

“You haven’t eaten since before you left and I know how Norn eat. Eat your dinner.”

Gingerly, Lorcan accepted the meal; before peering at him. “… Does this get any weirder?”

“Only if you let your guard down long enough for them to steal it.”

“Wh-Hey!”

They sat like that a long while, quietly; with a lap full of warm purring death machines, a belly full with warm food and drink, and tired eyes watching the torch slowly burn down to a smolder.

The lecture never came; the ‘we’re alike you and I’ speech, the wise mentor talk, whatever he’d been expecting. Zariah just sat there, relaxed and was… well, there.

But then it made sense didn’t it. He was a tactician for a military organization, one of the high tier leaders in the Pact, leader of his own company; and Lorcan was an accomplished engineer and a perceptive people's person when he wasn’t being difficult.

There wasn’t anything to say.

He’d freaked out, he didn’t want to freak out, but he did. He’d reverted to causing a scene and trouble because he was a full inferno of freaking the blazes out. About what any of this meant now. About where home was now. What he would do now. What his purpose was now.

Had another identity crisis in an evening flat because he kept trying to put it in a title. Wolf Shaman, Auxiliary Charr—anything that wasn’t just him. How else could he go back and show that he’d changed after all? Prove he was all grown up out of his awkward paws making a mess of everything.

Except he hadn’t had he-

“pWaCKth!”

Lorcan spat fur out of his mouth, leaning away from the incessantly batting paws from his lap companion. “Hey! Hey! Hey! C’mon!”

“I told you. She smells monologues.”

“You said tears.”

Stretching out with an innocent hum that edged too close to playful to pass as sincere, Zariah rose a brow at him, “Mm? Did I? I must have misspoken. So terribly sorry.”

The words pulled a snort out of Lorcan at the obvious lie, “So, what, she just slaps you in the face at random? Or she’s just psychic and knows when you're spiraling every time.”

Turning towards him, Zariah rose the brow higher, something of a smirk toying in the corner of his mouth. “Oh, definitely a psychic; when I need it. Constantly. She can tell usually because,” His eyes glanced meaningfully at Lorcan’s lap, “I’ve ceased to pet her.”

Lorcan paused, looking to where his hands had fallen stagnant some time ago on her back, much to the indignant pout on her face. “… Oh.”

“Well.” He chuckled at his own obliviousness and began smoothing hands down her head and spine apologetically, much to her delight, “S’a good trick.”

“She tries.” A yawn dragged out the end of the sentence as Zariah settled down more against Lorcan’s side who moved to accommodate him.

Eyes glanced at the time curiously, “Aw burn me, Boss I’m-”

“Safe.” That firm tone was back again, even as exhausted as it sounded. “And that’s all I care about. We’ll go back when you’re ready.”

“Don’t you have paperwork to do?”

“Great thing about paper, it’ll be there when I get back.”

“What about orders? Don’t you have to know what’s”

“Anything I need to know, I’ll know through my comm, if it’s of immediate importance. As for orders, there are other commanders.”

“… How many hours you running on here?”

“Two and a half, I was in fact sleeping when you called me.”

“Boss-” An incredulous laugh cut short by an overused stubborn excuse.

“I had coffee.”

Silence lapsed again, softer as the torch barely glowed embers and Zariah’s breathing began to deepened, and slow against his side.

It wouldn’t have made sense for how lax Zariah was, after seven years of nearly non-stop war and fighting; if the moon wasn’t glinting off four Iron Legion Sharpshooters standing guard nearby that Lorcan could now see.

“Boss?” swallowing around the lump in his throat, Lorcan nudged him again. “Hey, Boss.”

There was a slurred hum, eyes not even opening as Zariah lifted a brow in answer “Mmn—yes Lorcan.”

“… Thanks.”

“S’ what ‘m here for.”

Epilogue (aka beeps an giggles)

For the weight of a Pact Commander, Zariah was unnervingly light once you removed the pack, armor, weapons, felines, etc.

Which Lorcan awkwardly got to know firsthand as the pint-sized (seriously how small was this guy) Asura fussed around this way and that muttering too fast to keep up with.

It was a very odd feeling of you break it you buy it, with the Commanders sleep schedule. Which cemented in his mind as no one else seemed bothered by the ranting Asura at his feet.

“-two months! Two months! Not even! We were so close, on ordered leave, relaxing, vacationing, nearly had it! But no! The evil little box of death opens its evil little mouth and ruin everything! This does not please the Pain!”

Lorcan made the mistake of uttering “Does anything,” before realizing the error as he became the subject of the bespectacled, laser sharp, owlish gaze before off again as they moved in thought.

Finally, with a decisive nod, they firmly shouted up to him, “…… Milk! Milk and Ink!”

(Seriously did the guy think he was deaf? Though they looked like they’d fit into his boot with room to spare, and he wasn’t exactly short himself.)

A tiny hand lifted into the air, fire in their eyes; “I shall explain!”

“Please don’t.” Lorcan begged.

“Easy Squeak-A-Veak, lets save converting until after we get Boss back to bed for a few hours. We’ve already got orders to meet up with General Soulkeeper in the morning.” Came the beautiful rescue from one of the other officers Lorcan couldn’t put a name to.

Whose hands lifted up immediately in a placating gesture, as the tiny Asura looked ready to implode, “Rephrase, to head over to General Soulkeeper in the morning.”

Small detonation avoided, the medic, nodded with minimal professional sulking, “He’s napping on the way there.”

“As always, you can try small fry, you can try. Eir wanted to see you; I’ll see that Boss gets settled yeah?” Offering a fond amused look, they winked at Lorcan who wasn’t honestly sure what to do with himself at this point of being ‘Boss-shelf’.

Veeck squinted but turned and left with a toddle out of the room. “I know what you’re doing and I don’t appreciate it but yes I will leave and stop scaring our recruit.”

“… Wasn’t scared.” Came late and lamely as the officer chuckled and lead him in to where Zariah was staying for the time being.

Which for the first few moments Lorcan was sure they got the wrong room before he finally spotted a bed past all the paperwork. “Is that a war table?”

“Mini-sized yeah, Rye sleeps in his office, it was the only solution after a long drawn out internal war lemme tell you.”

“How is that a win?”

“He used to do it on a cot armed with a coffee pot, and don’t worry about Veeck. Squeakers is harmless; they get dramatic with displeasure and pain cos it’s like a prayer offering? I think? I’m trying to follow it but I need a few more run throughs. They’re a lot calmer day to day.”

“…….. Oh! Good to know, thanks—ah…”

“You forgot my name already didn’t you.”

“……………………..”

Laughing they helped settle Zariah down and into bed, even tucking them in. Which by this point, Lorcan had one final question.

“…… Sooo, kinda curious. Why he’s not; you know.”

“Twitchy as fleas about being handled like a doll? He usually is, but this is day four of small naps and I made his coffee decaf. He’s out cold for the next three to five hours.”

“Burn me.”

“It’s a good thing, say goodnight if you want; just hit the lights when you're done. I’m catching a few myself before we hit the road.” They offered with a wave before heading out.

Lorcan absentmindedly gave a wave only to perk and try to call out; “Wait! You didn’t--…… tell me your name. Tar’nfeathers.”

Sitting down with a sigh he glanced over at Zariah, and with a crooked grin leaned over. “Night Boss. Still totally going to steal your tiger.”

A brow raised as tired, but amused eyes snapped open, “Still totally not going to let it happen.” Zariah challenged as Lorcan shrieked with a flail and fell off the bed.

“Burn! Tar! and Feather You!”

Yawning with a final chuckle, Zariah listened to him stalk off and turn out the lights. “Good Night, Lorcan.”

“Welcome to the family.”

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literateape · 6 years

Text

I Know You're Depressed, But What Am I?

By Bill Arnett

This is about depression. I wrote, re-wrote and re-re-wrote this opening paragraph trying to get it right. Past versions used cryptic metaphors, personification and starting mid-story to initially mask my topic and maximize the impact when depression is revealed to be the theme. Having recently gone through a substantial depressive episode, I can truthfully say that the right way for this to be discussed is with straightforward honesty. This is about depression.

During the summer of 2014, I began to entertain the idea that I was clinically depressed. The idea occurred to me while waiting with my pregnant wife at the obstetrician's office. This was our second time through childbirth so I didn’t pay close attention to the reams of parenting how-to paperwork given out at every visit. One piece of paperwork we were required to fill out, though, was a questionnaire about the early symptoms of postpartum depression. I read the questions to my wife and marked her answers. She aced it, but something grabbed me. All of the questions, except for those directly related to having a baby inside you, eerily described my life at that moment.

I had lost my appetite and had been losing weight. I had trouble sleeping despite being constantly exhausted. Was I stressed? Oh yes. I was raising a 3-year-old child, starting my own business, finishing a book and awaiting a, hopefully healthy, second child. I would get angry easily. I felt disconnected from my closest friends (we would hang out and after an hour I'd wonder when I could leave without making anyone angry). I would drive to work and, for 30 minutes there and 30 minutes back, there was never any good music on the radio; day after day, across all of my presets, there was never a song that I liked. The improbability of that caught my attention.

I met with a therapist and eventually a psychiatrist. There is no blood test for depression so to gauge the severity I was asked a series of yes-or-no questions. The questions touched the obvious basses (feeling sad and withdrawn and worthless) but quickly moved to physical symptoms like sleeping and eating habits. These things that had come up in the postpartum depression pamphlet and I was surprised. Depression, I learned, wasn’t simply a state of mind but tangible, physical condition. I was officially scored as “on the high end of moderately depressed.” Which I guess is the B+ to the A- of “slightly severely depressed.” I felt validated and that was nice.

I had never seen a therapist before. My expectation, when I talked about some of my darker thoughts and feeling, was to be asked, “What do you think it all means?” and “What unfinished business from your past is reflected here?” What I actually got was, “Wow, that really stinks. It must hard to carry that around.”

The overarching message I got from therapy was this: It’s not your fault. You can’t fix it so don’t try, instead learn to live with it. Some people are born short, some are born tall. Some are great at math and some aren’t. Some people, like yourself, are prone to anxiety and depression, some are not. This detached attitude hit me deeply. It was a relief to learn that this is how I was made and not that somewhere in my past a mistake was made; a mistake that could have been avoided and up until now, I haven’t been able to correct. It allowed me to accept myself.

Why was my perception of therapy so wrong? My guess is that there are many well-meaning people, bless their hearts, that like to play junior psychologists. They assume that, like any disease, there must be a root cause to discover and hopefully fix. They were the ones that would ask the what does it all mean questions. If my mind was ruminating about a certain past event then there must be a logical reason why (right?) and maybe with enough reflection/meditation/prayer/detoxing I can solve the mystery (right?). But what if I can’t figure it out, much less fix it? I now have another reason to feel like a failure. Failure begets failure begets more failure and it’s all my fault.

No. This depression is not the cryptic voice of a mountain shaman, filled with deep truths waiting to be deciphered. It is apart from me. It’s goal is only pain, not enlightenment. It is the voice of a playground bully, intentionally finding old wounds to pick at, cruelly leveraging insecurities and cherry-picking past events to spin as negative. Nothing more.

This notion of thinking of depression as a bully got me looking for advice on dealing with actual, corporeal bullies (this may seem like a bit of a leap but don’t forget that I was a man with pre-postpartum depression; up was already down). What I found, and if you’ve ever been anxious or depressed you’ll agree, was fascinating. Here are some descriptions of bullying behavior from the website Bullies Be Gone:

– They’re experts in personal criticism and negativity.

– They push sensitive places in order to make other people feel bad.

– Their reasons make sense; yours don't.

– They’re relentlessly negative, critical, naysayers who are impossible to please.

– They’re great debaters who never let you win.

This perfectly described the negative voice that I couldn’t shake. So now that I know I’m dealing with a bully, how does one deal with a bully? From Psychology Today, I found some tips for dealing with bullies:

– Be confident. Bullies lose their power if you don’t cower.

– Stay connected. Bullies operate by making their victims feel alone and powerless. Reclaim power by maintaining connections with faithful friends.

– Use simple, unemotional language. An assertive, but unemotional response lets a bully know that the victim does not intend to be victimized.

– Set limits. Don't let the bully get under your skin. Practice your response so you're prepared the next time something happens and you can respond swiftly without getting emotional.

– Act quickly and consistently. After the bully has tested the waters and confirmed that a victim is not going to stand up for their rights, the aggression worsens.

– Strike while the iron is cold. Cool heads find solutions more easily than hot ones.

Detaching the negative voice and removing any notion that it was a piece of my subconscious trying to tell me something of value helped me push back. At the risk of sounding like one of the armchair therapists I vilified earlier, I need to say that this was very helpful for me and, perhaps, might work for you. What I believe to be true for everyone is that straightforward honesty is step one. Please seek out help if you think you need it.

#depression #Mental Health

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douchebagbrainwaves · 6 years

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IF YOU'RE NOT SURE, BUT FIRST YOU HAVE TO MEET A PREDEFINED SPEC IS TESTING SLIGHTLY THE WRONG PROBLEM

The only way their performance is measured individually. 12. Which further accelerated the fragmentation. Could a trend based on them be that powerful? All other things being equal a painting with people in it will interest people more than technology; it's mainly in the prevention of bad things that technology comes into play. His answer was simply no. But do you really need the rich people? What people usually say is not that far from a description of insanity, but they need more help because life is so precarious for them.

But it was the season Dallas premiered. That seems so obvious it seems wrong to call it. The only way to be in this phase is that it's harder for them to do something beyond just reading some text? We started Viaweb with $10,000, but to notice quickly that it already is winning. Now how are you going to do, you'll have the most momentum, and since valuation is usually the real reason: the product is expensive to develop or sell, or simply the idea let's start a company. Series A rounds, the investors won't take as much equity as VCs wanted. But your goal here wasn't to provide a protected environment for children to grow up to the right people—e. And yet does anyone who was there have any expectation those days will ever return? I don't think there's any limit to the number of big hits is the number of points increases, wisdom and intelligence, it's not the deciding factor in whether you succeed as a startup. Usually you get seed money from our friend Julian.

In fact, what makes startups succeed. So if you choose them. They were wrong about the underlying causes. They do it because I was tired of hearing taste is subjective. The reason I describe this as a Lisp interpreter. It was no coincidence that Microsoft and Facebook both got started in January. Beware of research. In theory there could be pleasure in a bug.

As Fred Brooks pointed out in The Mythical Man-Month, and everything I've seen has tended to confirm what he said. Something hacked together means something that barely solves the problem of what to do are more different than most people realize. Then it struck me: this is the thinnest of historical veneers. Html 3. Perhaps most convincingly, it would have. Most companies that VCs invest in a company, but it is very hard to predict what the future will be server-based software should have far fewer bugs. One, obviously, is when what you have to select 20 players. You probably weren't bored when you were eight. There doesn't seem any particular urgency to be profitable to convey to investors that you'll succeed with or without them. For example, in America people often don't decide to go, and nothing they could do by themselves.

It can't be easy. Except in the degenerate case, economic inequality is the inevitable fate of countries that don't choose something worse. The surprise is generally positive as well as the low. I'm going to try. Maybe you're just running fast. One reason it's hard to predict beforehand, so lots of people to supply each startup with what they need to do what you know intellectually to be right, even though biologically they're not, so the deal fell through. It might dilute the value of our ideas, which turned out to vary a great deal more experience and motivation. They could make it through. But because seed firms operate in an earlier phase, they need to get the rest of the Python hackers seems to be a high school student.

For tokens that occur only in the sciences whether theories are true or false, and this is the main reason kids lie to adults. We just don't notice usually, because they made something people want. What you learn about programming in college is much like what you do. By 1969, when Ted Kennedy drove off the bridge at Chappaquiddick, the limit seemed to be down to one. I don't remember what she said, but he doesn't remember which. Over time, the default language, was that we deliberately sought hard problems. Figure out what? It's harder to escape the influence of your own. Though indeed, it's been a while since they were three just because serving web pages recently got a lot more work. The big disadvantage of the new applications that get written in the next few years will be like in a hundred years.

And the pages don't have the source code too. Just as the relationship between wisdom and intelligence apply to different types of clients for them to do something we didn't do. A company will be able to say who cares what investors think? And what we do is that they've been diverging. If Lisp is So Great May 2003 If Lisp is so great that it becomes a filter for selecting bad startups. Which is precisely my point. __________________________________________________________________ 1. I remember standing behind him making frantic gestures at Robert to shoo this nut out of his life. Spending Too Much It's hard to stay interested in something you wrote six months ago the average case bad advice. And in her typical quiet way she encouraged that illusion. A lot of VCs are looking for investors you want to make, it's mere effort to make that look neutral. The problem is not economic inequality per se that's blocking social mobility, but some specific combination of things that those who don't understand it are driven to invent conspiracy theories to explain how it all works is to follow the model of work from the 1970s, no one can predict them—not even the smart kids.

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