I started my new job... and then promptly dislocated my shoulder. 💀 So I've been healing, resting, and trying to find my footing again.
Here's a little update on where this blog is headed!
1. New URL!
I changed my name from thedeadsfavoriteautistic to serduncthelunk. I wanted something a little more fun, and I don't think I've ever related to a fictional character more.
2. More fandoms!
I'll be branching out and mixing in some new fandoms—especially Marvel. With Doomsday coming out, I'm really excited to start sharing more of my OCs and their backstories.
3. Older works
Some unfinished fics will be finished, some might get rewritten, and some may stay unfinished. I'm just seeing where inspiration takes me. (Don't worry—I am still writing the Aerion & Daenora fic.)
4. Posting schedule
I'm writing based on inspiration first and foremost, so my posting schedule will be a little inconsistent. That said, I'm aiming to post twice a week, usually on Wednesdays and Thursdays during my lunch break.
5. A quick apology
I'm sorry I never finished my Pride Month posts or got around to Disability Pride Month. Unfortunately, my own disabilities have been kicking my ass lately, and I had to focus on taking care of myself.
What's coming for the rest of the month?
🔥 Fire Bug one-shot sneak peek (Dr. Katherine Parker x Johnny Storm)
A small one-shot while their full story is still in progress.
📖 The other two posts this month will either be:
updates to current fics, or
new one-shots, depending on what inspires me.
Thank you all for sticking around, being patient, and continuing to support my writing. I'm really excited to be back and can't wait to share what's next. ❤️
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
The Weight of Vigilantes-Cassandra Cain x Stephanie Brown
💜 Lesbian Representation |
A StephCass hurt/comfort story about fear, love, recovery, and the unbearable weight of caring for someone when the world keeps trying to take them away. All artwork included in this post was found on Pinterest. Credit belongs to the original artists.
Cassandra Cain knew Stephanie was missing before anyone told her.
Most people thought Cass's greatest skill was fighting.
They were wrong.
Cass knew people.
The way they moved.
The way they breathed.
The rhythm of their hearts.
And Stephanie Brown had become one of the rhythms of her life.
Every patrol.
Every text.
Every terrible joke.
Every stolen coffee.
Every rooftop dinner.
Stephanie was there.
Until she wasn't.
Three missed check-ins.
No texts.
No tracker.
Nothing.
Cass stood motionless in the Batcave as Oracle's voice filled the room.
"Stephanie's been missing for four hours."
Silence.
The kind that settled over the family when fear entered the room.
Bruce immediately started assigning search grids.
Tim was already pulling surveillance footage.
Jason looked ready to kill someone.
Damian was sharpening a sword.
Cass couldn't move.
Four hours.
Stephanie had been alone for four hours.
The search lasted all night.
Warehouses.
Abandoned apartments.
Drug dens.
Safe houses.
Every criminal connected to Black Mask.
Every gang in Gotham.
Every lead.
Nothing.
Cass moved through Gotham like a ghost.
A shadow hunting shadows.
People got out of her way.
Criminals ran.
Nobody wanted to be found by Cassandra Cain when she looked like this.
Because everyone knew what it meant.
Someone she loved was hurt.
They found Stephanie twelve hours later.
An abandoned factory near the harbor.
Jason kicked in the door.
Bruce followed.
Tim was right behind them.
Cass arrived first.
The smell hit her immediately.
Blood.
Fear.
Drugs.
Pain.
Her stomach dropped.
Stephanie was chained to a support beam.
Head hanging forward.
Costume torn.
Face bruised beyond recognition.
Blood soaked through purple fabric.
Fresh wounds.
Old wounds.
Needle marks scattered across her arms.
Drugged.
Beaten.
Broken.
For one horrible second Cass thought she was dead.
The world narrowed.
Tunnel vision.
Heartbeat roaring in her ears.
Then she saw it.
A breath.
Small.
Weak.
Alive.
Cass crossed the room before anyone could stop her.
Her hands shook as she reached Stephanie.
She hated that.
Hated shaking.
Hated fear.
Hated feeling helpless.
Carefully she touched Stephanie's face.
Bruised skin.
Fever.
Pain.
Stephanie stirred.
Just slightly.
Enough.
Enough to know she was still there.
Cass signed automatically.
SAFE.
Stephanie's swollen eyes cracked open.
Barely.
A tiny smile appeared.
Even now.
Even like this.
A smile.
Cass's chest hurt.
Stephanie recognized her.
Of course she did.
Stephanie always found her.
The smile disappeared as unconsciousness pulled her under again.
Cass almost followed.
The Batcave medical bay became home.
Again.
It happened too often.
Far too often.
Steph needed surgery.
Then another surgery.
Then more monitoring.
Concussions.
Broken ribs.
Internal injuries.
Drugs in her system.
Bruises everywhere.
Cass sat beside her bed through all of it.
She didn't patrol.
Didn't sleep.
Didn't leave.
Alfred brought food.
Most of it went untouched.
Bruce tried talking to her.
Cass ignored him.
Jason sat beside her one night.
Didn't speak.
Just stayed.
Because he understood.
Better than most.
After an hour he stood.
Placed a hand on her shoulder.
Then left.
Cass appreciated it more than she could explain.
On the third day Stephanie woke up.
Cass noticed immediately.
The change in breathing.
The flutter of eyelids.
The tiny movement of fingers.
She was out of her chair before Stephanie fully opened her eyes.
Blue eyes blinked slowly.
Disoriented.
Drugged.
Alive.
Alive.
Alive.
Stephanie looked at her.
Managed a weak smile.
"There you are."
Cass grabbed her hand.
Too fast.
Too tight.
Stephanie didn't complain.
She never did.
Instead she squeezed back.
Tiny.
Weak.
Present.
Cass looked away.
She could feel tears building.
She hated crying.
Didn't understand crying.
But Stephanie always managed to make it happen.
Stephanie studied her face.
The dark circles.
The exhaustion.
The fear.
Understanding settled immediately.
"Oh."
Cass swallowed.
Hard.
Stephanie's expression softened.
"Oh, Cass."
Her free hand lifted slowly.
Painfully.
Cass immediately helped support it.
Stephanie brushed her fingers against Cass's cheek.
The gesture nearly destroyed her.
Cass signed with trembling hands.
SCARED.
Stephanie froze.
Because Cass didn't admit fear.
Not easily.
Not ever.
Cass signed again.
THOUGHT LOST YOU.
The signs were messy.
Jerky.
Wrong.
Emotion made her hands clumsy.
Stephanie stared.
Tears immediately filled her eyes.
"Oh."
Cass looked away.
Couldn't watch.
Couldn't say it.
Couldn't survive seeing pity on Stephanie's face.
Instead she felt fingers wrap around her hand.
Firm.
Certain.
Stephanie waited until Cass looked back.
"You found me."
Cass shook her head.
Not enough.
Not fast enough.
Not safe enough.
Stephanie understood.
Of course she did.
She always understood.
"You found me."
More firmly this time.
"You always do."
Cass's vision blurred.
Stephanie smiled softly.
"I wasn't scared."
That got her attention.
Stephanie laughed weakly.
Immediately regretted it.
Ribs.
Pain.
Worth it.
"I knew you'd come."
The tears finally escaped.
Cass closed her eyes.
Stephanie squeezed her hand.
"I knew."
The certainty in her voice hurt worse than any knife.
Because Stephanie trusted her completely.
Because Stephanie believed in her completely.
Because next time—
There could always be a next time.
That was the problem.
The curse of loving another vigilante.
There was always a next time.
Another mission.
Another injury.
Another close call.
Another night where one of them might not come home.
Cass had spent her entire life losing people.
And now she had something worth losing.
Someone worth losing.
It terrified her.
Stephanie watched the realization cross her face.
Then sighed.
"Oh no."
Cass frowned.
"You are doing the thing."
The thing?
"The brooding thing."
Cass rolled her eyes.
Stephanie smiled.
"There she is."
Despite everything.
Despite the pain.
Despite the fear.
Despite Gotham.
Cass felt herself smile back.
Small.
Tiny.
But real.
Stephanie immediately brightened.
"See? Better."
Cass signed.
IDIOT.
Stephanie grinned.
"Love you too."
The words settled between them.
Warm.
Comforting.
Dangerous.
Because love was dangerous.
Love gave the universe leverage.
Love created fear.
Love created pain.
But sitting beside Stephanie's hospital bed, holding her hand while her heartbeat echoed steadily through the room, Cass realized something.
The fear wasn't proof she loved Stephanie too much.
It was proof she loved her at all.
And if the price of loving Stephanie Brown was fear?
Cass would pay it.
Every single day.
As many times as necessary.
Because Stephanie was alive.
Because she was here.
Because she was worth it.
Outside, Gotham waited.
Cruel.
Violent.
Unforgiving.
Tomorrow they would put the masks back on.
Tomorrow they would fight again.
Tomorrow the city would try to take something from them.
The Pride Parade Incident-Percy Jackson x Dionysius Kid Reader
🏳️🌈Queer community Rep
What starts as a Camp Half-Blood Pride Parade quickly descends into glitter-fueled chaos featuring giant inflatable grapes, Annabeth enabling bad decisions, Percy discovering his partner literally sparkles when they're lying, and one very unfortunate dracaena monster.
Percy Jackson had fought Titans.
He had fought Giants.
He had fought primordial gods.
None of those experiences prepared him for Pride Month.
Specifically, none of them prepared him for dating a child of Dionysus during Pride Month.
"Absolutely not."
You looked up from where you were currently surrounded by glitter, rainbow streamers, six different flower crowns, and enough craft supplies to qualify as a fire hazard.
"Absolutely not what?"
Percy pointed.
At everything.
"That."
You looked around.
"What about it?"
"All of it."
"That's not very specific."
Annabeth snorted into her coffee.
Percy glared at her.
"You are supposed to be helping me."
"I am helping."
"You are laughing."
"Correct."
You smiled.
Annabeth smiled back.
Percy looked betrayed.
"You've teamed up against me."
"Obviously."
"We've been teamed up against you for years."
"That's not comforting."
You ignored him and held up two shirts.
"Which one?"
The first shirt said:
BE GAY. DO CRIME.
The second shirt said:
ASK ME ABOUT MY DAD'S WINE COLLECTION.
Annabeth immediately pointed.
"The wine one."
Percy nodded.
"The wine one."
You looked suspicious.
"You're agreeing too quickly."
"Because the first option is going to get us arrested."
"Only if I'm caught."
Percy groaned.
"See? That's exactly the problem."
You kissed his cheek.
"You're cute when you're worried."
"I'm worried all the time."
"Exactly."
Across the pavilion, several campers were constructing a float.
Unfortunately.
The float was being supervised by your siblings.
Which meant chaos.
"Why is there a giant inflatable grape?"
"Representation."
"Representation of what?"
"Dionysus."
Percy stared.
"The grape?"
"The grape."
"That's ridiculous."
The inflatable grape immediately burst into rainbow-colored confetti.
Everyone cheered.
Percy looked toward the sky.
"Why me?"
Because the universe hated him.
That was the only explanation.
The day of the parade somehow got worse.
Or better.
Depending on who you asked.
The float was beautiful.
Purple vines wrapped around the sides.
Rainbow flowers covered every surface.
Music blasted from hidden speakers.
Campers danced everywhere.
And somehow, despite nobody admitting responsibility, the giant grape had returned.
Bigger than before.
"How?"
Percy demanded.
Nobody answered.
You absolutely did not answer.
Because it had been your idea.
Percy narrowed his eyes.
"You did something."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You have glitter on your face."
"So?"
"You only get glitter on your face when you're lying."
Annabeth immediately lost her composure and started laughing.
"You have a lying glitter tell?"
"Apparently."
You gasped.
"Traitor."
"Percy's right."
"You too?"
"You literally sparkle when you're planning crimes."
"Those are unrelated events."
"They're really not."
The parade began.
People cheered.
Music played.
Rainbow flags waved overhead.
Children danced in the streets.
Couples held hands.
Families celebrated together.
And for a little while, everything felt wonderful.
Then the monster attacked.
Because of course it did.
Percy noticed first.
His expression changed instantly.
One second he was laughing.
The next he was reaching for Riptide.
"Monster."
The word spread through the campers immediately.
The crowd remained blissfully unaware.
Which was good.
Panic was the last thing they needed.
Unfortunately.
The monster chose that exact moment to emerge from beneath a rainbow balloon arch.
A dracaena.
Thirty feet tall.
Armed.
Angry.
And immediately confused.
Because the second it appeared, your powers reacted.
Vines exploded from the pavement.
Flowers erupted everywhere.
Rainbow glitter materialized out of thin air.
The monster got hit directly in the face with approximately six pounds of magical glitter.
It stopped.
Blinking.
Percy stopped.
Blinking.
The monster sneezed.
Glitter erupted from its nose.
The crowd cheered.
Apparently assuming this was part of the performance.
"Oh gods."
Annabeth looked horrified.
"What did you do?"
"I don't know."
"You absolutely know."
The dracaena sneezed again.
More glitter.
The crowd cheered louder.
Someone handed the monster a pride flag.
The monster accepted it automatically.
There was a long pause.
The dracaena looked at the flag.
Looked at the crowd.
Looked at itself.
Then awkwardly waved.
The crowd lost their minds.
Percy doubled over laughing.
"You weaponized Pride."
"I didn't mean to!"
"You accidentally turned a monster into a parade participant."
"I DIDN'T MEAN TO."
The dracaena looked increasingly confused.
Then a little happy.
Then extremely happy.
Your siblings immediately surrounded it.
"Welcome!"
"Happy Pride!"
"We have snacks!"
Percy was crying.
Actual tears.
Annabeth was no longer helping.
Grover had fallen over.
The monster accepted a flower crown.
Then another.
Then somehow ended up dancing.
By the end of the parade, nobody had fought anything.
Nobody had been injured.
The dracaena had acquired seven pride flags.
Three flower crowns.
Two friendship bracelets.
And an emotional support grape plushie.
Percy watched it leave.
Then looked at you.
Then at the monster.
Then back at you.
"I'm never questioning Dionysus kids again."
"Good choice."
The dracaena waved one final time.
A shower of rainbow glitter exploded overhead.
And somewhere on Olympus, Dionysus laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.
I'm posting Friday, Saturday, and Sunday’s stories today because I'm taking a mental health break this weekend.
My chronic pain has been especially rough lately, and I need some time to rest, recharge, and take care of myself.
Thank you all for your kindness, support, and understanding. I'll be back soon, but for now I'm giving myself permission to slow down and focus on healing.
Take care of yourselves too, and I hope you enjoy the stories! 💕
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Featuring: Sirius Black being called out, Remus questioning his life choices, Tonks contributing to the list, Harry taking notes, and Molly learning that challenging a pansexual woman on queer history is a battle she was never going to win.
The mistake happened forty-three minutes into the Order meeting.
Which, according to Remus Lupin, was honestly impressive.
Most Order meetings went wrong much faster.
The discussion had somehow drifted away from Death Eaters.
Then away from Voldemort.
Then away from the war entirely.
Now they were discussing Hogwarts.
Specifically Hogwarts in the seventies.
Which was dangerous.
Not because of dark magic.
Because adults were incapable of remembering their teenage years accurately.
Jasmine Potter was curled sideways in an armchair.
A book rested on her lap.
Harry was sprawled across the floor doing homework.
Helena was asleep upstairs.
Remus occupied one end of the couch.
Sirius was upside down in a chair because apparently sitting normally was against his religion.
"So much simpler back then."
Arthur sighed fondly.
"Were they?"
Sirius asked.
"No."
Remus answered immediately.
Arthur ignored them.
"There was less confusion."
Molly nodded.
"People knew who they were."
Jasmine immediately became suspicious.
"What kind of confusion?"
Molly waved a hand.
"Oh, relationships."
Remus closed his eyes.
Sirius looked toward the ceiling.
Abort mission.
"We didn't have all these labels."
Sirius physically winced.
"Everyone was just normal."
Jasmine sat up.
Slowly.
Dangerously.
"Normal?"
Molly nodded.
"Well yes."
Arthur suddenly developed the expression of a man realizing he had wandered into a minefield.
Molly continued.
Completely unaware.
"There weren't really gay people when we were at Hogwarts."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Then Jasmine fell out of her chair.
Not figuratively.
Not emotionally.
Literally.
One second she was sitting.
The next she was on the floor laughing so hard she couldn't breathe.
Harry looked up.
"Oh no."
"Jaz?"
Jasmine pointed at Molly.
Still laughing.
Harry immediately relaxed.
"Oh."
"What?"
Arthur asked.
"Someone said something stupid."
"Very stupid."
Sirius agreed.
Jasmine was crying now.
Actual tears.
Remus buried his face in his hands.
"Molly."
He said quietly.
"You've activated her."
"I've activated what?"
"The history lecture."
Molly looked confused.
Jasmine finally managed to gasp out:
"Molly."
"What?"
"I could name ten queer people from Hogwarts when we went there."
Molly blinked.
"Ten?"
Jasmine sat up.
"Ten."
Sirius groaned.
"Oh no."
"Oh yes."
Harry immediately abandoned his homework.
"Jaz's making a list."
Arthur looked delighted.
"A list?"
"A list."
Jasmine pointed dramatically.
"One."
The room braced itself.
"Sirius Black."
Sirius pointed at himself.
"Me?"
"You."
"I feel attacked."
"You are pansexual and genderfluid."
Sirius considered.
"Fair."
Molly looked horrified.
"You never told me that."
"You never asked."
Jasmine pointed again.
"Two. Remus Lupin."
Remus sighed.
"Bisexual."
Arthur blinked.
"You are?"
Remus stared at him.
"Arthur."
"What?"
"I dated both Sirius and Jasmine in seventh year."
Arthur looked genuinely shocked.
"I thought you were studying."
Sirius nearly fell off his chair laughing.
Jasmine continued.
"Three. Marlene McKinnon."
The front door opened.
"Lesbian."
Everyone turned.
Nymphadora Tonks wandered in carrying takeaway.
"Hello."
"How long have you been standing there?"
Remus asked.
"Long enough."
Tonks dropped into a chair.
"Continue."
Jasmine pointed.
"Four. Dorcas Meadowes."
"Also lesbian."
Tonks supplied.
"They were dating."
"They were absolutely dating."
Molly stared.
"They told everyone."
"Literally everyone."
Remus agreed.
Jasmine kept counting.
"Five. Alice Fortescue."
"Bisexual."
Tonks nodded.
"Six. Mary Macdonald."
"Also bisexual."
"Seven. Barty Crouch Junior."
The room paused.
"What?"
Jasmine asked.
"He was gay?"
Arthur asked.
"He was aggressively gay."
Sirius corrected.
Remus laughed into his tea.
"He flirted with every Quidditch player in a five-mile radius."
"Terrible taste in men."
Jasmine added.
"Horrific taste."
Sirius agreed.
"Eight. Gilderoy Lockhart."
The room groaned.
"Oh come on."
"Molly."
Jasmine looked concerned.
"The man spent seven years flirting with Quidditch captains."
"He really did."
Tonks admitted.
"I thought he was being friendly."
The entire room stared at Molly.
"No."
"Nine. Rita Skeeter."
"What?"
Molly asked.
"Lesbian."
"What?"
"Still a terrible person."
Tonks nearly choked laughing.
"And ten."
Jasmine leaned back triumphantly.
"Glenda Chittock."
"Pansexual icon."
Sirius declared.
The room fell silent.
Molly looked like someone had informed her gravity was optional.
"That's ten."
"That's ten off the top of my head."
"Without trying."
"Without trying."
Sirius raised a hand.
"What about Fabian?"
"Oh absolutely."
"Gideon?"
"Absolutely."
Tonks joined in.
"Benjy Fenwick?"
"Queer."
"Emmeline Vance?"
"Queer."
"Marlene's cousin?"
"Queer."
Remus groaned.
"Oh we're doing census data now."
"Molly started it."
"I did not."
"You looked a pansexual woman directly in the eyes and said there were no gay people at Hogwarts."
Molly opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
"...that may have been a mistake."
The meeting never recovered.
By the end of the evening Arthur was crying with laughter.
Tonks had started a second list.
Sirius was attempting to calculate what percentage of Gryffindor House had been queer.
Remus regretted every life choice that had led him here.
Harry had stopped doing homework entirely and was taking notes.
And Molly Weasley had learned three important lessons.
One:
Queer people had absolutely existed at Hogwarts.
Two:
Jasmine Potter knew far more about everyone's love lives than anyone found comfortable.
And three:
Never challenge a pansexual woman to discuss queer history.
This week's stories are about love that survives, communities that protect each other, futures worth dreaming about, and the people who become home.
💜 6/14/26 — The Weight of Vigilantes
Stephanie Brown x Cassandra Cain
After Stephanie is kidnapped and found beaten, broken, drugged, and bloody, Cassandra must face the reality that loving someone means risking losing them.
💚 6/15/26 — A Choice
Harry Potter x Draco Malfoy
Post-war Draco Malfoy stands at a crossroads: stay hidden in the safety of the life he's built, or follow the man he loves into an uncertain future.
🌈 6/16/26 — A Reasonable Amount of Glitter (They Are Lying)
The Batfamily Goes to Pride
Bruce Wayne makes several mistakes. Allowing his children access to unlimited glitter is one of them.
💙 6/17/26 — Under Kansas Stars
Tim Drake x Conner Kent
Beneath the stars outside Smallville, two boys talk about tomorrow, identity, and the future they want to build together.
🌙 6/18/26 — My Moon, My Man
Damian Wayne x Catherine Kyle
A story about devotion, quiet love, and finding the person who feels like home.
📚 6/19/26 — The World's Most Queer Library
Rosemary Henderson
Rosie never intended for her bookstore to become Hawkins' unofficial queer community center.
Now there are seventeen teenagers in her shop, somebody is crying over a crush, and there is probably a book for that.
🦌 6/20/26 — Fight Me, Fight For Me
Jasmine Potter x Sirius Black x Remus Lupin
The last fight before everything changes.
The last argument before Halloween.
The last chance to say all the things they think they'll have time to say later.
Happy Pride Month everyone. 🏳️🌈
Thank you for reading, commenting, screaming in the tags, and joining me on this month-long celebration of queer stories, queer joy, queer community, and queer love in all its forms.
💙 Gay Relationship Representation + 🌈 Non-Binary Character Representation
Charlie Weasley comes out as gay and nonbinary and discovers that disappointment can hurt just as much as rejection. Drunk, heartbroken, and hiding behind a rubbish bin in Diagon Alley, he ends up being found by the last person he expected: Jasmine Potter. Armed with books, a sleepy child, and an inability to leave sad people alone, Jasmine offers Charlie something he desperately needs—a safe place to land.
Charlie Weasley came out on a Thursday.
By Friday evening he was drunk in Diagon Alley.
This was not part of the plan.
To be fair, Charlie had not actually had a plan.
Just hope.
And hope had turned out to be considerably less reliable than expected.
The conversation had not been terrible.
That was the problem.
If Molly had yelled?
Charlie could have been angry.
If Arthur had thrown him out?
Charlie could have hated him.
Instead there had only been silence.
Questions.
Confusion.
Disappointment nobody wanted to call disappointment.
And somehow that hurt more.
So Charlie drank.
Then he drank some more.
Then he made several excellent decisions.
Unfortunately all of them were terrible.
Which was how Jasmine Potter found him.
Jasmine had left Flourish and Blotts with two bags of books, one sleeping six-year-old Helena balanced on her hip, and approximately zero desire to interact with other humans.
She had plans.
The plans involved tea.
A blanket.
And pretending the rest of the world did not exist.
Then she noticed a man crying behind a rubbish bin.
Jasmine stopped walking.
"...well."
Helena lifted her head from Jasmine's shoulder.
"Muma?"
"There's a man behind that bin."
A pause.
"Is he dead?"
"No."
"Are we checking?"
Jasmine looked toward the alley.
The man was definitely crying.
Definitely drunk.
And definitely having the worst day of his life.
"Unfortunately yes."
Helena sighed dramatically.
"You're adopting another one."
Jasmine pointed a finger.
"I have never adopted anyone."
Helena snorted.
"Muma."
"One time."
"Harry."
"That doesn't count."
"Auntie Andi."
"That also doesn't count."
Harry's voice drifted from beside them.
"You literally brought Auntie Andi home."
"I did not."
"You did."
"You are six."
"I know."
Jasmine looked toward the heavens.
Betrayed by children.
Again.
The man behind the bin started crying harder.
Jasmine sighed.
"Stay here."
She approached carefully.
The stranger looked up.
Red hair.
Dragon keeper robes.
Freckles.
A truly impressive amount of misery.
"Oh."
The stranger blinked.
"...hello."
Jasmine stared.
"You seem upset."
The man laughed.
Then immediately started crying again.
"Right."
Definitely the worst day of his life.
Jasmine sat beside him.
Because apparently that was the sort of thing she did now.
"My name is Jasmine."
The stranger stared.
"You just sat down."
"Yes."
"You don't know me."
"No."
"You don't know why I'm crying."
"No."
Another pause.
"That seems unsafe."
Jasmine considered.
"Probably."
The stranger laughed despite himself.
Small victory.
"My name is Charlie."
"Hello Charlie."
Charlie looked down at his hands.
For a long moment neither spoke.
The city moved around them.
People passing.
Shops closing.
Life continuing.
Then Charlie whispered:
"I think my parents are disappointed in me."
Jasmine's heart broke instantly.
Not because she knew Charlie.
Not because she understood the situation.
But because she recognized that tone.
The one people used when they were trying very hard not to fall apart.
"Do you want to tell me why?"
Charlie laughed bitterly.
"I told them I'm gay and nonbinary."
Silence.
Then:
"Oh."
Charlie groaned.
"No more 'oh.'"
Jasmine blinked.
"What?"
"Everyone keeps saying 'oh.'"
She thought about that.
"Fair."
Charlie laughed.
Actually laughed.
Progress.
Jasmine bumped his shoulder.
"For what it's worth."
Charlie looked over.
"There is absolutely nothing wrong with being gay or nonbinary."
The words came easily.
Naturally.
Like saying the sky was blue.
Or fire was hot.
Or Sirius Black was an idiot.
Charlie stared.
Then his eyes filled again.
"Oh no."
"What?"
"You said that way too confidently."
Jasmine barked out a laugh.
"My first girlfriend would be furious if I didn't."
Charlie blinked.
"Your what?"
"My first girlfriend."
"You had a girlfriend?"
Jasmine looked offended.
"Charlie."
"What?"
"I'm pansexual."
The dragon keeper stared.
Then laughed.
And laughed.
And laughed.
For the first time all day it sounded genuine.
By the end of the evening Charlie was still sad.
Still hurt.
Still confused.
But he was no longer alone.
Sometimes healing didn't start with family.
Sometimes it didn't start with old friends.
Sometimes it started with a stranger sitting beside you in an alley and refusing to leave.
Sometimes all a person needed was somewhere safe to land.
Looking for answers in 1980s Hawkins, he finds himself at the public library, where Rosemary Henderson has helped more teenagers than he realizes. Fortunately for Mike, Rosemary has books, patience, and exactly the words he needs to hear.
As it turns out, there really is a book for every occasion.
Mike Wheeler was having a crisis.
Not a supernatural crisis.
Which honestly made it worse.
Because supernatural crises had rules.
Demogorgons?
Bad.
Possession?
Bad.
Government conspiracies?
Also bad.
But understandable.
This?
This was confusing.
This was terrifying.
This was sitting awake at two in the morning staring at his bedroom ceiling wondering what was wrong with him.
Mike hated it.
Which was why he found himself standing in front of the Hawkins Public Library on a rainy Thursday afternoon.
The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside.
The familiar smell of old paper and dust greeted him.
The library was quiet.
Safe.
Warm.
Rosemary Henderson sat behind the circulation desk sorting returned books.
She looked up immediately.
Mike considered turning around.
Rosemary noticed everything.
It was one of her most annoying qualities.
"Michael Wheeler."
Mike froze.
"Hi."
Rosemary narrowed her eyes.
"Oh dear."
Mike immediately disliked those words.
"What?"
She set down her stamp.
"That is not your normal face."
"I have a normal face."
"You look like you've witnessed a murder."
Mike shoved his hands into his pockets.
"I haven't."
"Good."
Rosemary stood.
"Because that's paperwork."
Mike couldn't help it.
He laughed.
Just a little.
Rosemary's expression softened.
"There we are."
Mike looked away.
The laugh disappeared immediately.
Rosemary noticed that too.
Of course she did.
After a moment she nodded toward the back of the library.
"Come help me shelve books."
Mike blinked.
"What?"
"Either you're here because you need something, or because something is wrong."
She started walking.
"And you'll talk eventually."
"That's not a guarantee."
"It is."
She disappeared between the shelves.
Mike followed.
Because somehow Rosemary always made it seem like you had agreed to things before you actually had.
The nonfiction section was empty.
Rain tapped against the windows.
Rosemary handed him a stack of books.
"Alphabetical."
"I know how libraries work."
"I've met your friends."
"That's rude."
"It's accurate."
Mike put a book on the shelf.
Then another.
Then another.
Rosemary waited.
Patiently.
The silence stretched.
And stretched.
And stretched.
Finally—
"What if something's wrong with me?"
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Rosemary didn't react.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't look surprised.
She simply slid a book into place.
"That's a very serious question."
Mike stared at the shelf.
"I know."
"What makes you think something is wrong?"
Mike swallowed.
Hard.
He couldn't say it.
Not out loud.
The words got stuck somewhere between his chest and his throat.
Rosemary waited.
The rain continued outside.
Finally Mike whispered,
"I don't think I like girls the way I'm supposed to."
Silence.
Mike felt sick.
The sentence hung between them.
Too loud.
Too obvious.
Too real.
He wished he could take it back.
Instead Rosemary nodded slowly.
"Ah."
Mike squeezed his eyes shut.
"There it is."
"There what is?"
"The thing."
"What thing?"
"The look."
Rosemary looked genuinely confused.
""
Mike groaned.
"The understanding look."
"Oh."
Her voice softened.
"That."
Mike stared at the floor.
"You aren't surprised."
"No."
"Why not?"
Rosemary considered.
"Because you're not the first teenager who's walked into this library looking like the world was ending."
That made Mike look up.
"What?"
She leaned against a shelf.
"Not the first."
The knot in Mike's chest loosened slightly.
Only slightly.
"There are others?"
Rosemary smiled sadly.
"There have always been others."
Mike blinked.
For some reason that had never occurred to him.
Not really.
Hawkins felt so small.
So isolated.
Sometimes it felt like nothing existed outside it.
"You mean..."
"You're not alone."
The words hit harder than he expected.
Mike looked away quickly.
His eyes suddenly burned.
Rosemary pretended not to notice.
Instead she walked down an aisle.
A minute later she returned carrying three books.
Mike immediately pointed.
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Michael."
She deposited the books in his arms.
"You're having an identity crisis in a library."
"That doesn't mean there are books for it."
Rosemary raised an eyebrow.
"Do you know where you are?"
Mike looked down.
One book was a memoir.
One discussed sexuality and identity.
The third was a collection of stories.
Carefully chosen.
Not flashy.
Not obvious.
The sort of books nobody in Hawkins would look twice at.
"You just had these?"
"Of course."
"Why?"
Rosemary looked almost offended.
"I'm a librarian."
"As if that explains anything."
"It explains everything."
Despite himself, Mike laughed.
Rosemary smiled.
Then her expression softened again.
"Michael."
He looked up.
"Nothing is wrong with you."
The words landed directly in the center of his chest.
Simple.
Certain.
No hesitation.
No conditions.
Nothing is wrong with you.
Mike suddenly realized how badly he'd needed someone to say it.
"You don't know that."
"I do."
"What if—"
"I do."
Rosemary folded her arms.
"You may be gay."
Mike nearly dropped the books.
"You can't just say that."
"Why not?"
"People don't just say that."
Rosemary snorted.
"People should."
Mike stared at her.
She shrugged.
"You may be gay."
She pointed at him.
"You may be bisexual."
Another point.
"You may spend the next five years figuring it out."
Another.
"You're seventeen. Half your job description is being confused."
Mike laughed despite himself.
A real laugh this time.
Rosemary smiled.
"There you are."
The panic hadn't vanished.
The questions hadn't disappeared.
But they felt smaller now.
Manageable.
Like something he could carry.
Rosemary nudged the books toward him.
"Take these home."
"You sure?"
"I checked them out already."
"You can do that?"
"I'm a librarian."
"Right."
"And Michael?"
"Yeah?"
"You don't have to solve yourself in one afternoon."
Mike looked down at the books.
Then back at her.
For the first time in months, the future didn't feel quite so frightening.
"Thanks."
Rosemary smiled.
The kind of smile that belonged in libraries.
Quiet.
Warm.
Safe.
"That's what librarians are for."
And as Mike left with three books tucked under his arm and rain falling outside, he thought that maybe—just maybe—
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Summary: Years after attending Narcissa Malfoy's wedding, Jasmine Potter meets her first love again in the middle of a crowded market. What follows is a bittersweet reminder that some people never stop leaving their mark on your heart.
Jasmine Potter had become very good at carrying grief.
Practice helped.
There had been plenty of it.
James and Lily were dead.
Sirius was in Azkaban.
Remus had vanished somewhere between mourning and survival.
And Jasmine was left standing in the wreckage with two children.
Harry.
Helena.
One her nephew.
One her daughter.
Both six years old.
Both far too young to understand why the adults in their lives kept disappearing.
Jasmine understood.
That was the problem.
"Muma?"
"Yes, darling?"
Helena tilted her head from where she sat in the shopping cart.
The little girl wore oversized sunglasses despite being blind.
Because according to Helena they made her look cool.
Jasmine had learned to pick her battles.
"Harry stole my sweet."
"I did not."
"You did."
"I borrowed it."
"You ate it."
Harry looked offended.
"That's how borrowing food works."
Jasmine sighed.
"I am raising criminals."
Harry grinned.
Helena looked delighted.
Neither denied the accusation.
The market was busy.
Crowded.
Noisy.
Normally Jasmine liked that.
Crowds made it harder to think.
Harder to remember.
Harder to miss people.
Today it wasn't enough.
Because today everything reminded her of Sirius.
A joke someone made.
A bark of laughter.
A motorcycle roaring overhead.
Little reminders.
Tiny cuts.
Death was easier.
Death was final.
Death stayed dead.
Azkaban was different.
Azkaban left room for hope.
Hope was cruel.
She was reaching for bread when she heard a laugh.
Soft.
Elegant.
Familiar.
Jasmine froze.
The loaf slipped from her fingers.
No.
Her heart began hammering.
No.
Not possible.
Not—
She turned.
And the world stopped.
Blonde hair.
Blue eyes.
Perfect posture.
A silver wedding band.
Narcissa Malfoy.
For a moment Jasmine was sixteen again.
A girl beneath the Astronomy Tower.
Kissing another girl beneath starlight.
Whispering promises neither of them understood.
Sharing secrets in library corners.
Passing notes through Andromeda because owls were too obvious.
Falling in love.
Slowly.
Hopelessly.
Completely.
Narcissa looked up.
Their eyes met.
The smile disappeared.
Jasmine watched recognition hit.
Watched surprise.
Shock.
Something softer.
Something sadder.
Oh.
That hurt.
That still hurt.
Years later.
After Sirius.
After Remus.
After children.
After funerals.
After wars.
It still hurt.
Not because she was still in love with Narcissa.
Not exactly.
That wasn't the wound.
The wound was remembering.
Remembering the girl she used to be.
Remembering who Narcissa used to be.
Remembering the future they once imagined.
The shape of it remained.
Even if the life itself never happened.
The market suddenly felt too small.
Too loud.
Too bright.
Jasmine couldn't breathe.
Not properly.
Her chest tightened.
Air refused to cooperate.
No.
Not here.
Not now.
Harry looked up immediately.
"Aunt Jasmine?"
Panic.
Merlin.
Not now.
Then someone touched her arm.
Gentle.
Steady.
Familiar.
Narcissa.
The years vanished.
Just for a second.
Because Narcissa had always known.
Always.
The first panic attack at sixteen.
The first nightmare.
The first time Jasmine had cried so hard she couldn't speak.
Narcissa had always known.
"Jasmine."
The voice was older.
Softer.
But still hers.
"Look at me."
Jasmine obeyed.
Blue eyes.
Steady.
Calm.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The panic loosened its grip.
"There you are."
The words were quiet.
Narcissa always spoke softly during panic attacks.
As if raising her voice might break something.
Jasmine laughed weakly.
"Hello, Cissy."
Narcissa smiled.
Small.
Painfully familiar.
"Hello, Jasmine."
Harry had moved closer.
Protective.
James's son through and through.
Helena sat quietly in the cart.
Listening.
Always listening.
"What happened?" Harry demanded.
Jasmine closed her eyes.
Of course he would ask.
Narcissa looked amused.
"You must be Harry Potter."
Harry frowned.
"How do you know that?"
The smile softened.
"Because you look exactly like your father."
Harry immediately accepted this.
Jasmine resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
Narcissa's attention shifted.
"And Helena?"
The question landed differently.
Softer.
More careful.
Helena beamed.
"I'm Helena Potter-Black."
Narcissa froze.
Black.
Not Potter.
Not Lupin.
Black.
Understanding dawned.
Sirius.
Of course.
Jasmine saw the realization.
Saw the grief that followed.
Because everyone knew.
Everyone knew where Sirius Black was.
"She has his smile."
The words were barely above a whisper.
Jasmine swallowed hard.
"Yeah."
For a moment neither woman spoke.
Neither needed to.
The absence sat between them.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
Sirius.
Always Sirius.
Eventually Narcissa asked,
"How are you?"
Jasmine laughed.
The sound bordered on hysterical.
Narcissa winced.
"That bad?"
"Worse."
The honesty escaped before she could stop it.
Because it was Narcissa.
And somehow lying to her had always been impossible.
They stood there for several minutes.
Talking.
Carefully.
Awkwardly.
Like strangers.
Like old friends.
Like something in between.
Jasmine learned Draco was six.
Narcissa learned Helena had inherited Sirius's stubbornness.
Some things never changed.
Then silence settled.
Comfortable once.
Painful now.
Jasmine broke it.
"You got married."
Narcissa's fingers tightened around her basket.
"Yes."
Simple.
Small.
But the word carried years.
Jasmine remembered the wedding.
Every detail.
The flowers.
The music.
The white roses.
The way Lucius Malfoy looked at his bride.
The way Jasmine had smiled through the ceremony.
The way Andromeda held her hand during the reception because she knew.
Because Andromeda had always known.
The way Jasmine had gone home afterward and cried until sunrise.
"You came."
Narcissa's voice was quiet.
Jasmine smiled sadly.
"You invited me."
"You didn't have to come."
No.
She hadn't.
But she had loved Narcissa.
And love had made her stay.
Even when it hurt.
Especially when it hurt.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then Jasmine admitted the truth.
The old truth.
The buried truth.
"I loved you."
Narcissa closed her eyes.
A visible ache crossed her face.
"I know."
No denial.
No pretending.
Just honesty.
The sort that came years too late to change anything.
When Narcissa opened her eyes again they were shining.
"You looked beautiful."
Jasmine laughed softly.
"At my wedding?"
"At yours."
Narcissa smiled sadly.
"You looked beautiful at mine too."
The words nearly shattered something.
Because they remembered.
Both of them.
Every second.
Eventually it was time to leave.
It always was.
People had lives.
Children.
Families.
Responsibilities.
The future kept moving whether you wanted it to or not.
Narcissa turned to go.
Then paused.
Looked back.
For one impossible moment Jasmine saw the girl from Hogwarts.
The girl she had kissed beneath stars.
The girl who wanted to run away.
The girl she had loved.
Not her soulmate.
Not anymore.
But perhaps the shape of one.
The outline left behind after years.
The ghost of a possibility.
"I was glad to see you."
The words were simple.
Honest.
Narcissa smiled.
A little broken.
A little fond.
"So was I."
Then she left.
And Jasmine stood in the middle of a crowded market holding a loaf of bread she didn't remember picking up.
Harry complained about groceries.
Helena asked for sweets.
Life continued.
As it always did.
But for the first time in years Jasmine allowed herself to grieve something other than death.
Not Sirius.
Not James.
Not Lily.
Not the war.
Just a road not taken.
A future that never happened.
The shape of a soulmate.
And the strange, bittersweet comfort of knowing she had once been loved enough to imagine it.
This week's theme ended up being a mix of queer joy, community, first loves, mentorship, identity crises, and the importance of having people who catch you when you fall.
As always, all identities and relationships are tagged individually to highlight the many ways people experience queerness. 💖
6/7/26 — Jasmine Potter x Narcissa Malfoy
🤍 Lesbian & 💖 Pansexual Relationship Representation
The Shape of Soulmates
Jasmine Potter is exhausted.
Sirius is in Azkaban.
Remus is gone.
Harry and Helena need her.
Then she sees Narcissa Malfoy for the first time in years.
The girl she loved.
The girl she lost.
And suddenly Jasmine remembers that some heartbreaks never really leave.
6/8/26 — James Kyle x Duke Thomas
💖 Bisexual Relationship Representation
My Sunshine
Everyone needs sunshine.
James Kyle just happens to have six feet of it, a bright smile, and the unfortunate habit of showing up exactly when James needs him most.
6/9/26 — Harry Potter
💙 Gay Relationship Representation
Harry Potter and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Gay Crisis
Harry Potter realizes he is gay.
Unfortunately, he immediately makes this Helena's problem.
Helena would like everyone to know she did not ask for this.
As it turns out, there really is a book for every occasion.
6/11/26 — Charlie Weasley & Jasmine Potter
💙 Gay Relationship Representation
A Safe Place to Land
Coming out does not go the way Charlie hoped.
A few drinks later, he finds himself on Jasmine Potter's doorstep.
Jasmine has no idea what's happening.
But she knows nobody should have to face heartbreak alone.
6/12/26 — Jasmine Potter & The Order of the Phoenix
🏳️🌈 Queer History Representation
Jasmine Potter Presents: You're Wrong
At an Order meeting, Molly Weasley casually remarks that there weren't any gay people when they were at Hogwarts.
Jasmine Potter laughs so hard she falls out of her chair.
The resulting conversation becomes part history lesson, part public service announcement, and entirely Molly's fault.
6/13/26 — Camp Half-Blood
🏳️🌈 LGBTQ+ Community Representation
The Pride Parade Incident
Camp Half-Blood attends a Pride Parade.
This would be easier if demigods were capable of behaving in public.
They are not.
Happy Pride! 🌈
This month is about celebrating queer love, queer friendship, queer history, queer community, and queer survival in all its forms. Thank you to everyone following along. 💕
A Lesson in Girlhood- (Cassandra Cain x Stephanie Brown)
🩷 Lesbian Relationship Representation
Armed with blankets, junk food, and an alarming amount of pink, Steph sets out to give Cass a lesson in girlhood—and learns that some of the most important milestones are the ones shared together.
Cassandra Cain had never been to a sleepover.
This fact horrified Stephanie Brown.
The revelation happened over pizza.
Steph nearly dropped her slice.
"No."
Cass looked up.
Steph pointed dramatically.
"No. Absolutely not."
Cass raised an eyebrow.
"You've never had a sleepover?"
Cass signed.
No.
"Like a real one?"
Cass nodded.
Steph looked personally betrayed.
"Oh my god."
Cass tilted her head.
Steph pointed at her.
"We are fixing this."
Cass had no idea what fixing this meant.
Three hours later Steph arrived at Wayne Manor carrying enough bags to survive an apocalypse.
Alfred opened the door.
"Miss Brown."
"Emergency."
Alfred looked at the six bags.
"I see."
Cass appeared behind him.
Steph immediately shoved a duffel bag into her arms.
"Supplies."
Cass opened it.
Blankets.
Candy.
Movies.
Face masks.
Stuffed animals.
A pink plastic tiara.
Cass looked at Steph.
Then looked at the tiara.
Then back at Steph.
Steph nodded seriously.
"Essential."
Cass signed.
Why?
"Sleepover law."
There was definitely no such law.
Cass knew this.
Steph knew this.
Neither of them acknowledged it.
By eight o'clock Cass's room barely resembled a room anymore.
Blankets covered every available surface.
Pillows had multiplied.
Steph had somehow built a blanket fort large enough to qualify as real estate.
Cass sat cross-legged inside it.
Watching.
Learning.
The way she always learned.
Steph dropped down beside her with a bowl of popcorn.
"You know, normal people do this all the time."
Cass accepted the bowl.
Signed.
Why?
Steph laughed.
"To spend time together."
Cass frowned.
We spend time together.
"Not like this."
Steph waved a hand around the fort.
"No patrol."
Another gesture.
"No training."
Another.
"No getting stabbed."
Cass considered.
Fair point.
The movie lasted approximately twenty minutes before Steph became distracted.
Which was honestly impressive.
Steph rolled over onto her stomach and stared at Cass.
Cass continued eating popcorn.
Steph continued staring.
Finally Cass signed.
What?
Steph's expression softened.
"You missed a lot, huh?"
Cass froze.
Steph wasn't talking about movies.
Or sleepovers.
Or blanket forts.
Cass knew exactly what she meant.
Birthday parties.
School dances.
Friends.
Secrets shared after midnight.
Growing up.
Being a girl.
Being a child.
Things Cass had never really been allowed to be.
The League had taught her how to fight.
How to survive.
How to kill.
Not how to paint her nails with friends.
Not how to gossip.
Not how to stay awake until three in the morning talking about crushes.
Not how to be fourteen.
Or fifteen.
Or sixteen.
Cass looked down at her hands.
Then signed.
Yes.
The answer was small.
Steph understood anyway.
For a moment her smile disappeared.
Cass recognized the look.
Anger.
Not at her.
At the people who had taken those things away.
Then Steph suddenly grabbed the plastic tiara.
Cass immediately became suspicious.
Steph smiled.
The smile got wider.
Oh no.
Before Cass could escape, Steph carefully placed the tiara on her head.
"There."
Cass blinked.
Steph nodded.
"Perfect."
Cass touched the cheap pink plastic.
Then looked at Steph.
Steph looked completely serious.
Cass signed.
Ridiculous.
Steph gasped.
"You look beautiful."
Cass rolled her eyes.
Steph pointed.
"There!"
Cass frowned.
Steph grinned.
"That."
Cass signed.
What?
"That look."
Steph smiled softly.
"The one where you're trying not to smile."
Cass immediately looked away.
Which only made Steph laugh harder.
The nail polish happened next.
It was a disaster.
An absolute disaster.
Cass could dismantle a rifle in under thirty seconds.
She could identify seventeen different fighting styles.
She could take down opponents twice her size.
Nail polish defeated her immediately.
Steph laughed so hard she nearly fell off the bed.
Cass glared.
Pink polish covered half her fingers.
And part of her palm.
And somehow her wrist.
Steph wiped tears from her eyes.
"You fought Deathstroke."
Cass signed aggressively.
This harder.
Steph collapsed.
Actually collapsed.
The laughter echoed through the room.
Cass secretly liked the sound.
Later they lay beneath a mountain of blankets.
The room dark.
The conversation quiet.
Comfortable.
Steph stared at the ceiling.
"Hey, Cass?"
Cass turned toward her.
Steph smiled softly.
"I'm glad you got out."
The League.
The isolation.
The loneliness.
Everything.
Cass looked at the shadows above them.
Then signed.
Me too.
Steph reached over.
Not grabbing.
Not demanding.
Just offering.
Cass looked at the hand.
Then took it.
Their fingers intertwined.
Easy.
Natural.
Steph smiled.
Good.
Cass stared at their joined hands.
Then signed carefully.
Slowly.
Because some things were harder than others.
Glad got you too.
Steph froze.
Completely froze.
Cass immediately knew she'd made a mistake.
Or maybe not a mistake.
Just—
Something vulnerable.
Steph's eyes widened.
Then she launched herself across the blanket pile.
Cass barely had time to react before Steph wrapped both arms around her.
A hug.
An aggressive hug.
Cass accepted her fate.
Steph buried her face against Cass's shoulder.
"Aww."
Cass closed her eyes.
Steph squeezed tighter.
"Awwww."
Cass contemplated throwing her off the bed.
Steph somehow sensed the thought.
"Don't you dare."
Cass signed behind her back.
Considering.
Steph laughed.
The sound vibrated through both of them.
Warm.
Safe.
Happy.
Cass realized she liked that too.
The next morning Bruce opened Cass's bedroom door.
And immediately stopped.
Cass and Steph were asleep beneath approximately thirty blankets.
Three stuffed animals.
Two empty candy wrappers.
One half-finished bottle of nail polish.
And a pink tiara still resting crookedly on Cass's head.
Summary: James Potter would like to know why his twin sister keeps spending so much time with his two best friends. Unfortunately for him, nobody is answering his questions. Everyone else, however, seems to know exactly what's going on.
James Potter would like to know why his twin sister keeps spending so much time with his two best friends. Unfortunately for him, nobody is answering his questions.
James Potter knew something was wrong.
Not dangerous wrong.
Not Voldemort-is-back wrong.
Not Sirius-has-decided-to-fight-a-professor wrong.
Just...
Wrong.
Because his twin sister had vanished.
Not physically.
Jasmine still attended classes.
Still ate meals.
Still mocked him mercilessly.
But every time James looked for her—
She was with Sirius.
Or Remus.
Or both.
Always both.
Which was suspicious.
Very suspicious.
James sat down heavily across from Sirius and Remus at breakfast.
"Where's Jasmine?"
Sirius didn't even look up from his toast.
"No idea."
Remus turned a page in his book.
"Haven't seen her."
James narrowed his eyes.
"You were literally with her yesterday."
"No."
"You were."
"I wasn't."
"You were holding her books."
Sirius looked offended.
"I hold lots of books."
"You can't read."
"I can read enough."
Remus snorted into his tea.
James pointed dramatically.
"See? Guilty."
Neither of them reacted.
Which somehow made it worse.
The next time James saw Jasmine she was sitting under a tree.
With Sirius.
And Remus.
Again.
The three of them were laughing about something.
James approached.
Immediately the conversation stopped.
Silence.
The most suspicious silence James had ever experienced.
"What are you talking about?"
"Nothing."
Three voices.
Perfectly synchronized.
James stared.
"You rehearsed that."
"No."
Again.
Perfect synchronization.
James was going to lose his mind.
Peter thought it was hilarious.
Unfortunately Peter was also useless.
"I don't know what's going on."
"You absolutely do."
Peter looked away.
"Maybe."
"Peter."
"I'm not telling."
"Why?"
Peter started laughing.
Which was not encouraging.
A week later James found them in the library.
Again.
Together.
Jasmine was sitting between Sirius and Remus.
Sirius had an arm draped over the back of her chair.
Remus was helping her with notes.
It looked innocent.
Probably.
Maybe.
James didn't trust it.
"Why are you always together?"
Three heads turned.
Three innocent expressions.
Three liars.
"We're friends."
James stared.
"You've been friends for six years."
"Correct."
"You weren't attached at the hip before."
"We evolved."
"That's not how friendship works."
Sirius shrugged.
"Maybe yours doesn't."
James began collecting evidence.
A chart appeared on his dormitory wall.
Lily Evans called it concerning.
James called it investigative journalism.
The chart included:
Number of times Jasmine disappeared after dinner.
Number of times Sirius disappeared after dinner.
Number of times Remus disappeared after dinner.
A color-coded timeline.
The results were devastating.
"They're hiding something."
Marlene looked at the chart.
"You spent six hours on this."
"Focus."
"No."
The breaking point came in February.
James was walking through a corridor when he heard laughter.
Jasmine's laughter.
He followed it.
Because he was a concerned brother.
And not because he was obsessed.
The door to an unused classroom was slightly open.
James peeked inside.
Sirius was sprawled across a couch.
Remus was sitting beside him.
Jasmine was stretched out with her head in Remus's lap and her feet thrown across Sirius.
The three of them looked entirely comfortable.
Entirely domestic.
Entirely suspicious.
James burst through the door.
"AHA!"
All three jumped.
Jasmine nearly fell off the couch.
"What is wrong with you?" she demanded.
"I KNEW IT."
"Knew what?"
James pointed dramatically.
"This!"
Sirius blinked.
"This?"
"THIS."
Remus looked exhausted already.
"James."
"You spend all your time together."
"Yes."
"You disappear together."
"Sometimes."
"You have secret meetings."
"They aren't secret."
"They are to me."
Jasmine pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Oh my god."
James crossed his arms.
"What are you hiding?"
The three exchanged a glance.
One of those silent conversations that made James want to scream.
"There is definitely something."
Another glance.
Then Sirius started laughing.
Remus immediately buried his face in his hands.
Jasmine looked like she wanted the floor to open.
James pointed.
"SEE?"
Sirius laughed harder.
That evening James cornered Lily.
"I think my sister is dating one of my best friends."
Lily looked up from her homework.
"Only one?"
James froze.
"...What?"
Lily returned to her essay.
Nothing happened for several seconds.
Then James slowly turned.
"Lily."
"Hm?"
"What do you mean only one?"
Lily looked genuinely surprised.
"You didn't know?"
James felt his soul leave his body.
"KNOW WHAT?"
Realization dawned across Lily's face.
"Oh."
"Oh?"
"Oh no."
"LILY."
She immediately gathered her books.
"Nope."
"LILY EVANS."
"Not my secret."
"LILY!"
She fled.
Actually fled.
James stood in the corridor.
Alone.
Confused.
Terrified.
And suddenly very certain that whatever was happening between Jasmine, Sirius, and Remus was far worse than he had imagined.
Because apparently everyone knew.
Everyone.
Except him.
Which, in James Potter's defense, was incredibly rude.
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Warnings: Family conflict, Alicent Hightower being Alicent Hightower, emotional manipulation, crack treated seriously, feelings. 🐉💕
Aegon Targaryen did not want to be king.
This was perhaps the worst-kept secret in all of King's Landing.
Not because he hid it.
Because nobody listened when he said it.
Prince.
Heir.
Future King.
The titles followed him everywhere like chains.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
Wrong.
Every lesson became a lecture about duty.
Every mistake became a warning about the crown.
Every conversation somehow returned to the Iron Throne.
As if wanting it was required.
As if he should be grateful for the burden.
As if sitting on a chair made from swords was anyone's idea of happiness.
The truth was simple.
Every time Aegon looked at the Iron Throne, he felt trapped.
Every time he looked at Jacaerys Targaryen, he felt relieved.
Because Jace wanted to help people.
Jace wanted to rule well.
Jace cared.
And that made all the difference.
Which was why Aegon's favorite place in the entire world was Helaena's solar.
Nobody bothered him there.
Nobody expected greatness.
Nobody demanded ambition.
Nobody asked him about succession.
The room was warm, quiet, and comfortably cluttered with books, embroidery, sketches, half-finished projects, and whatever strange collection Helaena had become interested in that week.
Helaena sat by the window, sunlight catching in her silver hair.
Daena Manderly sat behind her, carefully working another braid into place.
The two women had been talking softly before Aegon arrived.
Now they had mostly accepted his presence.
Specifically the fact that he had immediately thrown himself across a couch and deposited his head into Helaena's lap.
A position of immense dignity.
Entirely befitting a prince.
Daena glanced over.
"You look ridiculous."
Aegon closed his eyes.
"I am resting."
"You arrived three minutes ago."
"I have been burdened by my responsibilities."
"You skipped your responsibilities."
"I was burdened by avoiding them."
Helaena turned a page in her book.
"That does sound tiring."
"Thank you, wife."
Daena rolled her eyes.
"I am surrounded by enablers."
"You love us."
"I do."
The answer came immediately.
Aegon smiled.
Because she did.
That was the thing about this room.
Nobody pretended otherwise.
Nobody played politics.
Nobody measured affection.
They simply cared.
The door burst open.
Jacaerys Targaryen entered carrying enough parchment to qualify as a military threat.
Aegon sat up immediately.
"No."
Jace blinked.
"No?"
"No court."
"I need to complain."
"Denied."
"I wasn't asking."
"You should have."
Jace dropped into the nearest chair.
The stack of papers hit the table with enough force to make everyone wince.
Daena immediately stole the top report.
Future wife privileges.
"What happened now?" she asked.
"The Brackens are arguing with the Blackwoods."
"Again?"
"Again."
"The Vale wants more ships."
"Naturally."
"The Crownlands want lower taxes."
"Of course they do."
"The Reach is offended."
Daena frowned.
"About what?"
Jace looked exhausted.
"I genuinely do not know."
Aegon laughed.
"You've reached peak governance."
"It gets worse."
"Gods help us."
Jace rubbed both hands down his face.
"I spent three hours today settling a dispute about sheep."
The room went silent.
Aegon slowly sat up.
"Sheep."
"Yes."
"Actual sheep."
"Unfortunately."
Daena stared.
Helaena lowered her book.
Even she looked interested.
"How many sheep?"
Jace looked personally victimized.
"Three hundred and twelve."
Aegon immediately lost all composure.
"Three hundred and twelve sheep caused three hours of problems?"
"There were forty-seven pages of paperwork."
The room exploded.
Daena nearly fell out of her chair laughing.
Helaena hid her smile behind her book.
Aegon threw himself dramatically across the couch.
"I hate sheep."
"So do I."
"Ban them."
"I cannot ban sheep."
"You could."
"I literally cannot."
"You'll be king."
"That is not how kingship works."
"It should be."
Jace dropped his forehead onto the table.
Daena reached over and patted his shoulder.
"You are very brave."
"I am suffering."
"You chose this."
"No one chooses sheep."
That somehow made everyone laugh harder.
For a few minutes the stress seemed to leave Jace completely.
The tension eased from his shoulders.
The constant weight he carried slipped away.
And Aegon watched it happen.
Watched the way Jace listened.
Watched the way he cared.
Watched the way he never stopped trying.
Then, unexpectedly, Aegon spoke.
"You're going to be a great king."
The room fell quiet.
Jace lifted his head.
Daena stopped laughing.
Even Helaena looked up.
Because Aegon rarely spoke seriously.
And when he did, people listened.
"I mean it."
Jace blinked.
Aegon gestured toward the mountain of reports.
The petitions.
The complaints.
The endless stream of problems.
"You care."
A simple statement.
A true one.
"You spend hours solving problems nobody will ever thank you for."
Jace looked away.
Aegon continued anyway.
"You remember people's names."
Daena smiled softly.
Because he did.
Gods, Jace remembered everyone.
Guards.
Servants.
Stable hands.
Kitchen workers.
Lords.
Ladies.
Children.
Everyone.
"You actually listen when people talk."
Jace rubbed the back of his neck.
Looking uncomfortable.
Embarrassed.
Aegon laughed quietly.
"And apparently you're willing to spend three hours arguing about sheep if it helps somebody."
"It was a very stupid argument."
"It was."
Aegon agreed immediately.
"Still."
Silence settled.
Comfortable.
Warm.
Family.
The kind built by choice.
Then Daena ruined the moment.
"You would be a terrible king."
Aegon gasped.
Deeply offended.
"I would be adequate."
"You would sell the throne."
"I would not."
"You absolutely would."
"I would not."
Helaena looked up from her book.
"You tried to sell your dragon saddle when you were thirteen."
Aegon pointed accusingly.
"That was private information."
"It was three separate times."
"It was one entrepreneurial venture."
"You attempted to auction it."
"I was diversifying my assets."
Jace was laughing now.
Actually laughing.
Not the polite version he used in court.
Not the careful version expected of a prince.
Real laughter.
The kind that bent him forward in his chair.
The kind that made Daena laugh harder just hearing it.
Aegon smiled.
Because that was enough.
He didn't want the throne.
Never had.
Never would.
But Jace?
Jace would be wonderful.
And somehow that realization had never made him jealous.
Never made him angry.
Never made him resentful.
Instead it felt like freedom.
Like finally setting down a burden he had been carrying his entire life.
Then the door opened.
The laughter died immediately.
Alicent Hightower stood in the doorway.
And stopped.
Because there sat her son.
Comfortable.
Happy.
Not discussing succession.
Not preparing for kingship.
Not fighting for power.
Not trying to claim the throne.
Simply existing.
Curled up beside Helaena.
Laughing with Daena.
Supporting Jacaerys.
Like this was where he belonged.
And perhaps that was the problem.
Because Alicent had spent years trying to make Aegon want a crown.
Years trying to convince him the throne was his duty.
His right.
His destiny.
Yet here he sat.
Looking at Jace with pride instead of jealousy.
Looking at Helaena with affection instead of obligation.
Looking happier than he ever did near the Iron Throne.
For the first time in years, Aegon Targaryen looked exactly where he wanted to be.
