#I’m probably reading too deep but it questions the idea that existing and being valuable is tied to being useful or succe

[applespider]

Strong independent woman? More like pathetic dependent woman who’s flaws counter out any good qualities she has twice over. I’m still talking about Aqua. I love her so much. That’s something I really like about the Konosuba cast in general. Found family without the wholesome. They never leave the first town, they’re constantly in debt, everyone knows them as those weirdos who cause problems, but they kind of love each other anyway. They’re found family because they all suck so much they can’t survive without each other. They aren’tin a position to reject each other because of their weird or unlikeable qualities. They’re the same. You just kind of accept it. And isn’t that what family is?

I’m not wording this right, but they’re just such normal people. They like cool stuff even if it’s seen as cringe, they can’t help but blow their earnings on nice alcohol, they work a regular job because adventuring doesn’t really pay. They adjust to each other. Kazuma taking Megumin out to do her explosions, Aqua and Kazuma being the same fucking person, both irritating each other and understanding each other because of it. Kazuma not wanting to fight the demon king because it sounds like a lot of work. They accept each others weirdness out of necessity. That’smy type of found family.

[screechthemighty]

Resident Evil Brain is still going brrrr, so here’s a new short fic! I actually came up with the idea for it ages ago, but finishing up everything stays gave me some breathing room to finish it off. You can read the full story below, but I’ll also post it to AO3 (same user name as here) and include a link to that in the reblogs!

If it were up to him, he wouldn’t have slept. He would have powered through, gone after the next Lord. Stopping to eat was one thing; stopping to sleep felt wrong. Almost like he was giving up, or wasting valuable time that could be the difference between life and death for his daughter.

But Ethan had nearly tripped while catching a chicken to eat, and deep down he knew he'd just get himself killed if he didn't rest at least a little. He wasn't expecting that somewhere to be the back of the Duke's wagon, but the man had offered, and Ethan was too tired to complain. He kept the two flasks he'd managed to gather close to his chest as he curled up in his corner. "It's gonna be okay," Ethan whispered. He wasn't sure if Rose could hear him; the Duke had said her essence was intact, whatever the hell that meant, so maybe. It couldn't hurt to try. "I'm coming for you, honey. I promise."

He just needed enough of a nap that his limbs would stop feeling so heavy. Ethan's eyes drifted shut. He thought between the stinging pain in his hand and the memories of that awful house with all the dolls, sleep wouldn't come easy, but he dozed off pretty quickly.

He woke up to a feeling of dread seizing his body.

At first, he thought he’d had a nightmare, but...no, it was deeper than that. Maybe it was his paranoia, but something wasn’t right. Ethan carefully moved off the cot and crept towards the front of the cart. He could just see the Duke’s shoulder, and past it...

Black robes, the flutter of feathers, no, no, she couldn’t be here, not now.

The other man glanced over his shoulder, pressing a single finger to his lips. That was the only thing that kept Ethan from panicking. He thought about making a run for Rose, but that would mean making noise. It was a miracle that Miranda hadn’t heard him move the first time.

How hadn’t she noticed them? The Duke wasn’t exactly subtle. Ethan kept bracing himself for her to turn her head, try to talk to the Duke, maybe even try to hurt him. She did look their way at one point, causing Ethan to duck back behind cover, teeth clenched, trying to steady his breathing. But when he looked again, she just moved on. As if there were nothing out of the ordinary about the Duke being there.

No. As if she hadn’t seen them at all.

Ethan stayed frozen in place until Miranda was out of sight. Even then, he kept his voice down to a whisper: “Is she...?”

“She won’t be a problem,” said the Duke. Ethan was taken aback by the other man’s tone—not quite aggressive, but definitely hostile. “Not for now, at least.” And then, just as swiftly... “It’s good that you’re awake! I’ve just finished preparing lunch.”

That tone was gone.

The smell of food was the only thing that got Ethan to leave the cart; even then, he made sure everything was packed away and secure before he did. He wanted to be ready if he had to run. The Duke didn’t seem worried, though. He just served up the dish (Ethan had already forgotten what it was called, but fuck it smelled good) and started eating his own portion as if nothing were wrong. As if he hadn’t just had the one and only major change in his mood that Ethan had seen in the time they’d known each other. It wasn’t that long in the grand scheme of things, but when the guy had been so consistent up until then, it was noteworthy. Weird, even.

Why are you doing all of this?

Why, it’s all part of our first class customer service.

Or maybe it was personal.

Ethan sneaked a few glances at the Duke as he ate. The man seemed genuinely unbothered, but maybe he was just good at hiding whatever that venom had been. “How didn’t she see us?” Ethan asked. It felt almost rude to ask, but if he was throwing in his lot with this guy, he felt like he had a right to know. “She wasn’t too far away.”

“I’ve been in this village longer than she has,” said the Duke. “It seems to agree with me more than it does her.” He noticed Ethan’s immediate frown. “What’s the longest you’ve ever lived somewhere, Ethan?”

“The same...place? I mean, I was in Dallas for a while. Not the same house the whole time, but...probably Dallas?”

“Well, after a while, wouldn’t you say that you get a feeling for a place’s...essence? How it moves, how it breathes? You could navigate it more quickly than a person who hadn’t been there as long, could you not? Stay hidden in places and ways they wouldn’t know about?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “...we’re right out in the open, there’s nothing...” Ethan sighed. “You know what, never mind. This is sounding like a conversation I should be drunk for.”

The Duke laughed. It didn’t sound mocking, at least. “Well, if you find anything left to drink in this place, bring it back with you. We can split the bottle.”

“Maybe. Once this is over.” And as long as it wasn’t from Dimitrescu’s winery. That stuff definitely wasn’t just fermented grapes.

Ethan kept eating, trying to focus on the food and not on the questions still nagging at his mind. Nothing about this place made sense, and the Duke was high up there on that list. Even if Ethan was choosing to trust him for now...

No, I have to knw.

“So...you know Miranda? Maybe not personally, but...” Ethan glanced up at the Duke, carefully studying his nearly unreadable face. “...I take it you don’t like her very much?”

The Duke hesitated. Even though his face stayed impassive, that alone was enough to catch Ethan’s attention. He wasn’t usually so slow to answer. “I am not one of her devotees, no,” the Duke said. “Which means I can clearly see she is the root of much suffering in this place.”

“The Lords? All those monsters?”

“In more ways than you realize. They were people once, you know. They might be monstrous now, but they are monsters of her making.”

Ethan understood what the Duke meant. He thought about the Bakers. The madman that had cut off his leg versus the man with kind eyes who’d begged him to save his family. The shrieking banshee with her bugs versus a woman who could’ve been his own grandmother. He wasn’t sure if Eveline had ever been anything but cruel, but even if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have existed if it hadn’t been for someone else’s greed. Even the molded had been people once. Ethan didn’t regret defending himself and Mia, never would, and he’d keep defending himself here as long as these people kept screwing with him. But...

How different might things had been if someone somewhere down the line just hadn’t screwed with everyone? Just left the Lords, whoever they had been once, and the villagers in peace?

“Yeah,” Ethan said quietly. He took his last few bites of the food. “Fuck that crazy bitch, huh?”

The Duke laughed boisterously. "I'll certainly eat to that."

Ethan didn't entirely relax. He wasn't sure he was capable of that. But he was able to relax a little. Even if he didn't know how, it seemed like the Duke's little setup was a safe place.

There weren't too many of those in this place.

---

Knowing what to say and when best to say it was one of the most important parts of customer service. It was the only thing that kept the Duke from saying more to Ethan Winters. The poor man had enough on his plate, much he had to grapple with, most of it beyond the scope of his understanding. Further truth might not break him, but it would cause him unnecessary stress.

There was much the Duke would have told him if it weren’t for that concern. What centuries felt like. How this little village had changed, people coming and going, living and dying. How many had tried to seize the power the mountains held. None had truly succeeded before Miranda, the self-proclaimed mother of this place.

The Duke may have long forgotten the face of his own mother, but he remembered enough to know what maternal love felt like. Whatever Miranda had to offer was not that love. Just a twisted perversion of it, as the Lords were twisted perversions of children. She was an infection in these lands, but unfortunately, one he could do nothing about. The Duke had a great many tricks up his sleeve, but he was only a seller of arms. He had never learned to use them himself. He had always been keen to supply those who might oppose Miranda, but none had succeeded yet.

Out of all of them, he felt that Ethan Winters had the best chance of succeeding.

It wasn’t just the man’s biology, though that was clearly giving him an edge. It was something else: the spark the Duke had in his eyes from the first second they met. Determination. Rage. The kind of drive that couldn’t be found in any mold or virus in the world.

And what better to defeat a perversion of parental love than its true counterpart?

Ethan kept his bag clutched close to his chest as he ate, the bag that contained two parts of his daughter. The Duke had heard him whispering to the flasks before he fell asleep, trying to soothe and reassure the child. Even now, as he paused in eating, Ethan hummed quietly. A jaunty tune, one that the Duke didn’t recognize. “A favorite song of hers?” he asked.

Ethan glanced up. “Oh, uh. Yeah. ‘Doctor Worm.’ Never too early to get started on good music.” He held the bag a little closer before finishing off his meal. “Thanks. For the food. And for...” He gestured. “Whatever it was you did back there. If you did anything.”

His tone cemented the Duke’s decision to keep some things from Ethan. He sounded exasperated by even a simple cloaking technique. The Duke’s true age would only elicit a similar response.

Maybe if Ethan survived this, when he had less on his mind, the Duke could tell him everything. His full, dark history with Miranda. The full scope of the horrors he’d seen. The horrors that Ethan would have put a stop to. But for now, the Duke took Ethan’s plate with a smile. “Do keep an eye out for more meat as you go,” he said. “It would be an honor to have dinner with you.”

“Yeah,” Ethan said in a quiet huff. “Assuming I make it that long.”

That was always a risk, of course. That Ethan wouldn’t make it. But despite knowing that...

“After what you’ve done, Mr. Winters? I think you’re more than equipped to handle what’s to come.”

And he meant that. He truly did. Even if it was to be the death of Ethan Winters...the Duke had a feeling it would be the death of Mother Miranda as well.

He just hoped he would be able to explain exactly how truly important that was.

[lord-of-fidgets]

Ratchet x Autistic Reader ( Transformers Prime )

🚑 The first time you met the autobots it was all a bit much to take in; even more so when Optimus had assigned you with Ratchet. Or, Ratchet with you - however you wanted to look at it. It made sense - the others were already paired off and no doubt Optimus realized you'd feel safer with the medic, despite his apparently grumpy demaner.

🚑 It did take a while to pick up on it but you definitely found that he was basically a teddy bear - grumpy on the outside but deeply caring on the inside.

🚑 Since he didn't really leave the base - Omega One - he had a pretty set routine. You settled into it easily as well. Still in school or in college? You can study next to him in content silence as you both plod along with your tasks. Simply interested in what he is doing? He wouldn't mind you watching - and he doesn't mind the questions, despite the way he talks which would make it seem he'd rather not be bothered with inquires. In fact, he's more than willing to give explanations about anything you're interested in. His day to day routine is fairly concrete; something you both enjoy and prefer .

🚑 Special Interests - he wouldn't mind listening. Believe it or not, he makes a good sounding board. Of course sometimes he's busy or something unexpected happens that means he has to interrupt- but later as you're both in his habsuite getting ready to sleep, he's more than willing to let you continue if you want. He's genuinely interested because he does care about you - even if it's not always obvious.

🚑 Once he discovers you're autistic, Ratchet is invested in learning what he can ( when he has the time he prioritizes it ) and often asks you about your own experiences. When he hears about organizations like Autism $peaks, he's appalled and utters more than a few irritated words under his breath. Don't be suprised if he sits you down and wants to know if you want to make a plan in case of Meltdowns/shutdowns, overwhelm, etc. It's extremely important to him to be able to aid you when you need it.

🚑 Because he does care - even if he likes to pretend he's too grumpy to care - Primus help when you DO get overstimulated. If it's because of anyone else in the base - they'd maybe get one warning, which was probably snapped out as an order at everyone else to be quiet while he hurries to get you to a place that you can calm down in.

🚑 You have a stim kit at the base, including a weighted blanket, in his habsuite. Because if you need to get away, and a drive wasn't an option or good idea, you definitely wouldn't be disturbed in there. He'd make sure of it. Ratchet would keep any questions to simple "yes" or "no" ones, just long enough to know exactly what you needed.

🚑 If you use a device or prefer to use a device to communicate, no problem. He's already made sure he can interact with the device and made it so you could talk to him at any point using it. It doesn't matter if you're non-verbl, Semi-verbal, or just can't speak due to no spoons - he would never judge and would look to take the best of care of you. If you take medication, he'd always remind you to take it when and how you needed. which - don't be suprised if he hovers. He doesn't mean to - he just cares and so worries ( sometimes obsessively ). Thank you for humoring him.

🚑 A rare treat would be quiet drives together - wrapped up in a weighted blanket with a comfort object or stim toy as you are perched in the passenger seat, you love evening drives when the twilight is dimming and the bright desert sun is no longer overwhelming sensory wise. His voice is nice to listen to; he could ramble on about any topic he knew and was passionate about... But there would also be rides of just comfortable silence. Sometimes you'd end up falling asleep and he's pleased you're getting rest.

🚑 He's aware of how difficult it can be to sleep... So he'd be extra careful to not wake you. His habsuite isn't far from the sick bay - so the soft whirls of the machinery and his spark combine into a soothing mix of white noise. You're small and often he'll gently place you on his chest as he powers down; for the love of the All Spark don't try to disappear without waking him- he'd panic. Then get upset from the fear ( being a war vet and a medic can carry a heavy toll on a bot; I suspect he has PTSD himself. ); Not at you ( though it can seem like it in the heat of the moment ) but at the thought that something could of happened and if he wasn't there wheb you needed help what could have happened.

🚑 Stims don't bother him; he'd rather you stim and be yourself around him than feel like you have to hide it. you're free to - and encouraged to - drop your mask around him. If someone dares try to be ableistic toward you - Primus help their soul/spark. Let's admit it - Ratchet genuinely upset and angry is kinda unnerving. But he's careful to keep it in check around you. Last thing he wants is to make you upset in turn or to cause you discomfort of any sort.

🚑 He'd fight through hell and back for you. That's just the kind of bot he is.

🚑 You both end up becoming very close and work together often. It soon seems as if you've both been always working together. On days you're not there, he'll catch himself turning to address you only to feel a tinge of disappointment when he remembers you're not there then. Not that he'd admit it, willingly.

🚑 If you have a learning disability/intellectual disability, he's here to support you. You don't have to worry about proving your worth to him at all; you exist and are worth more than he can measure. Though, again, not that he'd willingly admit that part and tries to hide the pleasure he finds in your company in case it shows too much. After all he has that "grumpy-persona" to maintain. Can't drive? He's got you covered. Can't work a "normal" job or at all? Human societies are flawed and he disagrees with the abelstic nature of a lot of the ideals in society- you're valuable because you're you, you're alive. And you're his partner, his assistant, and he's your guardian. ( A position he takes seriously).

🚑 Once he realizes he's become your "safe place/person", he's suprised, humbled and pleased all at once. We all know he still grieves the fact he couldn't fully restore Bumblebee's voice during the war; Ratchet has a deep sense of duty, but he also has a harsh inner critic. To think you trust him enough even in your most vulnerable state is overwhelming to him but also makes the medic all the more determined to be there for you.

( maybe Ill make a part two for this one too. I'd like feedback if you've got any. Allistics don't derail. I'm willing to write more of these if people are interested. I don't think they're all that good but they do come from my heart. I'm also autistic, etc, and as I've said I can't speak for all autistics just me. So there may be things you can't relate to. That's ok and I hope you still enjoyed.)

Thank you for reading.

[ddarker-dreams]

Malaise. Yan Fugo x Reader [Implied x Giorno]

word count: 6.3k warnings: implied sexual relations, angst later on notes: i wouldn’t say there’s super heavy yandereness going on here, but given the context i figured yandere would play out a bit differently. it’s more like slight yandere if anything ...

i.

Interacting with someone so close to your own age shouldn’t be this miserable. Bucciarati is far easier to converse with, it’s not even a close competition. He’s a pleasant conversationalist, humoring your ideas and offering valuable input. If you had it your way, you’d only be speaking to him and not… this bratty teenager who turned his nose up whenever you were around. As if your mere existence is the highest insult to his own. You’ll never forget how he looked from you to Bucciarati with a quirked eyebrow when you were introduced, the awkward encounter forever burned into your mind. 

You blow a strand of hair out of your face, nose scrunching up at the current dilemma. Bucciarati had asked, more like softly nudged you, to get along better with Fugo. You’ve been trying, ever since he introduced you two that fateful day. In the back of your head, you wonder if the same task was assigned to Fugo in private. Though seeing as he’s remaining nose deep into his book, sitting as far as humanly possible from you on this couch, you doubt it. The phrase “avoid like the plague”, doesn’t even scratch the surface of Fugo’s attitude towards you. He’d sooner embrace the Bubonic Plague than you, should prior encounters be recalled.

“Was there something you needed?” 

Speak of the devil. He must’ve seen fit to grace your presence with his most sacred articulation, filling the tense air with some much-needed conversation. The words aren’t malicious on a surface level, seemingly a reasonable inquiry considering you’ve been staring at him for a solid ten minutes. It’s how his voice is strained, knuckles whitening as he grips the book tighter, which gives him away. Fugo’s too easy to read at times, the same can’t be said when it comes to dealing with him. This might be the most difficult task Bucciarati ever assigned to you. 

“Need isn’t the word I’d use,” you decide to ignore the not-so-subtle irritation on his features, pushing your strained luck as far as it can go. Linguistics aside, you put your cards on the table. “But, I was hoping to get to know you better.” 

With the ball now on his side of the court, all you can do is wait, for whatever rebuttal Fugo decides to dish out. When Bucciarati isn’t around, Fugo’s preference is to act like you’re no more than a fly on the wall. Buzzing around his head and making it impossible to focus on anything that he does in his rare downtime. Honestly, he can’t comprehend why Bucciarati felt so desperate as to pluck you from whatever hole he found you in. You don’t even hold a candle to his own intellect, taking a naive, happy-go-lucky approach to life. Sure you’re a Stand user, and while it’s not a useless Stand, Fugo couldn’t picture you making the choices necessary in a fight to stay alive. The fact you haven’t been reduced to a bloodstain on the pavement is the only thing he finds impressive about you so far.

His eyebrow twitches at your pesky insistence, face settling into a grimace. “Am I right in assuming that if I don’t humor this pitiful attempt, you’ll continue to stare at me and disrupt my otherwise peaceful evening?” 

You place a finger to your cheek, considering the proposition, before nodding your head. “It looks like you’ve got a better understanding of things than I expected.” 

Fugo lets out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. So be it. He’ll wait until you fall asleep to finish his book, mentally noting the page number and setting it by his side. The act of surrender takes you off guard. You were fully anticipating a snarky one-liner, or for him to disregard you in some other way. Instead, he looks at you with disinterest, arms crossed over his weird swiss cheese shirt. You learned never to mention your inner critiques of his fashion sense, as it once earned a plate of parmesan being narrowly dodged at Libecco. Scary stuff.

“Now that I have your undivided attention,” Fugo winces at this like he heard nails on a chalkboard, “What do you like to do? Y’know, hobbies and stuff.” 

It’s as good a start as any. Finding out a person’s interests unravels the essence of who they are, what they believe is worth their time and effort. Fugo gives your question an unexpected amount of thought, probably sensing you’ll call him out for a lackluster answer. Which you would, of course. For all his stubbornness, he’s gotten good at reading you. Maybe you should try shaking things up a bit to rattle him, keep him on the edge of his seat… 

“Honestly, you couldn’t pick something more original…? I don’t know. I read, and I can appreciate a good movie.” 

You let out a hum of acknowledgment, considering his words. A very safe, Fugo-like answer. It didn’t take a seasoned detective to assume Fugo liked to read, but the movie detail is a new bit of information that you will take full advantage of. He strikes you as the type to be snobby about his tastes in movies. Most likely only watching them if they’re popular with critics and saying the general population has no appreciation for the fine arts, too busy consuming braindead action flicks instead of true cinema. Not that you have any intention of voicing this conclusion to him, seeing as you’re trying to worm your way into a friendship.

Fugo snaps his fingers in front of your face, bringing you back into unfortunate reality. Maybe that statement earlier this morning about you zoning out too much holds some merit. Before he can berate you as he’s taken an apparent liking to, you speak up. “That’s good and all, but I need specifics.” 

“Care to elaborate?” 

“With pleasure,” you lean forward, waving your hands enthusiastically to emphasize your point. You get the sense that Fugo regrets asking for clarification, but neither of you are willing to back down now. “How about this. If you could only watch one movie for the rest of your life, which would you pick?” 

“Is this some kind of job interview?” Fugo murmurs to himself, massaging his temples. You shrug your shoulders and offer a bright smile, and he knows sarcasm isn’t gonna cut it. “It’d need to be something interesting… maybe The Silence of the Lambs.” 

He somewhat defied your expectations, not listing some obscure black and white flick filmed on a Blackberry. Maybe you jumped the gun on your initial assessment of Fugo Pannacotta, and he isn’t as grandiloquent after all. This confrontation is going better than you ever anticipated, and you almost feel guilty for selling him too short.

That is, until he sees fit to present an unnecessary addition to his previous statement. “Was that bit of English too much for you?” 

So much for that. Once an asshole, always as an asshole. Shakespeare may have said something similar, but your reimagining is far more of a pinnacle in literary achievement. You deflate back into the couch, huffing at his indignant comment. Well, might as well burst his bubble now. It may be the only bubble Fugo has that you’re capable of the aforementioned bursting, so you’re going to savor every second of it. The entire reason you’ve never mentioned this facet of yourself is that you never viewed it as imperative. Bucciarati knew, you knew, that’s all that mattered. Until Fugo decided to dig under your skin and rub salt on the wound in one fell swoop. Figures he’d do that.

“Fugo.” 

“[First].”

“You know English is my first language, right?” Your voice is more of a deadpan than anything, tilting your head to the side as if it is the most logical conclusion. The hypothetical cogs in Fugo’s head begin turning. There was that time you stumbled over a Naples exclusive dish, sfogliatella, Bucciarati kindly offering the proper pronunciation after you stumbled on it. Or how you have the slightest of accents, sometimes referencing pop culture that goes beyond him. He always wondered why muttering “cazzimma” to you only earned a light reprimanding from Bucciarati, and never offended you as more common insults would. He just thought you were some type of misfortune idiot. Whoops. 

Not willing to throw in the towel yet, Fugo takes a posture of defense. This is a hill he’s willing to die on, you have to be playing some kind of cheap trick. “I don’t buy it.” 

“Should I start reciting the entire Star-Spangled Banner by heart, or talk about how much I love fast food and baseball? Did you think my Stand would be a bald eagle that shot out apple pie? If that’s the case, you’re fresh outta luck. I’m living in Naples for a reason.” you respond in fluent English, flexing your hypothetical muscles. Fugo recalls his English classes from years prior to roughly translate some of your words, scowling at the realization you’ve proven him wrong. By god do you wish you had your phone with you to snap a picture, print it out, frame it in every room of this apartment, make it your lock screen, and send it to Bucciarati. 

You’ll settle for drinking in the moment instead, Fugo muttering curses underneath his breath. Much to your surprise, from this moment forward, Fugo earned just an ounce of respect for you. Not that it says a lot, seeing as the cup of [First] respect was drier than the Sahara desert until recent times. 

It’s still a step in the right direction.

ii.

Neither of you says a word.

Coming down from your individual highs, you feel how your hair sticks to the sides of your perspiring face. Your bare chest heaving with every labored breath, Fugo in a similar state of disarray next to you. Now that it’s all said and done, you’re unable to look at him out of embarrassment. Instead, you seek solace in staring at your ceiling, thoughts scrambling to rationalize the previous events. 

It all started innocent enough. The two of you had been growing closer, becoming more comfortable in each other's presence. Even Narancia, who could be notoriously poor at picking up on subtleties, could sense your connection and even pointed it out. Until Fugo told him to knock it off (in far more vulgar language), saving you the shame of saying it yourself. You felt content with the state of things with Fugo, after months of getting him to come out of his shell with you. His words were still pointed, but not full of ill will. Even when three more additions were brought to your little group, Fugo remained the person you prefer the most. It might be wishful thinking, but you think he feels the same towards you. 

Tonight had been like all the ones that came before. The two of you sitting on the couch, talking about pointless endeavors. Mista and Narancia were out at the time, leaving you all on your lonesome. For such a sizable couch, you didn’t realize how close Fugo was sitting next to you. Your thighs practically touching, occasionally brushing over one another. To combat the summer heat and mediocre air conditioning in your apartment, you were wearing short shorts and a tank top. Seeing as everyone else could walk around shirtless at their discretion, no one ever made a point to call you out on the less than modest choice. Even if they felt the itching, you’d shut them up without a second thought.

Fugo found himself focusing less on the words coming out of your mouth, and more on your glossy lips. He could smell your strawberry chapstick, the choice so tempting he found it offensive. Mixed with the chocolate gelato that you stole from Mista’s “hidden” stash, Fugo was bewitched on a level that shouldn’t be possible. Your skin, slightly glistening from the summer heat, eyes full of passion as you explained why you hated pretentious movies. At a certain point, you must’ve noticed how Fugo stopped responding to your impassioned rant. All he could think about was how much he wanted to kiss you, to feel every inch of your body.

So he did. 

It was far from suave, an amateurish clashing of teeth and tongue. You let out a surprised noise at the unexpected events but melted into it. While the kiss didn’t go as smoothly as he pictured in his head, you seemed to savor every second of it. He still remembers how eagerly you responded to his every desperate touch, how you wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him even closer. The scent of your floral perfume and the sweet noises that left your lips almost made him drool, prompting him to go even further. Fugo’s brain almost shut down when you lowly whispered into his ear to come to your room, bodies soon falling onto your bed in a heated embrace. 

You feel sore, but it’s not so bad. 

Fugo’s the first to speak up after some painstaking thought, breaking the silence that’s resonated ever since he climbed off of you. “Are you… are you okay?” 

It’s so unlike him to be this unsure, not knowing what to do or say. His heart still pounds in his chest, cheeks flushed and lips bruised. Suppressed emotions came crashing down over him like a tidal wave, drowning him before he could make sense of it all. You didn’t push him away or seem offended by his advances as he’d feared you’d be. Instead, you accepted all of him. Allowing him to carry out his pent-up yearning for you, in a state of bliss by how you called his name out. 

Shameful as it may be, Fugo had envisioned this scenario in his head numerous times. He’d always hated himself for it, thinking he’s no better than a common pervert for the way he thought of you. All the ways he pictured you, in all the lascivious situations, only to see you bright and early for breakfast the next day. When you smiled and told him good morning, all he could do is look away in disgrace. Not that you ever knew about this, or that you ever needed to find out. 

You let out a carefree, light giggle at his serious inquiry. Fugo’s eyebrows scrunch together into a scowl at your sudden laughter, finally working up the courage to look at you again. Any frustration melts away like winter snow in the spring at how breathtaking you look, your skin iridescent and eyes softening. They aren’t softening just for anyone, it’s for him and him alone. Does he deserve to be the one you look at with all this adoration? And should he even bother with the self-deprecating thoughts, when losing himself with you is so much better?

“S-sorry, I’m not laughing at you, it’s just,” you cover your mouth with the back of your hand, the skin underneath your eyes tightening from the wide smile. “I never took you for the sappy, pillow talk type.” 

Fugo’s nostrils flare, huffing without any malice at your teasing. He doesn’t have the slightest idea of what he’s doing, improvising as he goes. Everything that happened, every shared touched you shared, felt so surreal. Cheesy as it may sound, it was like a dream come true. What is there to say after a passionate encounter like that? He’s still rushing to get his bearings, hating the sensation of being this out of control. How you make his stomach erupt into a swarm of butterflies with every action, from the simple fluttering of your eyelashes to the cute way your nose scrunches up when you’re concentrating on a task. Fugo knows what this could be, in the back of his head. A quiet, hard to push down voice tells him what he’s been dreading to hear. That he’s a fool, deep in the throes of love. 

It takes a few minutes for you to calm yourself down. Fugo’s observant, much to your chagrin, having picked up on your nervous tick of laughing when you’re unsure of what to do. It’d make sense, seeing how you just slept with your teammate who frequently called you an idiot a few months ago. You prop yourself up, bedsheets covering your bare chest. “I’m fine, thank you.”

He looks away, despising how your revealed skin makes his face flush a bright red. Even without looking at you, he can picture the knowing smile on your angelic face at his embarrassment. It’s the same smile you have when Narancia tells a particularly funny joke, when Mista goes on a silly tangent about his latest concerns, when Bucciarati says you’ve done a good job, or when Abbacchio chooses to sit down next to you when everyone else is being too annoying. Most importantly, it’s how you always look at Fugo, even when he didn’t think he deserved it. 

You poke his cheek, murmuring his name. Fugo’s violet hues flicker back to you at the unprecedented action, perplexed countenance betraying his inner thoughts. He knows he shouldn’t be thinking like this. That the occupation you two are involved in is too dangerous to sustain a relationship, and that death is a possibility every day. It’s too late for him to nip these feelings in the bud -- that opportunity passed long ago, as he let it -- but he can’t allow it go past the point it already has.

Fugo lets out an inaudible gasp when you make yourself comfortable against his bare chest. Here he is, being torn on the inside between desire and duty, and you’re snuggling up without a care in the world. It’s the stark contrast that separates you, the same one that has him so hopelessly enamored. You have no intentions on making this easy for him, do you? He knows the answer when he sees your eyelids closing, threatening to fall asleep. 

All is comfortably quiet until he hears your muffled voice speak up. “You didn’t push me away.” 

“Huh?” 

Fugo’s own response isn't the schooled, thought-out string of words you’ve come to expect. It’s a kneejerk reaction to a confusing observation, that he’s having trouble rationalizing in his head. While never the most forthcoming with his emotions, he was essentially ravishing you like a man possessed a few minutes prior. You can’t be that dense, can you? Scratch that, the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense. Even if not many got to see that side of you, there are still insecurities that weigh heavily on your heart. In the same way he struggles with self-worth, you fight a similar battle. The thought tugs on his heart, lips set into a deep frown. Everyone’s got something to deal with.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Fugo responds in a harsher tone than he intended. When he feels you tense against his chest, he curses himself, intentionally softening his next set of words. “But, uh, do you really want me to stay? The others might be back soon.” 

You let out a hum of acknowledgment at his concerns, promptly waving them off. It’s not like Narancia and Mista are capable of sneaking into your shared residence, it’s ridiculously loud when they come home. “Just a few more minutes.” 

He expected an answer like that and still has trouble relaxing. Truth be told, Fugo would prefer to lay here with you forever. To see what you look like when you sleep, to feel the gentle rise and fall of your chest in sync with his own, to kiss your forehead and whisper goodnight. In an ideal world, that’s how it would be. Reality is a lot less forgiving, and there’s too much on the line. Being this close to someone else is vulnerable, painfully so. To hurt and be hurt, the opportunity now having the room to manifest. He knows all this, and he still can’t bring himself to mention the full force of his anxieties. Would you hate him? Think he was using you and then ditching you? 

Fugo decides to be selfish, more so than usual. While there’s no way to push down all of these emotions, looking at you puts him at ease. His fingers ghost over an area on your neck he learned was sensitive, almost smiling when you lean into the touch. The way he feels with you is addicting. From your quick wit that matches his own, never being afraid to challenge his positions, it’s like he found his match. While he’s always found you begrudgingly cute, even when he was colder to you, it’s evolved into something greater. More serious and heartfelt. It’s horrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“Does this mean we’re dating?” you ask what’s been troubling you, hearing how Fugo’s heartbeat ramps up in speed. It’s a rational conclusion, seeing how comfortable you two are with one another. You don’t know if what you feel is love, not just yet, but you want to give whatever this is a shot. Fugo’s hesitation says all you need to know, though you wish it isn’t like this. 

“I… I don’t know if I’m ready for that just yet.” Fugo answers honestly, the words so quiet you struggle to pick them up. It’d be a lie to say you’re not disappointed, though you don’t want to push him into anything he’s not ready for. Fugo has his own emotions to work through, and the last thing you need to do is jump into a relationship and ruin everything. So you lift yourself up, looking him deep in the eyes, Fugo blinking at the abrupt movement. 

“Then I’ll wait.” 

He doesn’t notice how close to crying he’s been this entire time. The world through his view goes blurry, a lump forming in the back of his throat. Fugo takes deep breaths to steady himself, and instead of berating him, you wipe away his tears with the pad of your thumb. Whispering reassurances into his ear, combing through his tousled hair with your fingers. Fugo wipes at his eyes furiously, cursing himself for breaking down in front of you of all people. He’s overwhelmed with gratitude when you decide not to comment on it further, to save him the embarrassment. Your words echo within his head like a holy mantra, a promise that he’ll hold onto. 

If there were ever a reality where you looked down at him with disdainful eyes, he’d hate himself. 

iii.

Wandering aimlessly isn’t the worst part.

No, that’d be letting himself off too easy. It’s not the sleepless nights, tossing and turning while his stomach churns, or even the tear-stained pillowcases. When walking around Naples, all he can do is submerge himself to the shadows. There’s shame in the act of hiding, and it’s all he’s come to know. Seeing the light of day feels too good for someone like him, someone who had been abandoned by everyone he cared about and was too cowardly to prevent it. It’s a suitable punishment to wallow in his own self-pity and loneliness, cursing his entire existence for the mistakes that haunt him every day. 

It’s always a mistake to come to this café. This is your favorite café, and on days like this, all he can do is watch from afar. There are times he stares at the spot you frequent for hours, waiting to see if you decide to stop by that day or not. In a way, it’s almost better when you don’t. He doesn’t get a taste of what he’s missing out on, a forbidden fruit that he’s too ashamed to reach for. Most of the time you come here alone, with your favorite pastry and coffee, scrolling on your phone or laptop before leaving. He’s seen you meet with Mista a few times, even Trish once, but it’s mostly Giorno who accompanies you. 

Today you’re on your lonesome, speaking to someone over the phone and then hanging it up with a smile. Fugo can’t help but wonder, who is it that makes you smile like that? As he sits from afar, drowning in his anguish, it’s what plagues him the most. That used to be the smile he saw on a daily basis, the one that made him fall head over heels in love. Now he’s too afraid to approach you, in fear of what you may say, or do. Even what you wouldn’t do would hurt. Would you look at him in pity, or curse him for his cowardly actions? Condemn him for not joining you on that boat, or ignore him all together?

Is it possible… that you’ve simply forgotten all about him? It has been almost two years since the worst day of his life. While he’s caught up in the past, you’ve moved into a brighter future. He doesn’t know how he feels anymore. Surely you deserve any happiness you can get after all the suffering you went through, but the thought of you being happy without him stings. It digs talons into Fugo’s heart, ripping it out of his chest. One of these days, he tells himself, he’ll work up the strength to speak to you. Even if it’s but a moment. 

Though some part of him knows he’ll never be able to face you. Not anymore.

v.

It’s early in the afternoon. Chatter from other patrons reverberates off the tastefully decorated walls, in a restaurant that Fugo’s been to numerous times. This particular visit is different than the ones years ago. Instead of the bustling atmosphere he’d grown used to, there are only two people at the table. Where laughter and lighthearted conversations before work used to occur, there’s nothing but silence save for some polite discussion. Fugo’s throat feels persistently dry, no matter how much water he gulps down. 

Giorno sits across from him, legs folded and nursing a glass of iced tea the waiter brought seconds prior. Maintaining eye contact with the revered Don of Passione is no simple task. It’s a daunting experience, regardless of Giorno’s insistence on no formalities being necessary when interacting with one another. Fugo holds immense respect for him, otherwise, he wouldn’t be willingly sitting here right now. Still, his mouth is set in a straight line, leg bouncing underneath the table. Respect isn’t enough to snuff out the uncomfortable memories that appear up in this room, suffocating him from the inside out. 

“Is there a reason I’m here?” The words come out more forcefully than he intended, Fugo’s eyes darting around his familiar surroundings, looking for something he won’t find. Someone he won’t find. He’s grateful to Giorno for his benevolence, as speaking this way to someone who’s technically his boss isn’t advisable. Someone as sharp as Fugo knows this better than most, but he also knows Giorno. While not understanding him entirely, his actions make logical sense in the grand scheme of things. 

Being in Giorno’s position means being busy. Every second of the day has to be taken advantage of, whether it be discussing with other mafioso about recent happenings or plans, making multiple phone calls, and plenty of other headache-inducing tasks. So it doesn’t make much sense to Fugo why Giorno called him this morning, asking to meet him in person for lunch. While the two aren’t on bad terms, he doesn’t feel deserving of the specially allotted time. And in his gut, he feels there’s a hidden justification for the meeting that he’s yet to uncover. A few unpleasant theories come to mind, but they only serve to unnerve Fugo further, so he stuffs them down. 

“I wasn’t sure of the best way to deal with Purple Haze. Your Stand… you’re already aware of the potential consequences it could’ve posed, so I won’t rehash it more than necessary,” Giorno begins to offer his insight into the matter, finally revealing the true reason Fugo was called out here today. “There were a variety of methods that could’ve been used, with varying degrees of success, but I took a gamble. Ultimately, she didn’t want you to suffer anymore.”

Fugo feels his heart drop, jaw slackening despite his best efforts. “Who… who do you mean?” 

At this, Giorno quirks an eyebrow up. As if to wordlessly say, you know who. 

“It might not be my place to delve into your past,” Giorno continues with a serious air, contrasted by his closed-mouth smile. Fugo never knows for certain what Giorno’s plotting behind that smile, and a part of him wants to remain oblivious. “But for you to overcome it, and in turn gain total control over Purple Haze, it must be addressed.”

He can guess where this is going, and he doesn’t like it. Giorno gives him a moment to consider the words, briefly glancing at his buzzing phone and then returning his attention back to Fugo. It’s a subtle change in body language, how Giorno’s shoulders stiffen just slightly as if he’s anticipating something. Fugo loosens the tie around his neck, the pair returning to tense silence. While the Don made valiant attempts in loosening him up, it only served to make Fugo more suspicious. All of his fears are confirmed when he overhears two voices from the room over, one of them sending his heart racing.

That’s… that you and Mista speaking to one another. He knows your voice better than he knows any other sound on the planet, even if it’s been years since he’s heard it up this close. Fugo still dreams of you, the way you used to stumble over certain Neapolitan lingo, or how wonderful it sounded when you graced his ears with a laugh. Now, he’s unsure of what to feel when hearing the muffled conversation between you and Mista. The sound grows closer, and with it, his dread. After rejoining Passione at Giorno’s behest, Fugo knew this reunion couldn’t be avoided. Nothing could prepare him for it. 

There’s a telltale gasp when you turn the corner, spotting the back of someone you haven’t seen since you were a teenager. Someone who you used to hold in high esteem, who practically fell off the face of the earth after betraying the old boss. While Mista had hastily given you the details on the car ride over, it still felt too surreal, like a cruel joke. There’s a lot that weighs down on your heart, like stones wrapped around your ankles, dragging you into the depths. The details Giorno gave you about Fugo’s whereabouts were purposefully vague, most likely in consideration of your past feelings. 

“Fugo…?” 

You’re by his side before he can even process it, bending down and wrapping his stiff shoulders into a warm embrace. He doesn’t reciprocate it or stop you, his thoughts not capable of rationalizing what’s going on. Fugo can’t bring himself to look up at your countenance, in fear of what he’ll see staring back at him. That you’re even hugging him means you must pity him, viewing him as a scared little boy who was too weak to do what was necessary. It’s the only explanation that makes sense to him, and why he can’t return your affections. While it’s no longer his place to desire anything from you, not after all his shortcomings, he silently prays. That there may be some part of you that still cares for him, in the same way he has loved you from afar. 

“I’m so glad you’ve come back.” you sniffle, emotions swirling and enveloping you. You lift your hand, using your finger to swipe away forming tears. That’s when Fugo sees it. It doesn’t hit him at first as one would expect. No, it’s a prickling sensation that starts from his chest and spreads throughout his body like a virus. His body feels ice cold, like a corpse clinging onto shreds of life, consumed from the inside out by sorrow. Nausea comes in waves, tempting him to flee from this heart-wrenching scene and never look back. Your hand falls back to your side, and Fugo’s eyes follow it with precision, unable to look away.

There’s a rose gold band on your ring finger. 

Of course. Looking at you here, it makes sense why this would happen. Your body has filled out, beauty like that of an angel. The ability to draw people in and befriend them like a glowing aura has always been your strong suit, it was warm enough to thaw the ice around Fugo’s heart. It’d be a fool’s prayer to beg God to keep you for himself, and still, he had tried. Now that leaves the burning question, who? Who was the person that erased himself from your mind, taking the place that was carved out specifically for him? He looks at your beaming face, searching for answers he won’t find outright. 

Your perfume is the same as it was before. Light and floral, but mixed with a hint of something new. Of someone new. It sickens him, the scent dizzying as it taunts him. Where has he smelled this before? It’s on the tip of his tongue, fizzling out before coming into fruition. The words you speak next are drowned out by Fugo’s throbbing head, too absorbed with dark thoughts to process them. He needs to know. He has to know. Fugo looks over your shoulder to Mista in search of answers, the gunslinger holding an uncharacteristically grim expression. They hold eye contact, Fugo staring at him with potent intensity. 

Give me a hint. Anything, please.

Not everyone gives Mista the credit he deserves for being observant. Fugo must’ve looked like he’d seen a ghost, Mista swallowing at the pale complexion and vacant eyes. Believing that his intentions weren’t clear enough, Fugo almost looks away. Before he gets the opportunity, Mista offers a slight inclination of the head. Fugo closes his eyes, all his strength going into holding himself together. Picking up the shards of glass that maintain his emotions, hands growing bloody in the process. It’s a subtle movement, though there’s no denying in what direction it went, as much as Fugo wished otherwise.

Towards Giorno. 

You move towards your seat, realizing Fugo must be going through a lot of emotions of his own. The last thing you need to do is suffocate him when it’s clear he’s processing the unfolding events. “I don’t know the last time you came here, but they recently added more desserts. I’m partial to the zeppole… it’s so light and fluffy.” 

Mista walks over, taking a seat next to the befuddled Fugo, and speaking up to ease the uncomfortable silence that resonates in the room. “I’m starving, haven’t had anything to eat all day. Let’s get the waiter over here.”

While he flags down a passing employee, Fugo’s eyes follow your form. The table is different than how it used to be. Abbacchio would be sipping on wine, no matter the time of day. Bucciarati wouldn’t always be sitting down for long, seeing as he had lots of work to do, but he always made time for a good meal. Narancia loved conversing with you, seeing as you had lots of knowledge of the English music he was so partial to. You always sat next to Fugo, who’d lightly reprimand Narancia for being more passionate about rap than his studies, or telling Mista to knock it off with the unappetizing conversations he loved to start. 

Now, you take the chair next to Giorno, who had pulled it out in kind when you walked over.

You said you’d wait for him, and Fugo fooled himself into believing that statement would last a lifetime. He always had regrets about not joining his team on the boat that day, too many to count. A new one has sprouted up like a weed, strangling his heart. If he had joined you, would it have been him you’d have married? Would it be him that you’d look at with that dazzling expression instead, the one that he had grown used to seeing? Now that he knows the full extent of the truth, Fugo wonders how he could have ever been so blind. Even Giorno -- who often smiled just for show -- had unmistakably lightened up as soon as you entered the room. 

This… This is Fugo’s despair.

The rest of lunch goes as smoothly as it can. He forces himself to speak when spoken to, Mista kindly filling the room with conversation to prevent any awkwardness. This can’t end fast enough. He needs to get out of here, to excuse him before he does something truly stupid. A serpent whispers temptations of evil into his ear, and he doesn’t want to tune them out. Not anymore. Now isn’t the time to pull any idiotic stunts, so he remains still as a statue. When all is said and done, Fugo can’t get up from the table to dismiss himself any faster. He pays the necessary respects to his Don, swiftly offering his goodbyes. With his back turned, he hears your voice call out to him in the darkness.

“I’ll see you later, right?” you ask in between bites of your dessert, the words meaning more for him than you. He doesn’t know. He’s not certain of anything anymore, even after making up his mind on returning to Passione. The situation has taken a turn for the worst, in a way he couldn’t stomach any longer. So for now, he’ll offer up an unconvincing response, not capable of looking back at you. 

At the reminder of all his failures.

“... Of course.” 

[allforbtsu]

On eachother we rely- Chapter 1

Ot7 Werewolf X Werewolf Reader  (eventually)

Summary: In a world where werewolves are known to exist and are being hunted down for science reasons, y/n has to regain her freedom after being captured. What she didn't know was that a new beginning was looming, new people entering in her life. Will she be able to find a new home in them? Has all she been through help her protect her new family?

Word Count: 3.5k

Warning: Mention of breeding and kidnapping. 

She knew what was happening the moment she heard the screams. The sound of a skin being slayed, the sour smell of blood mixing with soil, the whimpers of the little ones and the bright eyes of a mother being taken away from her pups. As hard as she wanted to fight, to send them away, she couldn't. She knew the alpha was killed first, then the females and younger ones, there was no back up if she decided to strike.

Surely but slowly, y/n peaked from behind the bushes she slept, the moonlight that once brought comfort and security, was blooming a scenery she never wanted to see in her life. The corpses of her loved ones layed on the ground, as if they had never woken up from their sleep in the first place, being shredded from life in an instant. She had to run far away from there, but her body was unable to respond to her pleas, few whimpers left her mouth, as her legs trembled from anxiety, and as she looked up she stared into the hard eyes of one of the killers. “Here you are, little thing” The man whispered, as she felt something poke her neck, a tranquilizer dart. y/n tried to stand up, to fight against the uneasiness, but her body collapsed on the ground with the last view of the forest she will have in a long time.

Her parents have warned her about the consequences of being found by scientists. Years ago, after being publicly announced to society that werewolfs did in fact exist, the remaining  packs were obligated to leave the cities and abandon their human ways to save their lives. Whole families traveled deep into forests and stayed in their wolfs forms so as to not get captured, as people have no way to distinguish normal wolves from werewolves. Even all of the advances the packs tried to do to maintain the species, hundreds of packs were killed across the globe, and the ones that are left are trying to be hunted down. 

Awoken amongst all the fear of knowing that werewolves exist, curiosity developed. Wonder of what the supernatural holds, and what makes these beings so unique. Facilities have been built to study this species, so one day humans can control them and use them as weapons. Diverse studies are done day by day, torturing werewolfs all over the world. Whole committees made to be in charge of this new ramification of science. Auditoriums were cramped of people wanting to hear the new discoveries being made, as if they were talking about plants or space, not beings that are as human as they are.

The studies being done nowadays are two, the one being done at labs, where they inject or extract things from werewolves, just to get a glimpse of what is going on inside of them, and the behavioral section, where biologists study werewolves behaviors in different scenarios. They are usually left in cages of two, males can be paired with males, females with females or mixed, randomly, and how each werewolf reacts upon their partner and taking into account the werewolf position in a pack, Alpha, Beta or Omega, biologists try to understand their behavior. 

Not everyone in a pack is chosen to be captured and taken. The fact that the hunters came during the night and killed them all skilfully leaving y/n only alive, means they had been tracing them for a while without them noticing. Usually when a pack is mostly formed by older and weaker members, and offsprings of said beings, they are not taken into account as valuable. Labs only wanting the best of the best, as they can reproduce those whose DNA is the strongest. If they had been watching them, they would know y/n position in the pack, right hand of the alpha and the strongest one after him. The rest of the members were all female, her mother, weakened by stress and desperation of her family well being, her two sisters, and three little kids, being y/n three nephews. All killed. It was winter, animals had migrated, the pack was unable to hunt together, as someone had to take care of the little ones, and unable as well to migrate, as the pups could not walk big distances, made the pack eat less and weaken their senses. 

All lead to this, to y/n waking up in an unknown bright white room. She laid on one of the beds on the left, while on the right another bed layed. She looked around and found that the fourth wall was a see through glass, outside of it, in what seemed like a hall she could see other rooms, or cages we may say. Right across from her a girl laid on the floor staring at the ceiling, while another one was prompted against the wall reading a book out loud. She stared a little while longer, till the girl who was reading catched her gaze, and stared right at her eyes in what seemed as understanding, a little smile tried to shape into her lips, but a grimace came out. The girl on the floor poked her leg, prompting her to keep reading, and without a second thought she did.

y/n stood up from the bed and put both hands in the glass, as if she could push it and look for more information. If she turned well enough and leaned into the glass, the cage next of the two girls could be seen, there a male seemed to be staring out at the hall as she was doing, his black hair and cupid like nose catched her attention, but before he could catch her gaze on him, he rapidly parted from the glass, as if it was burning him. Steps could be heard getting closer, and the two girls who were across from her stood up rapidly and hid behind the duvet cover of their beds. On instinct y/n decided to copy the other werewolves and parted as far away as possible of the glass, sitting down on her bed once again, squatting down near the back wall. 

A woman with a white rope accompanied by two men came near her cage, but her stare fell somewhere else, the male that was handcuffed in the mens grasps. A gasp left y/n lips when she realized that they were going to put him with her, inside this little room, a male, a werewolf male, from another pack, that could hurt her to pieces if he wanted to. Had this humans learned nothing, or was this another test to see if she was gonna be mutilated or not. The boy's eyes did not part from the floor as they took the handcuffs of him and threw him inside. The woman, who y/n must believe is a biologist, stared at her and smiled. “Hello, welcome.” She said as if she was talking to a baby, making y/n hairs on the back of her neck stand up in anger. “We are so lucky to have you here, you have no idea. It will take awhile for you to get used by him” She pointed to the boy who was already in the room with her. “But when you do, we cannot wait for the moment you will help us advance in this science, the both of you” Firmly she said. “ I will leave you to it” Gracefully she and the two men left her view.

y/n was paralysed, not knowing how to react to anything, but most importantly right now, to the threat that was in the room with her. The boy lifted his head, and stared at her from under his eyelashes. Right behind him, she could see the two girls from the cage across looking at her in worry. “I'm not going to hurt you” Her gaze fell back to the boy, both of their bodies stiff. “I swear, I'm not like others”. y/n nodded. “Stay away anyway” She answered as the boy tried to get closer to her bed. “Stay on your side” The boy looked surprised at her, but followed her orders, and sat in his bed facing her. “My name is Hoseok, you can call me Hobi. What 's yours?” He looked at her with a kindness she was not expecting, and as she stared into those eyes she could not not give in to his question. “y/n...It will be nice to meet you if you don't hurt me though '' Hobi looked at her and quietly laughed. “I won't hurt you, I promise” He crossed his heart with his fingers. Even though he knew y/n was not fearing for her life anymore, he decided he will take baby steps as to not scare the female wolf.

"When did you arrived?" He asked, playing with his fingers, trying to look as small as possible, his back hunched. "I guess yesterday night. I woke up minutes before they brought you in here" Hobi nodded. "I have been here for a while now" He looked up and stared at her. "I guess they were waiting for someone to macht me up" He smiled sadly. Y/N's thoughts went a mile per minute trying to understand what he meant by that. If her thoughts were correct and they were Indeed in the behavioral section, this pairing could mean one thing…"Yes, I think they want us to breed"

Y/N let out a big sight, her eyes looking out to the see through glass as if it would open up and allow her to escape. "I'm not going to do anything you don't want, I promise. I'm as scared as you are” "Do you think they will have as do other stuff? Have they done something to you?" Y/n didn't care if what she was asking was too personal or delicate, all she wanted was to gather as much information as possible and run away from there. "They have made a few tests on me, but nothing too crazy, I guess it was only as a check up. They will probably do it to you as well, don't worry when they do. I have been in a really secluded area since I arrived a few months ago, they probably do things differently here, I don't know, sorry"

Hobi's kind and soothing way of speaking brought some sense of comfort in y/n even thought what he was telling her was nowhere near, but truly frightening. She began believing she had a great amount of luck to have been paired to someone so respectful, but her werewolf side not fully allowing her to trust him just yet. 

A Big blast sounded through the speakers on the walls, the girls across from them stood up from their bed excitedly, and the sound of shoes hitting the ground and banging against glass became louder by the second. Y/N swallowed, nervousness creeping in, not understanding what was happening. "Is time to eat" Hobi said delicately. "I'm sure they will give us a portion each. You must be hungry" He went and stood up against the door on the class, taking his hand out of a little hole big enough for a plate to pass through. As a little petite old lady gave the girls across their food, she went to their side and filled one plate with a small stake and a few little potatoes and put it in Hobi's awaiting hands. He stared at it in disdain. "That's all we got" Rattled the old lady. "But we are two" He pointed with his head to y/n's small quivering body on the bed. "All cages are getting one portion to share, we are short on foundings. Be thankful we give you food" The lady said meanencely.

Y/N couldn't take it anymore. The death of her family, being captured, being deprived of freedom and now of food, made her stand up from the bed, walk rapidly to the glass and smash her fist in it, not breaking it one bit. "You pieces of shit! You lock us up in here and don't even have the amount of money to feed us! I don't see it lacking when you have to stick a needle up our…" Hobi quickly put down the plate and put a hand on her mouth. The old lady did not seem amused, as if this happened every day. She took a hold of her stroller with food and kept strolling away to the next cage. "You have to behave" Said Hobi. She pushed his hand away from her face. Her eyes looking through the hall once again and to her surprise, there were the cupid like nose werewolf used to be, now a dumpling like cheeks boy stared at her with amusement in his eyes, as if her shouting was the best entertainment he had in a while. Behind him an arm reached and fed him a little bit of meat, making him smile and part his eyes from hers. The arm was owned by the cupid-like nose boy, who ate the rest of the meat in the plate, leaving it cleaned on the little table on the door's hole.

"Come eat, you need it. I'm strong enough, I can wait for tomorrow. You have to gain your strength back after probably all you've been through." Hobi sat on the floor staring at her, plate on the ground right in front of him. Slowly y/n went closer and sat across from him, Hobi smiled, what she thought was the brightest one she had ever seen. "Come on, come on, eat!" He pushed the plate closer to her. She grabbed a piece of the meat and broke it in half. "Not if you don't have a little bit of it as well. We can have two potatoes each '' Hobi seemed released and nodded enthusiastically. 

After eating, time seemed to slow down and left them staring at the walls, waiting for something to happen, passing time. While Hobi entertained himself singing softly and moving his hands to the beat, y/n bit her nails, their surroundings becoming red and puffy. Her leg moved up and down in anxiety, her eyes focused on the cage across, her only way of entertainment. As her thoughts wandered back to her family and her longing of freedom, she began thinking about all the work she will have to do to get out of there. Would it be possible? Will she be able to leave hobi behind? She knew him for half a day, but he seemed like a good dude, and she had no one else, they could help each other. Y/N”s thoughts were disrupted by the sound of the room”s door opening.

“Come on girl, you have to come with us” Said a tall man, two other guys behind him.

Y/N whimpered, her body closing open itself on the bed. “It's okay, y/n, they are probably gonna do the check up” Hobi informed her, a soft smile on his face. He looked up to the three guys as if looking for confirmation, they didn't say anything. She nodded and stood up and went toward the door. The guards put handcuffs on her and closed the door, leaving Hobi behind, who sent her a last smile before they took her away. The hall seemed endless, the cages holding distressed werewolves inside, but before she knew it they were turning in a corner, showing a door leading to another section of the facility. These new corridors had windows showing the outside, trees surrounding the building, and as far as her sight went, it was all woods. Perfect for hiding after scaping, she was thankful this facility was not in the middle of the city.

After taking the elevator and listening to its sad loft music, they entered another section, the labs. It was a long white room, filled with werewolves girls and boys who were being checked by doctors. Some were poked, others were studying their reflexes, their eyes, others were being fed medication and so on. She was led by the three men to a bed in the middle of the room, two doctors already waiting for her beside it. “Oh, there you are” Said the woman who she recognised was the one who brought Hobi to her cage. “Sit down” She did as ordered, scared. One of the guards tooks the handcuffs off her and stood by her side, the other two helping take other werewolves to their respective cages. “You probably already know why you are here, so let's skip that part shall we?” The sweet stupid tone this woman used on her sent her on edge, her rage building up, but as much as she wanted to rip her neck off, she was too petrified to do so. 

“May I know your name? Mine is Minji” She pointed to her chest. “He is Jaebong” Her head nodded to the male doctor beside her. Y/N swallowed. “Y/N” She said almost in a whisper. Jaebong scribbling it down on a  piece of paper. “We will be your two head doctors” Continued Minji. ”We will be here for you during the gestation time until the birth. All our goals go to protect your health.”

Y/N”s head began spinning, not believing what she was hearing. Gestation? Birth? These people were crazy, out of their minds, sick and twisted. Her body began shaking, leaving out in the open her emotions. “Don't be scared” Now commented Jaebong, his voice deep and without modulation. “Countless females have gone through a pregnancy with us and have come out perfectly fine. But now, what you have to understand” He standed in front of her, his stare piercing through her head, her gaze set on the floor. “If neither you or your cage partner cooperate and do the thing on your own way, we will have to intervene, and I know how sacred is mating and child bearing for you animals, so enjoy the freedom we allow you.”  

Pregnancies and mating were big deals for werewolves, all the love and trust that is embodied in one single act, enlarging the pack or starting a new one. Bringing a child for werewolves is as sacred as howling to the new moon. So the fact this people decided to take this sacred act for werewolves in their own hands, disgusted her, hitting way too close to home, where all this morals and culture were integrated into her, as all the werewolves in this building.

“Understood?” Asked Jaebong. She nodded her head. “Your cage partener already knows this, and he will be granted more liberties if he helps us, and he knows. So don't get scared when he does something you don't like” Laughed Minji. 

Y/N was shaking through the whole check up, her mind somewhere else. She needed to go back to the cage, to that little safe place. She didn't believe Hobi could do something like that, right? He was too kind, she wanted to go back to him. She needed comfort and he would give it to her. Tears were already weling up in her eyes during the last moments with the doctors, who sended her away as fast as they could, having other werewolves to take care of.

As soon as the guard who escorted her to her room opened the door, she flew inside of it as fast as she could. The lights in the halls were lim as well as inside of the cages, night time approaching and nothing else to do, but sleep, sended everyone to bed. Hobi laid in his bed in fetus pose, holding his pillow close to him. She looked at him and let the tears come out. “Hobi” She mumbled standing in the middle of the room. Sensing no response, she went closer and put a hand on the boy's shoulder. “Hobi” He startled awake. “It's okay, it's me”. He opened one of his eyes and looked at her. “Took you long enough” He stared at her once again, worry in his eyes. “Are you crying?” She nodded and sniffled. “Do you want me to hold you?” She fell beside him in no second, Hobi draping the duvet over her quivering body. “They had the talk with you, mhm?” He looked her in the eyes. “Yes, I'm scared” He caressed her hair. “I will try to get us out of here before we or them can do anything about it” y/n eyes shoot open. “You can do that?” “I have been here for way too long, it's time to leave, and I'm getting you out of here with me” Her lips trembled. “How?”

“I know two boys who know the facility like the back of their hand. We will leave with them” He paused. “It will take a while for that to happen though. One of them is badly hurt, we will have to wait for him. You will like them! They are really sweet” y/n had already closed her eyes, Hobi”s sweet promises lulling her to a much needed sleep. “Rest now, we will have each other to rely on tomorrow as well.”

Chapter 2

[icykalisartblog]

Why Bilbo Baggins/Gandalf OTP

All right, here’s my big post on why Bilbo/Gandalf is OTP. This is half-joking but should include some genuinely valuable analysis! Much of this is cribbed from a paper I wrote in about queercoding in The Hobbit.

The Hobbit tarot deck has them as the Two of Cups, usually signifying soulmates and romantic attraction so this seems like a good image to start the post with... soulmate AU, anyone? XD

Without further ado:

Bilbo Baggins Big Queer

Usually when I see queer readings of Tolkien’s works, it’s centered on The Lord of the Rings, and for good reason. But I believe the most likely character to be queer in Tolkien’s work is in fact Bilbo Baggins. When reading Tolkien’s works with this idea in mind, Bilbo, Tolkien, and the world of Middle Earth take on a new dimension, especially The Hobbit.

Bilbo Baggins is an unusual Hobbit due to going off on his adventure to win back the Misty Mountains from the Dragon Smaug, but at the beginning of The Hobbit, it would seem that he should have represented an ideal wealthy landowning Hobbit in the eyes of his neighbors and family members.  The narrator of even states that the Baggineses were highly respected. However, we know from the very end of the book that Bilbo was not particularly well-liked even before he ever did anything exceptional, by the eagerness with which his family members auctioned off his belongings and presumed him to be dead. It is not just jealously over his wealth that caused the other Hobbits to dislike him—his mother was Belladonna Took, and the Took family was known for going on adventures, though the narrator explains that after marrying Bilbo’s father, she never did anything unexpected again. Interestingly, the narrator suggests that “...although he looked and behaved exactly like a second edition of his solid and comfortable father, got something a bit queer in his make-up from the Took side, something that only waited for a chance to come out.” Also from this page, we know that other families of Hobbits thought that one of the Tooks had taken a “fairy wife” and that Tooks would occasionally disappear, but that their relatives would try to quiet the rumors. If you’re going 👀 at queer make-up and a fairy being mentioned, you should. These terms were already being used as queer signifiers and pejoratives in the 30s when Tolkien wrote The Hobbit, plus Tolkien was well... a philologist. 

Enter Gandalf

So Bilbo’s Tookish side is being linked to his queerness, and the other Hobbits think the strange behavior of the Tooks might have been caused by one of them taking a “fairy wife.” Now, if you are very familiar with Tolkien’s works, you’ll know that the closest thing to a fairy that exists in that world is probably what Gandalf is—a spirit known as a Maia, which all the Wizards are. Maiar (that’s the plural) are usually conceived of by critics as angelic beings because they serve the gods and Abrahamic God equivalents, but they have fairy-like qualities as well. And Gandalf is going to serve as the catalyst who brings out Bilbo’s, well, queer side. 

When Gandalf arrives in The Hobbit and introduces himself, Bilbo simultaneously gushes and rants about him, and gives special importance to Gandalf’s fireworks: “They used to go up like lilies and snapdragons and laburnums of fire and hang in the twilight all evening!” he says, and then the narrator remarks, “You will notice already that Mr Baggins was not quite so prosy as he liked to believe, also that he was very fond of flowers,” as if Bilbo’s secret desire to be unique and his love of flowers were of close to equal importance. Gandalf mentions that for the sake of the Old Took and “poor Belladonna” he will take Bilbo on an adventure. The only reason we are given for Belladonna Took being unfortunate in any way is that she was somehow repressed after being married. A critique of heteronormativity?

Bilbo turns Gandalf away and denies his not-so-well-hidden desire for an adventure but invites Gandalf to come have tea with him the next day, an action Bilbo himself does not understand. In fact, the Bilbo is so shaken by the invitation he himself gave that he thought “a drink of something would do him good after his fright,” despite this scene taking place right after breakfast . Gandalf is left standing outside of Bilbo’s house, laughing. He takes the “spike of his staff” (...!) and draws a “queer sign” (...!!!) on Bilbo’s door.

I think it’s worth noting that in Tolkien’s unfinished writings, Gandalf initially didn’t want to go to Middle-Earth. He feared Sauron and thought of himself as too weak to be a proper emissary, but that’s exactly why Gandalf was the right Maia for the job of protecting Middle-Earth. Gandalf’s origin was thus very much the same as Bilbo’s... he’s been through all of this reluctance, too. 

The Two Together

After Bilbo’s adventure, he is ostracized, and the beginning of The Lord of the Rings makes it clear that he had “no close friends” among Hobbits, and that the only ones who appreciated him were young children who would not understand how he was non-normative, and poor Hobbits to whom Bilbo gave money. In fact, the narrative begins with an argument between the Gaffer and Mr. Sandyman about Bilbo’s and Frodo’s “queerness,” which includes Bilbo’s adoption of an heir as opposed to having children biologically. With a queer reading in mind, Bilbo’s request that Gandalf take care of Frodo makes Bilbo and Gandalf appear to be caregivers of an adopted heir.

The text that I feel makes it hard to deny that Bilbo Baggins is queer is a version of “The Quest for Erebor,” an unfinished account from Gandalf that gives his perspective on the journey of The Hobbit. “The Quest for Erebor” was written at the same time that Tolkien was working on The Lord of the Rings, but was not ultimately included as part of the narrative (only an abridged version was included in the appendixes of The Lord of the Rings). I will quote Gandalf’s words from the unabridged version, regarding his choosing Bilbo for the quest (emphasis mine):

I learned that he had never married. I thought that odd though I guessed why it was; and the reason that I guessed was not that most of the Hobbits gave me: that he had early been left very well off and his own master. No, I guessed that he wanted to remain 'unattached' for some reason deep down which he did not understand himself - or would not acknowledge, for it alarmed him. He wanted, all the same, to be free to go when the chance came, or he had made up his courage. I remembered how he used to pester me with questions when he was a youngster about the Hobbits that had occasionally 'gone off,' as they said in the Shire.

As one can see from this passage, Gandalf, who has a very close relationship to Bilbo, does not believe what would be the obvious explanation for Bilbo’s remaining a bachelor—that he was a wealthy landowner, and thus did not need to. Rather, Gandalf believed that it was Bilbo’s latent desire for adventure that led to his never marrying. As I have pointed out, the call to adventure is connected to queerness. Gandalf also quotes other Hobbits as referring to those who had adventures as having “gone off.” To “go off” obviously indicates leaving the Shire to go somewhere else, but this phrase could also mean exploding (and fireworks, something that Bilbo remembered Gandalf for, go off), or to go bad—in the sense of food rotting or becoming moldy and inedible.

I think it’s also worth pointing out that Gandalf felt supernaturally compelled to bring Bilbo along on the quest. It’s likely that this was the Tolkien equivalent of Abrahamic God intervening in the events of Middle-Earth—something that rarely happens! The relationship between Gandalf and Bilbo is really important!

All of the points I have made signify that Bilbo Baggins’s story is applicable to the experiences of queer people, and his relationship with Gandalf suggests that Bilbo himself in fact has a queer romantic orientation—that he is queer in more than the sense of being non-normative due to going on a quest to retake Erebor. The friendship between Gandalf and Bilbo develops throughout The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, as Bilbo learns to trust and appreciate both Gandalf and his own adventurous side, and Gandalf learns more about kindness and true strength from Bilbo, Gandalf visits Bilbo many times afterward. Finally, they both care for Frodo and leave for the West together. Their friendship is heartwarming, and I would argue that this queer reading of it may be even more so—while there is an enormous age difference between these two characters (Bilbo is fifty-one at the start of The Hobbit, Gandalf is thousands of years old), Gandalf treats Bilbo like an equal and they both teach each other a lot (and Gandalf does not act like he is thousands-of-years old, he lost a lot of his innate knowledge and power when he was sent to Middle-Earth, after all).

Other Details

Close to the end of The Hobbit, after they retake Erebor from Smaug, Bilbo and Gandalf travel together, just the two of them, and the narrator doesn’t elaborate on this. This sounds like peak shipping and adventure fanfic fuel to me! 

I’m not a fan of The Hobbit films, but they do contain some great shippy moments with the two characters. There’s some hilarious snarking, like this exchange: 

BILBO: Are there any?

GANDALF: What?

BILBO: Other wizards?

GANDALF: There are five of us. The greatest of our order is Saruman the White. And then there are the two Blue Wizards... you know, I've quite forgotten their names.

BILBO: And the fifth?

GANDALF: Well, that would be Radagast the Brown.

BILBO: Is he a great wizard, or is he more like you?

And then Gandalf is like 😮 XD

There’s also a really heartwarming moment where Galadriel asks Gandalf why he chose Bilbo: 

GALADRIEL: Mithrandir? Why the Halfling?

GANDALF: I don't know. Saruman believes that it is only great power that can hold evil in check. But that is not what I have found. I've found it is the small things, everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keeps the darkness at bay. Simple acts of kindness and love. Why Bilbo Baggins? Perhaps it is because I am afraid, and he gives me courage.

I remember there being other movie-only sweet moments too, but it’s been a long time since I’ve watched them!

[blessedarethebinarybreakers]

Hi this may not be new to everyone but I was recently introduced to the concept of questioning God. I was raised with the idea that you do not question Them bc who do we think we are to question God, and to question Them is to lack faith. I'm still trying to wrap my head round this new idea so sorry if this sounds really silly and naive but why would we want to question God? And is questioning God=lack of faith? Sorry if this was messily worded

Hey there, anon! When you’ve been raised never to question God, the idea of questioning them can be kind of scary -- but hopefully you will find it to be freeing and empowering and enriching, too! 

Now, I think most Christians would ascribe to some sort of “who are we to question God?” type mindset, as you name. I think I probably do, insofar as that means I tend to understand God as omniscient; I do believe that God’s answers and God’s will are Right and Just, are Correct, and that I don’t really have any hope of “proving God wrong.” But even so, it’s not a failure of faith to question anyway! As this post will assert, questioning is a healthy and powerful part of faith. 

For in questioning God, in going on a journey of reflection and asking God what the heck is up, I will learn and grow -- I will discover what God’s will truly is, and just why it is Right and Just. And I will grow deeper in relationship with God on the way. 

___________

(Before expounding on all of that, I want to add that there may well be some Christians who do believe that God might could be proven wrong -- or at least that God is open to learning and changing God’s mind! Diversity of faith and interpretation is valuable and worthy of respect. 

After all, there are stories in scripture where God changes Hir mind -- Xe is convinced by Abraham not to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah if even just 10 righteous people live there; and by Moses to spare the people of Israel. 

And then there is one of my favorite stories from the life of Jesus, i.e. God Incarnate, where he seems to get schooled by a Canaanite or Syrophoenician woman. I’ve got a sermon on this very story and what it might mean about God’s relationship with us as one open to give-and-take, growth and change! 

If I’m not mistaken, a faith that makes room for the possibility of God changing God’s mind is more similar to most Jewish persons’ beliefs about God than a “God is always right. period.” type mentality. Anyway, back to the main point of this post!)

___________

Questioning God does not = a lack of faith. After all, countless faithful figures in scripture asked questions of God, from Moses to Habakkuk, from the psalmist to Jesus himself. See this post for examples!

In fact, many say that questioning God is actually evidence of a deep and vibrant faith. (Again, this idea is a Big Deal for our Jewish neighbors.) 

If you dare to question, if you spend time and energy pondering hard topics and you engage with God as you do so, that’s a sign that you care. That you want to know what is true about God, what is true about God’s will for us. You’re not willing to swallow lies or submit to easy answers. That’s powerful faith. As Rachel Held Evans puts it in her book Inspired,

“If I’ve learned anything from thirty-five years of doubt and belief, it’s that faith is not passive intellectual assent to a set of propositions. It’s a rough-and-tumble, no-holds-barred, all-night-long struggle, and sometimes you have to demand your blessing rather than wait around for it.”

___________

Now, saying all this stuff about faith probably requires a redefining of faith. If you’ve grown up being told that faith is as simple as believing in God, as not doubting God’s existence or God’s will, all of this stuff about faith being a struggle or a conversation with God or any of that doesn’t make much sense. So here are some quotes + places you can go to explore new meanings of just what faith is:

“The opposite of faith is not doubt, it’s certainty -- because what need do the certain have for faith?” - Science Mike, The Liturgists. 

"The opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty. Certainty is missing the point entirely. Faith includes noticing the mess, the emptiness and discomfort, and letting it be there until some light returns." - Anne Lamott, Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith

It can also be helpful to understand faith not as an achievement, but as a gift -- not something we earn, but are given freely. See this post. 

The idea of faith being a journey with ups and downs, and doubt not being faith’s enemy but a healthy part of it, can be explored in this posts + the posts linked in that one.

I find Barbara Brown Taylor’s discussions of a full solar faith vs. a lunar faith in her book Learning to Walk in the Dark very helpful when discussing a relationship with God that allows us to bring Her all our questions and doubts and messy emotions. I described her idea of the perils of a full-solar faith in which we cannot question God and must act happy & thankful all the time in this older post.

____________

Okay. Let’s get to the part of asking questions of God that excites me the most -- using our questions as a way to enrich our relationships with God!

God longs for real, mutual relationships with us -- and that can’t happen if we are unquestioningly obedient, right? A relationship cannot be one-sided; it cannot be unbalanced; it must involve a willingness on both sides to hear the other out. It must allow for vulnerability, for confusion, for communication. 

In asking questions of God, we can grow in relationship with Them. And we will be following in a long tradition of good and faithful people who have done the same! 

Here’s a quote on how sharing our questions and frustrations with God can actually deepen our relationship with them:

"My favorite Quaker example of this willingness to confront God is a story told by a woman who was so frustrated with her life she began berating God. For nearly an hour, she told God how pissed off she was with Him. Finally, her anger subsided and she heard a “still, small voice” whisper to her: “Finally, we can have an honest relationship.”"

- Anthony Manousos

And another quote about how letting God in on our anger or frustration towards Them is an important part of being honest and connecting with Them:

“Is it ever acceptable to be angry at God? I would suggest that it is not only acceptable, it may be one of the hallmarks of a truly religious person. It puts honesty ahead of flattery.” - Harold S. Kushner

_____________

An additional reason we would want to question God is because sometimes, what we are really questioning is whether a certain thing we have been told is actually of God is or not. Often, when we question God what we’re really questioning is the ideas of God that have been fed to us by other human beings. 

For instance, if we have been told that the Bible holds nothing but God’s direct word and will, and then find passages that seem to promote harmful things like genocide or slavery, it is right and good and human to question whether such things are actually promoted by God! 

“Accepting the Bible’s war stories without objection threatened to erase my humanity. ‘We don’t become more spiritual by becoming less human,’ Eugene Peterson said. How could I love God with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength while disengaging those very faculties every time I read the Bible?” - Rachel Held Evans, Inspired

Or if we’ve been told that LGBT relationships are not God’s will, but then we see such relationships bearing good fruit while the repression of an LGBT identity bears bad fruit, it’s sensible and good to question what God’s will in this matter really is.

"If same-sex relationships are really sinful, then why do they so often produce good fruit—loving families, open homes, self-sacrifice, commitment, faithfulness, joy? And if conservative Christians are really right in their response to same-sex relationships, then why does that response often produce bad fruit—secrets, shame, depression, loneliness, broken families, and fear?" - Rachel Held Evans

For more on this element of questioning God that is more about questioning scripture or certain church teachings / leaders, see my “Framework for Interpreting Scripture” page on my website. 

_________

I’ll close by commending to you my #wrestling God tag. There you will see many examples of faithful people asking God questions, bringing their difficult emotions and their doubts to God, and even getting snarky with God! For instance, a post with verses expressing anger or confusion towards God.

Finally, if you dive into what it means to ask questions of God, things might get overwhelming for a while -- some people find that taking these steps causes them to feel like everything they thought they know about God has changed. If that happens to you, I’ve got a post that aims to guide you through some steps to getting to know God again. 

Best of luck to you, anon, as you continue your faith journey! Please let me know if you have any more questions as you go! 

[only-here-for-jatp]

Build-a-Band pt 7 The End

Just me tying up loose ends

Featuring: WILLEX <3, the boys playing with their bears like they’re seven, Juke, hotdogs

As always you can read on Ao3 here

But also below! ~2300 words

The boys poofed back to the studio hearts as full as their arms full of stuffed bears.

Luke and Alex were both jittery with anxiety. Luke hadn’t seen Julie hug her bear, but he also hadn’t seen her not hug her bear and he was growing very concerned at the prospect of when or if she’d hear the lyrics he’d poured into the heart. He hadn’t meant to offer a confession, hadn’t meant to reveal his feelings so blatantly.

What if she didn’t like the song? What if she didn’t like him? What if she didn’t get it and he was stuck in this nightmare limbo waiting for her to realize as she kept hugging and hugging the bear that they lyrics were about her???

Yup he was a ball of anxiety, but at least he wasn’t alone.

Every now and again Alex would shift onto the balls of his feet and then back down. His mind zipping down very similar avenues to Luke. He’d impulsively made a bear for Willie but what if Willie thought it was dorky and lame? Was it weird for a not-dating person to give another a teddy bear? What if he heard the message and didn’t feel the same way?

I mean. Alex was pretty sure Willie liked him? But the more and more it went around in his head the less sure he was that he was interpreting Willie’s actions correctly. I mean they could just be friends?

Reggie quietly noted his friends’ anxiety and while he had no idea why it was happening; he knew a surefire way to cheer them up. Luckily, it was also one of the things he was best at, distraction.

He held up Sir Reginald II, a name he loved and adored since it meant Julie remembered his story about Sir Reginald I, and in his best teddy bear voice ( which mostly turned out to be a weird falsetto) said “Hello there!”

Both anxiety ridden boys eyed him warily and Reggie took this as permission to move Sir Reginald II verrrryyy close to Luke’s face. “Have you seen my friend Lukas? He’s late for band practice.” Luke’s eyes widened and glanced between Reggie and Sir Reginald II as Alex let out a snicker. “Wellllll? Have you seen him?”

Luke let out a sigh, knowing Reggie wasn’t going to let him out of this. He pulled Lukas up in front of his face and mimicking Reggie’s voice as best he could responded. “Sorry Reginald. I didn’t mean to run late.” At this point Alex was nearly doubled over with silent laughter. The sight of Reggie’s face all lit up though made Luke warm inside and suddenly he knew their next move. He raised an eyebrow at Alex who discovered too late what Luke was planning.

Luke bounded over, put Lukas right into Alex’s face and asked “Have you seen my friend Alexander? I’ve been looking all over for him.”

Alex slowly backed away “I’m not doing this.”

A quick exchange of glances brought Reggie on board with Luke’s plan and soon Reginald and Lukas were chasing Alex around the study asking and asking about Alexander their best friend. It wasn’t until Alex tripped, falling onto the bed where Alexander lay (tucked in no less) that he gave in. He pulled Alexander out and in the same falsetto his bandmates used called “Who disturbed my nap!”

The three boys grinned and thus they were off.  They spent the rest of the day pretending with their new stuffies, reliving favorite moments of their life or pretending to play major stages around the world. They even took turns pretending to be Julie and reenacting some of their favorite moments with her.

In fact, the trio was having so much fun that Alex had forgotten about promising to meet Willie, who after waiting and growing concerned came looking for him. Willie stayed out of sight for as long as he could, watching the blonde-haired boy who he wanted to be around every second of every day laughed and joked with his brothers. Willie could feel the smile growing on his face at the sight of these three rock band boys kneeling on the ground miming arms and leg movements of stuffed bears while playing out scenes in funny voices.

However, his spying was up after Reginald and Lukas ganged up on Alexander (he’d long since figured out the names) in a hug pile and he burst into laughter.

All three boys heads whipped around suddenly very shy and sheepish at the thought that someone had been watching their antics over the last couple of hours. Alex turned nearly bright red, stammering out excuse after excuse for missing their plans and finding Willie here.

Willie turned to Alex with a soft smile. “Oh hotdog. You missed our plans AND y’all made bears for everyone except me and are having all this fun? My feelings are hurt.” He couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease Alex just a little. After all, he was incredibly adorable when flustered.

Luke and Reggie glanced at each other smiles growing wide as Alex grew even redder and began mumbling under his breath. In a move to both help and tease him, Luke and Reggie called out “Hey Alex, what is that you’re mumbling? Maybe you should say it louder.”

Willie tilted his head to the side in confusion as Alex took a deep breath and plucked up the courage to speak just a little louder. It was still barely audible, but Willie still caught it.

“I made you a bear”

Willie thought his heart was going to burst. He’d seen the bear-ified version of the band but as he glanced around the room he noticed a bear in a skater outfit off to the side. “You made me a bear?” Willie knew his voice was soft and he knew Alex liked him, but to include him in this little family of bears meant so much. He slowly moved toward the stuffie which had his signature tie dye and skateboard.

Alex began to ramble as Willie began a dedicated perusal of the bear. “I know it’s kind of lame, but I kept walking past it and it has two hearts sewn onto his chest and I don’t know something about its face reminded me of you and yeah it’s lame, you don’t have to keep it….”

Willie burst in. “No. I- I love it. Is it alright if he lives here though? I don’t want…”

“No, no, yeah totally.”

Willie’s head sprang up to look at Alex all of a sudden and a signature mischievous smirk filled his face. “Wait a second. You said there were two hearts sewn into the chest. Why would that remind you of me?”

Alex’s eyes widened as he shot looks to Reggie and Luke who had settled quite comfortably on the couch, bears in their laps to enjoy the show. They offered him an encouraging smile and a couple of nods. Alex gulped, took a deep breath and said as confidently as he could “It seemed kind of poetic. Since you.. uh… kind of… hold mine?” He hadn’t really managed for it to come out as a question, but he’d started to wince as if preparing for a negative reaction from Willie.

Instead, Willie wrapped himself around Alex in a fierce hug, never letting go of William. “You hold mine too Alex.”

Alex being too surprised, didn’t hug back right away, but with a squeaky “wait really??” he hugged on so tight that if either of them needed to breathe, they would probably be worrying about it. The two had started to jump around a little making happy noises while Reggie and Luke beamed.

The hug had barely broken apart when Julie joined them in the studio with a questioning look, but before anyone could say anything Alex burst out “I HAVE A BOYFRIEND!!” before shooting nervous glances at Willie “I mean, if you want.”

Willie chuckled, “Definitely”

Alex couldn’t stop smiling, but of course now was when he remembered “You should hug William. When I hugged Alexander I could hear the wish Reggie made for me and I uh, may have left you one too.”

Willie looked slightly confused, but sure enough when he squeezed William the Sk8 Bear tightly Alex’s voice whispered in his mind.

I wish for an eternity to hold your hand.

Willie seemed to melt a little, before he entwined his hands with Alex’s. “For eternity” he whispered just loud enough for Alex to hear. They both blushed, but everyone else mostly looked confused.

Luke was the first to speak up. “I also heard Reggie’s wish when I squeezed Lukas.”

Reggie looked entirely confused. “You could hear… my wishes? That’s awesome!!! But also, you couldn’t hear Julie’s?” Alex and Luke both shot a look at Reggie. “She made wishes on both your hearts also, but you didn’t hear hers?”

Julie’s face was growing slightly pale. She hadn’t realized they could hear those wishes. The thought of Luke hearing those lyrics was maybe making her panic a little, but maybe since he hadn’t heard them yet he wouldn’t. It helped her fear a little that there was some overwhelming curiosity about the wish Luke left for her.

Alex’s voice cut through her questioning. “You know, I only tried the one time.” Luke sounded an agreement before Reggie cut in.

“You know it’s kind of cool if you think about it, she ended up leaving a wish on all our bears. Maybe we should try together to hear it?” The boys nodded as Julie watched with concern.

Alex’s face changed first. A small gasp echoing out of him and his eyes pooling with tears as he rushed towards Julie to envelop her in a hug. She’d made him feel seen and valued and the reassurance that he had a special and unique existence to her was a security he hadn’t realized he needed.

Reggie hugged his bear two or three times just listening to the message she’d left him over and over again.

Sir Reginald II please take care of Reggie. Sometimes he doesn’t realize how important he is. He’s the glue that holds us all together and keeps us going when everything seems bleak. He is so loved and so valuable. Please remind him of that when everything seems hard.

Reggie glomped her next. Crying just a little at the words she left him which touched on his biggest and darkest insecurity. He could help but whisper his thanks and she pulled him tighter telling him that he was basically her brother. Reggie could no longer tell if he was laughing or sobbing everything was perfect.

Julie was having difficulty holding up the two emotional boys and she was filled with warmth at their love almost as much as she was filled with tension. She could barely see Luke which meant she couldn’t see his reaction.

Luke was having difficulty breathing and functioning. He didn’t need to breathe but now he couldn’t do it and he really felt like he needed to do it. He couldn’t-

He couldn’t believe it.

We say we're friends, we play pretend. You're more to me, we're everything Our voices rise and soar so high. We come to life when we're, In perfect harmony

She’d poured the same song, the same words, the same wish into his bear as he had into hers. Julie Molina loved him. He had absolute verifiable proof and he didn’t want to waste another second without her. Without her knowing that she was the most precious, wonderful, thing about his life. So he did the only reasonable thing he could.

He yanked his crying brothers off of the girl they also loved more than anything, but not as much as him and worked on gaining her attention. He smiled. She looked slightly terrified, but she didn’t have to be. She just need to hug Jules.

“Julie. Julie. Julie. Julie! You need to hug Jules. Right now. You need to hug her right now. RIGHT NOW.”

His boys looked pissed, but slowly they could tell by the rush and joyous mania radiating from their friend that this was Important and begrudgingly stood out of the way.

Julie looked at Luke with big eyes as he insistently shoved Jules at her. He seemed excited and thrilled and flushed and by god if he didn’t stop rushing her she was going to-

We say we're friends, we play pretend. You're more to me, we're everything Our voices rise and soar so high. We come to life when we're, In perfect harmony

The song filtered through her head as she hugged Jules and she felt her mouth drop as her eyes snapped to his. She watched his grin widen as he saw her figured it out. Her eyes met his and she was drowning. He was too far away and they both rushed into each other. They took another second to stare before wrapping each other in a tight hug.

Alex groaned a little, in a good-natured way, his hand once more linked with Willie’s. “Not that we’re not glad that you both finally got your lives together, but do either of you care to explain what exactly just happened?”

Slowly Luke and Julie moved out of hugging, but they still hovered around each other with their hands intertwined as they explained. They took turns explaining that somehow, someway, they’d left the same wish in each other’s bear. More than that, they were the same lyrics from the same love song they’d written without telling the other.

The shocked faces on all cause Luke and Julie to burst into laughter and soon all five of them were falling together into a hug. Julie carried one more surprise though in her back pocket. Slowly she pulled out three hotdog accessories for their new Build a Bears.

The boys looked at her with shock and horror as she grinned sheepishly at them.

“I couldn’t resist!”

They spent the afternoon playing with Jules, Lukas, Reginald, Alex and William. Then, when the time came for sleep, they couldn’t bear to leave each other so four ghosts, one human, and 5 teddy bear fell asleep in a pile of warmth and love.

[werevulvi]

Perhaps it's not so special to just be a woman. Half the population is. So what? But to me it is a huge thing. To even be able to say those words "I am a woman." They feel magnetic somehow, clinging to my tongue. It's like the word "woman" has a texture in my mouth like no other word does, vibrating at a different frequency. As if it's poisonous to taste. Yet I taste it, yet I say it. And I will keep saying it until I've cleansed it, no matter how long it takes. No matter how annoyingly repetitive and unnecessary it may sound to you.

It is a big deal to me, because up until age 29, I never spoke of myself using that word. Not even once. To then pick it up, for the first time, at age 29... was huge. And it's been 2 years since then now, but I'm still struggling with it, and it's still huge. I still don't understand why it's so hard for me to hold and hold onto that word, yet I am fiercely protective of it. I toss it away, then pick it up again, remorseful and protective of it. And I do that again and again. For each time I pick it up again, it's as if I understand its value a little bit more. All the significance, trauma, love, pain and curiosity it carries. It is mine, and no matter how hard it is to hold... I refuse to ever truly let go of it.

I may not look like a woman, I may not even want to! But why does it matter? Why should it matter what a woman looks like? Am I taking it too far, with the masculinity, the beard and bald head? Am I pushing my idea of freedom for women's expression too far? "Yes, women can be masc and gnc, BUT..." is what I keep hearing. But what? "...but you're taking it too far by looking like a whole ass man" is what I feel like the rest of the sentence, which they do not speak, is. Perhaps I'm wrong, I can't read minds. But sometimes I feel like people's minds are so loud that I can't not hear their thoughts.

I get a lot of backlash for every time I state myself as a woman, with my obnoxious reluctance to pass as my true identity. It's difficult to properly word that, what I actually mean. Perhaps I mean to say that I refuse to look like the traditional ideal of what people expect a woman to roughly wanna look like, whether that be masculine or feminine, as long as it's clearly recognisably female in some way or another. And my "true identity" has nothing to do with my personality, or my preferred expression, but only my deep down true love for being bio female. Thus, my "reluctance to pass" is indeed my desire to keep and maintain my transition traits, and my "true identity" is my womanhood, but I don't mean it in the same way TRA's do.

That true love for being female, isn't an ideal, but rather something much closer to my survival instinct.

It's that feeling of wanting to protect yourself when in danger. It's that instant self defense you act on without thinking when you feel like you're being threatened. It's that instant reaction of removing yourself from danger the split second it touches you, your body. It doesn't matter which part of you that danger touches, whether it be your hand, knee, your love handles, scarred chest, hairy face or your genitals. No matter what part of you is touched by that danger, you will instinctively protect it. It's in that instinct that I found love for my female nature, in my instinct to protect it from harm. I found it beyond my survival instinct, because no matter what part of me is ever touched by danger, my subconscious mind recognises it as not just lovable and worthy of protection and care, but also as part of the whole. This means, that deep down I'm not just loving myself... I also know that I am whole. No matter how many parts of me are cut off or distorted... I will always be whole.

I don't always feel aware of that like in my frontal lobe, but damn, my reptile brain knows it and won't ever question it.

With that, I found that my dysphoria is a shallow creation of my frontal lobe, and that it's in contradiction of my survival instinct. Being suicidal and/or self-harming is similar to this. Even wanting to die, always came second to my survival instinct. That is probably why I never succeeded to kill myself, and also why I never succeeded to truly hate my body. This does NOT mean that such horrible suffering as dysphoria or whatever feelings lead to self harm, is somehow not real. That is not what I'm saying at all. I'm saying it's a kind of cognitive dissonance, which messes with the very core of your core instincts, and that... I think, makes such psychological issues especially harmful.

And I also mean that my self love may not always have been accessible to me on surface level, but that despite that, it has always been innate.

And with that said... having found my innate self-love, and invited it to my frontal lobe... that is sorta why I can't really regret my medical transition. Even though I still have days when I struggle. Because I can't think of my body as broken anymore. Not since I found that deep, deep, VERY deep down I view myself as whole, lovable, valuable, and worthy of respect, love and safety... no matter what ever happens to me. Because my body is me, and there is no true disconnect between my sense of self and my flesh. Only on surface level there can sometimes be disconnect.

Kinda like the branches on a tree may be disconnected at the crown, but deeper down they all share the same trunk. I see myself in a similar manner. That at the top of the tree is most of my conscious thoughts, feelings, memories, etc, as well as all the various parts of my body. Or that is what my frontal lobe is aware of. That is how I perceive myself on surface level, as a scattered mess of branches, twigs, leaves and what not, each representing aspect of me, seemingly chaotic and all disconnected. But I'm also partially aware of what's going on deeper within my mind. I'm aware of the trunk that connects all branches, twigs, leaves, etc, and I'm also aware of the roots. Not directly aware, but I sense it like an inkling. I can sense that not only is there a trunk and roots deep down that connects to all twigs, and all twigs to each other, but also there in lies my knowledge that no matter how many of my twigs are left intact... the tree will always be a whole tree.

And it doesn't matter what I look like, or what troubles my body has gone through. Survival will always be the first priority. And my self-love IS equal to my instinct to survive. Because the reason I will always come to my own rescue whenever faced with danger or threat, or perceived danger/threat, is because I love myself. Self-love is the first move before I'm even saving myself from the danger, before that split second reaction takes place. That is how fast, instant and innate my self-love is. It was too obvious to even be aware of, for most of my life.

I think that's why is was so hard for me to find my self love. Because well... it was more deeply buried than my survival instinct itself, which I thought must be the innermost core aspect of my existence. But I was wrong about that. Self-love goes even deeper than survival. THAT is the innermost core aspect. Or so I believe. Can't think of anything that would possibly go even deeper than that.

But also, although I am the most aware on my self-love in moments my survival instinct takes over, I am also aware of it in other moments.

This is also why I can't get rid of my transition traits such as my facial hair. Because finding that true self-love from deep within my core, basically made me fuse all my aspects and physical traits together into a complete wholeness. All needs to be protected and loved. Every twig, every leaf. Sacrificing bits and pieces of me that are not damaging to my health, is self harm and goes against my survival instinct/self-love. It does not matter if the parts of me are in their natural state or medically/cosmetically altered. Even if those parts of me are inconvenient for my social life.

You know how a people who get organ transplants, their bodies try to reject the new organ because their immune system regards it as foreign? Well, this is kinda like that, but the exact opposite. My body/immune system/whatever-the-fuck regards my transition traits as heakthy parts of my original body, and thus to be protected at all costs. Loss of them will result in pain and grief. Just like losing any other part of my body would. And why? Because we mourn the loss of what we love, and what we regard as "ours" and as important, whole, healthy, lovable.

Deep down I do not care as much about such things as having a functional social life. Deep down, I care much more about things like keeping myself whole, safe, healthy and loved. Getting rid of my beard goes against that. Even just shaving it goes against that. My subconscious mind regards such an act as self harm.

Does this make sense to you? That it has nothing to do with "gender," be it manhood, womanhood, dysphoria, femininity or masculinity. It has to do with self-love, self-respect and survival. And that is a hell of a lot more important than being read or respected as a woman by others. No matter how much it hurts, because respecting and reclaiming myself as a woman is also highly important to me. Thus, I have to find a way to be open and honest with myself as a woman, without further harming myself.

I know this is deep and complicated spiritual shit, but I'm just trying to explain something which I think is probably very important. This discovery I had changed my life dramatically. So am I trying to teach self-love? No, I dunno. I don't think I can do that. I don't think anyone can. Perhaps I'm just trying to show a possibility.

I also need to clarify that despite knowing I love myself deep down now, I still struggle to stay connected to that aspect of my brain. And when I'm disconnected from it, I override my survival instinct and it misinterprets itself. Basically I fall out of order and act in a self destructive way, thinking it's self protection when it's actually the opposite. With that I understand that my self-love and my survival instinct are dependent on each other and need to be in harmony with each other to really keep me alive, safe and healthy. And although I'm now sometimes aware of this bond deep with myself, I'm still in imbalance. Because I still confuse self destruction for survival sometimes. When I skip meals, when I stay up too late, when I ruminate, when I smoke cigarettes, when I skip exercising, when I let my dirty dishes mould, etc. So simply being aware isn't quite enough, but it got me very far ahead of myself.

Also, trivial matters and superficial woes still get to me. I'm still human. I'm still fallible. Which is okay, but also frustrating. And that is basically why I love being a woman, while at the same time I also still struggle to accept myself as a woman, because it does include accepting being too norm-breaking for the society that I live in to accept me. And that hurts. It's a challenge that I'm not gonna overcome over night, just because I found the most important key to my healing. It's still just a key, a framework or an attitude - not a cure or some kinda magical spell. It's highly valuable and extremely important, but I still need to properly work through my emotions and learn how to navigate my social issues.

But what I feel my self-love is doing to help me, is carrying me through all this, and soothing me when I most need it. It makes my struggle worth it, and it makes me see a hell of a lot more of my potential than I was ever aware of before. The only backside of it is... well, it seems it does get to my head sometimes, and causing me some mild narcissistic tendencies. It sometimes makes me impatient hearing people with low self-esteem go on and on about how worthless they feel. That isn't great, I know. I'm working on fixing that error too.

By Werevulvi, dated November 29th, 2020.

[beca-mitchell]

we are the wild youth (1/5)

summary:  Beca needs some money to get out of Barden as quickly as possible. It just so happens that an opportunity all but drops in her lap: one Chloe Beale, desperately in need of a tutor to pass her last two classes to graduate.

Warnings for smut and angst and drama. Mainly smut. Rated M/E.

chapter one:  fever dream high

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

word count: 3,178

Rated M/E for depictions of coitus. This fic is an AU imagining of PP somewhat: Beca never joins the Bellas and is somewhat of a nerd, Chloe still stays back an extra three years, and there's backstory that was never part of the PP universe. But otherwise, it is set at Barden, Beca still loves music.

Fic title from “Youth” by Daughter. Chapter title from “Cruel Summer” by Taylor Swift. This fic is based on this gifset.

Read below or on AO3.

Beca just wants to graduate.

The deal she cut with her father is not the best deal in the world, but to him, a degree means something. Something meaningful. Meaningful enough that he’s willing to help her get the fuck out of Atlanta and move to New York. That kind of meaningful.

So in that sense, her degree is meaningful to her too. No time for fucking around.

But, senior year kind of means that she can start to take it easy. She’s almost there. She just needs to continue keeping her guard up long enough to ensure that Jesse still gets the hint she’s not interested in him and she just needs to pass.

Hence why this beginning-of-year party is an anomaly, but she’ll take it if there’s free alcohol and maybe the chance to unwind. Bedmate optional.

Beca isn’t one for parties. Definitely not one for house parties at a frat house.

She supposes these are the people who will end up playing her music in the future, however. Peering around, she grimaces at the very-near-public sex happening right on a couch that looks a little too used. A little too comfortable.

Start-of-term parties are always memorable in their own way. They’re almost formulaic in a sense. Guy gets girl, something valuable will be broken—maybe a television, maybe a heart—and something will go wrong.

Beca likes observing all of this from the outskirts while Jesse, who is the only person daring enough to drag her out of her apartment, floats away like the social butterfly he is.

It’s not that she hates parties, nor is she a recluse, Beca is just kind of tired of college at this point. She had promised her parents at least two years in college before she could head out to Los Angeles and really fulfill her dreams, but it turns out that she kind of needs money for that. Money which she doesn’t really have even if she’s been saving up pennies and quarters since middle school.

School is a safety net. She’s been told that all her life, with no small measure of patronization.

It also kind of sucks that Beca inherited at least a portion of her father’s intelligence. The daughter of a professor? There was no way he was letting her leave Barden without at least degree. Realistically, she inherited his knack for school because she’s kind of good at it. Physics, at least, hasn’t been a problem. Or Calculus.

It’s just fucking boring and she doesn’t even intend on using her degree. And she only chose something deeply rooted in science and math because she thought it would piss him off.

Many errors have been made. Miscalculated, even. Or perhaps more on point, horribly erroneous like a series of wrong notes in the middle of a symphony.

Beca could go on.

She can hear her father’s voice, somehow cutting through the raucous party and lodging deep in her head: “But your little music gigs, Beca? It’s a hobby. Science and math? That’ll get you jobs.” Then in the same breath, without fail: “It’s what your mother would want.”

The forced reminder makes Beca take another swig of cheap beer before she makes her way over to the keg for more. As she turns the corner, she stumbles, bumping into a shockingly solid body. As she drops her thankfully-empty cup, she reaches up to grab on to the arms that have come around her back to steady her.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, lifting her gaze to make some kind of eye contact when she realizes the body she’s pressed against doesn’t belong to yet another generic frat boy. Instead, she feels soft, feminine curves and the slightest hint of firm muscle beneath the fabric of a thin leather jacket.

Shockingly blue eyes stare back at her. “Hi,” she greets.

“Hi,” Beca replies, still stunned. “Um,” she steps back from the stranger’s space. Or...somewhat of a stranger would be a more apt descriptor. She would be remiss if she didn’t acknowledge that she just nearly bowled over Chloe Beale whose last name just happens to be on at least two buildings around school. Chloe Beale who is devastatingly pretty with blue eyes to die for and red hair and a burning smile.

Chloe Beale who is staring at her like she’s seeing her for the first time.

(She probably is.)

“Beca, right?”

Beca swallows. “I—yeah. How…?” Beca shakes her head. “Sorry, I’m not usually this horribly awkward.”

Chloe smiles. “How are you, usually, then? Other than being the most talented radio host Barden has ever had.”

It’s the oddest interaction to be having with a stranger in the middle of a house party. Beca can barely hear her own thoughts.

Chloe seems to read her mind. “Want to go somewhere quieter?”

Beca has never agreed to a cliche more quickly in her life.

- - x - - 

It doesn’t take long—in fact, Beca barely gets out the question “How do you know my name?” before Chloe is in her space and pulling her in for a bruising kiss. Beca’s body immediately thrums with excitement and repressed energy and she quickly pushes back at Chloe, determined to at least put up some small measure of a fight against Chloe’s immediate dominance over her.

But she quickly realizes that it feels so much better, letting Chloe take control like this—Chloe whom Beca had no idea even knew she existed, let alone wanted to hook up with her.

Chloe’s breath is hot against her neck while she holds Beca against the dresser. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, Mitchell,” she breathes, voice dripping with promise and pure want.

Beca’s brain short-circuits then, a symphony of jangled notes and endless crescendos. She can only nod weakly, hands scrabbling up Chloe’s back and pulling at the thing fabric of her shirt uselessly before she grabs onto Chloe’s hair and pulls her in for another kiss.

Chloe groans and pushes back against Beca, tilting her further over the dresser and displacing bottles of cologne and accessories. Strong hands grab at her thighs and force her legs apart so Chloe’s hips can settle more firmly between Beca’s legs. The action alone sends shockwaves up Beca’s brain. Beca, who is no stranger to sex, realizes that she has never felt such strong arousal from just kissing before.

“Are we going to have sex?” Beca asks before she can help herself. She immediately regrets the question when it leaves her mouth. “Because I want to,” she says quickly before she loses it or before Chloe thinks that she’s having doubts. She isn’t. It’s just overwhelming, being so taken and consumed by a girl she barely knows.

Not for lack of trying, Beca supposes.

Of course, Beca has a stupid crush on Chloe Beale. It seemed like most people did, somehow. Chloe, popular by virtue of her wealth but also mysterious and aloof disposition, never seemed to be short on suitors.

A small measure of pride wells up in Beca before it is immediately replaced by a swooping tightening in her belly as Chloe’s teeth nip harshly at her neck. With the amount of suitors Chloe frequently wards off (and the smaller number that she seems to allow close to her), Beca assesses that it would also appear that Chloe didn’t need any encouraging at all. Much less direction.

Before Beca manages even a measly gasp or even a weak tug to Chloe’s hair, Chloe’s hands are already greedily grabbing at her hips, pushing and pulling at the fabric impatiently for a moment or so, getting a good grope in, before her fingers deftly find the button of Beca’s jeans.

Beca sucks in a breath.

It takes a moment, but Chloe pauses, lifting her head from her assault on Beca’s neck. Her eyes, dark and blown with desire, flicker with something nearly unrecognizable.

Beca’s eyes drift back down to Chloe’s lips in the ensuing silence.

“You’ve never had sex with a girl before, have you?” Chloe asks.

Beca blushes immediately, averting her eyes for a brief second before Chloe tilts her chin back up to catch her lips in a sweeping, full, wet kiss. It’s more romantic than it has any business being. Beca moans against her own will, lifting her hips up almost impatiently against Chloe’s still hand. She is so conscious of the ache between her legs. So conscious of how her previous encounters with men left her wanting and dissatisfied. Not all the time, but more often than not.

How she had always imagined what it would be like with a woman.

Chloe, maybe. Chloe, specifically. Chloe, who had occasionally seeped into her thoughts based on the occasional classes they shared together. Chloe, who ran around the track almost every morning, visible from Beca’s dorm window. Chloe, who had smiled at her just briefly from across the quad at the activities fair all those years ago and Beca hd simply just turned away—

Chloe, who is pressed against her, lips swollen from the force of their shared kisses.

Lips swollen from Beca.

“Beca?” Chloe asks, referring to Beca by her first name for the first time all evening.

“Yeah,” Beca rasps, hot against her newfound lover’s mouth.

It takes a few seconds for Beca to process sudden emptiness she feels—a lack of warmth, really—but she realizes belatedly that it is because Chloe is on her knees, pulling Beca’s jeans down her trembling legs. When Chloe looks up at her, fluttering long eyelashes, Beca feels an answering gush between her legs.

Fuck, Beca thinks with every last primal instinct coursing through her. Fuck me. She reaches out instinctively to thread her fingers through Chloe’s hair, swallowing at how natural it feels to tangle her hands in another girl’s hair. To enjoy it so much.

Chloe says nothing while she helps Beca step out of her jeans. The movements, though gentle and slow, do nothing to ease the growing tension gnawing at her stomach. She clenches again involuntarily and moans in response to her own actions causing Chloe to look up from where she still kneels in front of Beca.

For a moment, Beca feels powerful.

Then, Chloe’s fingertips gently hook into the elastic waistband of Beca’s underwear.

“Tell me how hard you want me to fuck you, Beca Mitchell,” Chloe murmurs, her voice permeating the thick fog of Beca’s brain. It almost stuns Beca into silence, but she realizes that what she wants even more than LA at that moment is Chloe’s fingers between her legs. Her tongue maybe. Lips. Beca’s hands through her hair, tangled all night.

The possibilities are seemingly endless.

“Hard,” she chokes out. “Just fuck me hard.”

Blue eyes flash with delight and the promise of everything to come.

- - x - -

She does come. Multiple times that night against the dresser. Then again when she invites Chloe back to her apartment. Against her own front door. In her bed, testing the strength of her boxspring mattress.

But none of that matters—what matters is how breathtaking Chloe looks when Beca unravels her. Breathless in her own way. Possessing Beca’s bed like she has nowhere else she’d rather be. The unmistakable tremble as Beca’s fingers sink into tight, wet heat. Choked off moans against Beca’s mouth.

And as Beca falls asleep, tired and spent, she thinks vaguely of the flash of red hair that fateful day at the activities fair. How she had pointedly avoided the pretty girl with blue eyes and red hair.

It feels like regret, chasing her into her dreams.

- - x - -

Beca isn’t one to dwell on things, however. She has no time for that kind of distraction, even if that distraction is the pleasant, fleeting sensation of Chloe’s lips pressing against the curve of her shoulder as she slips into a waking state.

There is something incredibly tender about the way Chloe’s fingers comb through her hair as she whispers a murmured goodbye into Beca’s ear. Her lips graze the sensitive skin on the shell of her ear, seeping into the peripheries of Beca’s dreaming state.

It feels like a dream, at least. All of it. Unattainable, super-senior Chloe Beale.

When Beca wakes up again, her bed is cold and empty and she’s pretty sure the aches coursing through her body have nothing to do with alcohol.

She peers blearily at her phone, unfortunately uncharged and nearly dead, and startles upon seeing that it is half past ten and she’s meant to meet a new student at eleven. She jolts out of bed and right into the shower, regrettably washing off all the remaining memories from the previous night. As she reaches between her own legs, she puffs out a heavy breath and tries not to think about how sure Chloe’s hands felt on her body the night before.

This new student is a special request from the Dean of Students himself, sent her way by her father. She had protested, barely, but the pretty monetary figure that had slid across her gaze had been enough to hold her attention.

“Just twice a week for the year. Both semesters. This student needs to pass,” her father emphasizes.

“Who is this student,” Beca demands, tucking the form into her jacket pocket. “Another entitled rich kid?”

Her father pinches his nose. “Look, I recommended you directly to Dean Sanders the moment I heard about this request. It’s from a special benefactor to the school and I know how much you need the money to go to L.A..”

“I wanted to go to L.A. three years ago.”

“Do you not want to go anymore?”

Beca bites her tongue to stop from saying anything else and looks away.

“I know you’re an adult, Becs, but I have your best interests in mind. I just want to see you try. If you do this, I’ll double what the benefactor pays you. I’ll match it and double it.”

Beca can hardly believe her ears. It’s a lot of money. Enough to be considered “safe”, even. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Beca nearly trips multiple times on the way to the diner—an odd background for a tutoring session—but she somehow makes it there with a minute to spare. She realizes she has no idea who she’s even meeting with and slowly slides into the closest booth, keeping an eye out for anybody who looks especially lost.

She sits uncertainly for at least fifteen minutes, downs an entire cup of coffee, and fends off awkward inquiries from the server before she pulls out her phone intent on calling her father and giving him a piece of her mind. On cue, she gets a text.

Unknown Hey, my dad gave me this number. You’re my tutor, right? Rebecca? lol

Beca groans.

Beca hey, yep i’m your tutor. I’m at Carl’s, just got a booth at the back

The door jingles somewhere in the background and Beca glances up to meet Chloe Beale’s gaze dead-on.

“You’re fucking joking,” Beca mutters.

Chloe, for her part, does not look pleased at all as she tosses her bag into the booth before sliding in across from Beca.

“Small world,” Chloe comments.

“You’re telling me.”

Chloe looks like she might say something else and Beca braces herself for the potential innuendo or lust-laden comment, but nothing comes. Instead, Chloe simply folds her hands and watches Beca intently, looking every bit like an innocent college student with a desire to pass her class.

Beca’s gaze flickers down to the neatly folded fingers.

When she looks back up, Chloe’s expression morphs into one that makes Beca swallow nervously.

“Are you nervous?” Chloe asks. “It’s just me,” she says in a tone that implies that she knows exactly what inappropriate thoughts are floating through Beca’s mind.

Beca ignores that, both the words and the tone Chloe uses, and pulls out her notebook and binder. “You’re in calculus two...then statistics next semester?” Chloe nods. “Those are usually first-year requirements, how are you getting away with this? Is this a pre-med degree?”

Chloe smiles—a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “When your father’s name is on the school’s med school building, you kind of get things handed to you no matter how much you want to fight it. I can only control so much.”

Beca scoffs before she can help herself. “Well, I don’t know if that’s entirely true. I think that there are things out of our control sometimes, but there are definitely things within our control.” Like leaving calculus and statistics until the end. Like sleeping together and wanting to do it again, but resisting.

Chloe gazes at her with renewed interest. “You’re a tutor, huh?”

“Looks like it.”

“And my dad hired you.”

Beca shrugs. “Kind of...so I guess your dad will kill me in front of the entire student body if we don’t do this.” She clicks her pen. “Come on, show me your assignments.”

“I really don’t want to do what he wants,” Chloe says, fluttering her eyes at Beca. “Want to do something else instead?”

Beca scowls. “I’m your tutor, whether you like it or not.”

“Fuck that.”

Beca tries not to smile at that. Chloe has such a pleasant speaking voice and a generally pleasant expression on her face at all times that it isn’t hard to see why she’s probably one of the most well-liked people on campus. So well-liked that it is often overlooked that she’s going for a third round of her senior year.

Still, professionalism. Beca can do that, kind of. She tutored worse people in high school. “Let’s get this over with, okay?”

It is entirely the wrong thing to say. Chloe’s smile widens and she leans forward, her shoulders hunched like a predator just about to pounce. “That’s not what you were saying last night.”

“I...oh my God.” Beca purses her lips and looks around hurriedly before settling on the glass of water to her side. Grabbing it, she sips it delicately for a few long moments while avoiding Chloe’s gaze and quenching the sudden dryness in her throat.

The cool water sliding down her throat is a nice thing to focus on.

She’s not focusing on anything else. Not the phantom sensation of Chloe’s hands ghosting up her sides. Not the phantom sensation of Chloe making her hold on to her own headboard. Not the phantom sensation of Chloe’s lips against her thighs, leaving marks and hot, wet kisses.

Not the very real sensation from Chloe’s eyes boring a hole into her forehead, like she can see right into the recesses of Beca’s minds. Every last dark, lustful thought.

But the moment ends before Beca can really process everything, like how part of her wants to shove everything off the table so she can climb over and straddle Chloe’s lap.

Chloe sighs, opens her textbook, and points out the series of problems she has to complete for the week. “There,” she mutters.

Math—math, Beca can do. Calculus. Statistics.

Chloe, not so much.

(Even though she already did.)

/end chap. 1

read the rest: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

[happybeeps-nat]

Finnpoe Week 2020 - day 7: Free for all!

a ginormous thank you to @finnpoeevents for letting us have this, it was wonderful! <3

A Tale Of A Fae

words: 1599 rating: general audiences warnings: none tags: fairytale AU, fae!finn, villager!poe, inspired by @finnpoe-wizard, sweet bois, look i wrote something happy!, part of a wip i have yet to fully start

Read here on Tumblr

“Will you give me your name before you leave?” the fae asked him as he was dusting off his trousers. 

Poe smirked and gave them a look. “Nice try.” 

The fae frowned, their eyebrows knitting together in a way that should probably not look as adorable to Poe as it did. “What do you mean?” They sounded genuinely confused, not like playing the game that Poe expected. 

Poe tried not to let his confusion at the question show, because maybe they were playing games after all. Testing him. Enchanting him for their own entertainment like they always did in the stories.“Well, if I give you my name, I will be left with but a distant memory of it before one day I forget myself.” He shook his head. “No, I will not give you my name, it belongs to me already.”

The fae smiled at him, proud, delighted, entertained. Games, then.

Well, Poe was always one to play along. “I will, however, allow you to call me Poe.” 

The fae came down from the tree in one swift, elegant motion that looked a lot like a leaf falling from a tree, albeit faster. “Poe,” they tried the name, floating around him in slow circles. No, not floating, walking. On toes so light they might as well have been floating. Poe tried not to stare, not to be impolite, not to give them more reasons for games. 

“Will you tell me your name?” he asked then, trying not to form it as a demand but as a genuine question. 

“I do not have one,” the fae said, stopping right in front of Poe. They were a bit taller than him, but that likely came with being an ethereal being and all. 

“You don’t have one?” Poe was genuinely surprised at that. With questions like this and a face like that, surely people must have given them all the names before. “Has nobody ever given you one?” 

“I have never asked for one.” 

Poe snorted, actually snorted in the face of an ethereal forest spirit like they were nothing more than an old friend not watching where their mouth went after a few too many pints. Still, that was just hilarious and a blatant lie, and his mother had never told him what to do about that. Calling a fae out on their lies was probably not the smartest thing to do, but nobody ever lived to call Poe Dameron smart, so- “Pal, you just asked me not a minute ago.” 

The fae regarded him with a look like they wanted to figure him out, find a window to his soul right through his eyes. Then, suddenly, they took a step back and looked a bit - shy? 

“Before that,” they said quietly. I never asked for a name before that.”

And, wow. If that wasn’t some highly valuable information with which Poe had absolutely no idea what to do. What did that mean? 

Curiosity got the better of him and once again did he disregard the fact that he had a functioning mind that told him to go, leave, not get in trouble. “And you never got one regardless? From your fae family or something?”

The fae paused, looked at him and then their eyes moved past Poe, deep into the forest. “No.”

Poe paused, his heart ached and it felt like the air was filled with a loneliness, a drizzle on a late night in autumn, a single flower blooming at the roadside, and maybe he was imagining it, but it seemed to get colder around him. Was the fae lonely? Were they talking to Poe because they had no one else? Did they ask for a name just to finally have one? Poe’s heart broke a little at that thought, and honestly, what was in a name? It meant nothing to him, but he knew that it could mean everything to the fae folk. His mother had told him. 

So he smiled what he hoped was a kind one, and asked them a question of unspeakable weight. “Would you like me to give you a name? I could give you one if you want.”

Their eyes met his again, surprise and suspicion clearly written in the deep, dark brown. “You want to give me a name?” 

Poe shrugged, trying and likely failing to be nonchalant. “Sure, I mean, if it is too much, you can refuse and I won’t be offended. You will not have hurt me. But-” 

“And what would you get out of it?” they interrupted him, sounding more suspicious than curious, more dangerous than Poe had expected, and he had a feeling it was he who had offended the fae just now. 

Still, he pressed on. “Well, I would know what to call you. Us humans, we like to have names for things and people and beings. So you would even do me a favour."

“No,” they said immediately, turning away from him. “No, not as a favour. Not as a gift either.”

“A question, then? An offering, a borrowing. I am not giving to you what you don’t want, I will not bind you, I will not do anything you don’t want me to. You can borrow a name and give it back whenever you would like and otherwise keep it until the day you forget it.”

The fae shook their head where they were still turned away from Poe, looking at their majestic tree. “I cannot forget names.” 

Poe was feeling at his wit’s end. He didn’t want the fae to be lonely, to have no name until the end of time. But he also had no idea how he could help without offending them. Making gifts was a lot easier when the recipients weren’t ethereal beings older than time itself who read way too much into all things human. 

He sighed and stuffed his hands into the little pockets he had sown onto his trousers a few days ago. One last try couldn’t hurt except in all the ways it certainly could. “Then a borrowing where you get to spontaneously choose the date of expiry?” 

The fae turned around with an amused smile dancing on their lips. “You seem awfully set on this issue. Fine, what is this name then that you want so badly to give me?” 

Poe grinned. “Oh, so now I am giving it to you? You sure have a confusing way with words,” he shook his head and was met with an amused, curious, patient expression. He thought about this, contemplated his possibilities, but knew he could only come to one conclusion. The stories his mother used to tell him when she put him to sleep. When she would sit by his bedside and tell the greatest stories of brave heroes and tae and princes and princesses and a good life. And there had been one, his favourite, the fae who helped the humans wherever they could, who reminded him of a friend when they were toddlers, and his mother always extended the fae’s tales because they were Poe’s favourite. The fae’s name had been Finn, and it had been Poe who named him. So it fit, in a way. This fae right here had the same kind eyes that he always imagined when his mother told the stories. 

He smiled. “The name, if you want it, would be Finn.” 

They inclined their head, curious, and tried the name on their tongue. “Finn,” they said, resuming their circles around Poe, slower this time, like they were in thoughts. “Finn,” they tried again. 

“Yeah,” Poe breathed, heart beating in his chest for some reason. “Do you like it? You don’t have to take it, you’re free to reject, it’s just-”

“I do like it,” they interrupted him again, gently this time. “Finn. What does it mean?” 

Poe looked at them and they came to a stop in front of him again. He swallowed thickly. “Home. To me, it means home.” 

The fae smiled, kindly this time. “Then I would like to keep it. And next time you come back, Poe, you can tell me about your home.”

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline in utter surprise. “Next time? You’d like for me to come back? You’re not, you know, throwing me out of your forest?” 

The fae, Finn, chuckled at that - a sound that seemed to make the sun shine brighter above them and the grass seem greener. “No, I would… I would like it if you came back. Humans are curious and I would like to learn more.” Of course, that was why- “And I enjoyed your company today. You are free to come back if you like. But you are also free to stay away as you please. This is not me manipulating the words in my favour, rest assured.”

They looked shy but hopeful, and Poe had no idea what that meant, what sort of universal, existential doom he had brought upon himself and the world in eliciting hope from a fae, but he couldn’t help but smile back. “I will come back. And this is me making a promise I’m going to do everything in order to keep. I cannot tell you when, though, but I will.” He looked at them for a second, at their deep brown eyes and their beauty and their effortless way of existing. Thank you, he didn’t say. Never thank a fae, he heard his mother’s voice. “I shall be back soon.” 

It might have been his imagination, but he felt the forest smelled sweeter as he was leaving. 

[gguktarts]

decathect | jjk (2)

1. to withdraw one’s feelings of attachment from (a person, idea, or object), as in anticipation of a future loss

summary: if one thing was clear to you when you first met Jeon Jungkook, it was that he would never love you. at least, not the way you wanted him to.

pairing: jjk x reader genre: unrequited love au || angst || little fluff if u Squint || drabble series word count: 2.2k parts:  « previous | 2 / ? | next » cw: kinda unhealthy depictions of a crush, & jk is a fuckboy w lots of tatts and long hair. note: well,, i don’t like this one bUT here yall go!!! breaky breaky eggs and heart bakey ey :’)

Being late to class was the first of the signs, you should have known. It didn’t impact your grade in any way, but the reason behind it certainly stirred about some changes.

While Jungkook still remains a part of some of your days, lately it’s a less common occurrence. You figure maybe it’s his doing, that your face must have given you away that day, that he must have figured something out and that whatever he knows doesn’t sit well with him, but deep down you know it’s your fault.

It’s not that he’s avoiding you, but that you’re avoiding him–as well as the images that still haunt your memory. So, whenever you see him in the halls you turn and walk away just a tiny bit faster, and when you guys speak, you only voice out what’s necessary. It’s gotten to the point where you worry over him thinking you’re mad at him, when in fact you are not. You’re not upset that he kissed someone, how could you be? Jungkook is more of a stranger than he is a friend to you, and he owes you nothing. And it doesn’t matter that the constant reminder makes your heart drop all the way to your feet, nor that despite everything your stomach still battles the fluttering butterflies his smile cultivates and nurses. It’s actually that last part that annoys you out of all, the one that triggered your flight response.

Even now, sharing your favorite takeout at Tae’s, it’s clear you’re more closed off with him than usual – even when the subject is as ridiculous as VHS porn. Actual, physical VHS porn, all property of Taehyung. He apparently went on a shopping spree early in the morning, which explains the two thick tapes inches from his plate. They’re keeping the lot of you some extra company.

“I just can’t believe you bought more, honestly. And with real money,” you mutter in disbelief, amusement painting your tone. The fact that Tae not only owns (and buys) them but also keeps them in pristine condition is not something you understand. He doesn’t even have a VHS player. "You know the internet exists, right, babe? And with better quality.”

A look at the colorful cases makes you visibly cringe. There’s far too many freed titties and schoolgirl skirts for your liking. “They’re probably as bad as the old ones aren’t they…”

Tae’s eyes widen with a hint of betrayal; his chopsticks pointing at you in accusation. “They’re HISTORIC, ok? Like beanie babies... And they only cost 3 dollars each—”

"How would you know if hyung’s tapes are bad or not?” Jungkook’s voice interrupts, doing nothing but throwing you under the bus with the teasing question.

You blink, for a hot second forgetting you haven’t told Taehyung about that specific day a few months back. He was gone all day doing who knows what, while Namjoon and yourself, under the tight reign of curiosity and the profound liberty of a free evening, went over the most ridiculous titles he owns. It’s the sudden look of suspicion he gives you what brings back the fact to surface. Right. You’re the one with the VHS player. He knows that. 

From your peripheral Jungkook’s inquisitive gaze pierces your skin, distracting you from the way Namjoon’s posture straightens with the reminder. He hasn’t said a single word to stop you, though, so you take that as a sign.

“Joon and I watched them,” you confess quickly, slurping on some stir-fry noodles with a small, apologetic smile playing on your lips. “And I’m sorry for not telling you earlier, but Tae, they’re terrible. Except maybe… Eaten by the Big Bad Wolf, I guess.”

The name makes Jungkook break out in giggles, a sound so cute you have to press your lips together just to not grin along with him. Whining, Taehyung swats the younger’s arm before whipping his head to look between Joon and you, more pouty than angry.

“First of,” he begins, “Eaten by 2BW IS good. You guys are just uncultured about the rest. But more importantly, you two? Both?” 

None of you deny it. Joon simply grins apologetically and shrugs, far too busy gulping down his meat to do more than that— he knows Tae won’t do anything to him, he’s too valuable a roommate. Instead, you hear Jungkook voice out a tiny surprised “huh” before any words leave him. 

“I didn’t take you for the type to watch porn, Y/N.”

You still mid bite, eyebrow raised as you’re forced to glance his way. “Because I’m a girl?”

“No, it’s just… you don’t strike me as a sexual one, I guess?”

“Oh.”

He doesn’t say it to hurt you, you know that. It’s not like his phrasing should hurt you either, but somehow, it still does. It’s easy for you to skip past all you should be thankful for—that he doesn’t sexualize you, that he doesn’t consider you an option for the fuck-and-go experiences he tends to have, and that maybe, just maybe, therefore you’re not seen as disposable. All of those, while in ways reassuring, are drowned out by a single underlying fact: in a world where Jungkook knows not love but lust, where his touch is reserved for only the bright who catch his eye, you’re but a white dwarf to his starry gaze, all but faded and extinguished. Nearly a dead star, you’re empty of whatever he searches for, of whatever he wants, and so what little he gives you are never meant to get.

The thought rings around your eardrums enough seconds for your smile to drop and your teeth to clench, but you’re quick to put on a mask of vague confusion and annoyance. Even your tone comes out dry.

“Jee, thanks? I’m flattered I can contain my hormones in check.”

“It’s because you’re never here when she’s ovulating–she gets hornly as hell,” Tae counters just when the youngest opens his mouth, eyes on him before they settle on you. His gaze goes soft, as if asking if you’re okay in between the jabs, speaking the words he isn’t. But you’re too busy almost choking, heat spreading from your ears and along your cheeks, to notice it. The thought that he spoke to shut Jungkook up not crossing your mind. “I don’t really understand why you never do anything about it, love. Could literally be getting love-fucked right about now.”

“Taehyung, what the fuck?” you squeak, embarrassment threatening to consume you, but thankful nonetheless it’s a type of distraction. You don’t see Jungkook blink in confusion, nor his repeated whisper of Tae’s new word. You focus on the way Namjoon pinches Tae’s arm. It earns him a glare and a yelp.

“Leave her alone, man,” Joon chides, making you smile again without entirely understanding the look they briefly share. 

“What? She knows I love her,” Tae says, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He’s always quick to butter you up with it. “You do know that, don’t you?”

“Yes. But if we could just shift the topic to something besides my non-existent love life I’d love that even more." 

"What?” Joon opens his mouth after a blink, suddenly intrigued because as far as he’s concerned, you were practically dating last you spoke to him about that. Only, you weren’t–aren’t, and even if he is on your side in this conversation, he’s too big of an information hoarder (read: gossip) to let it go from the get go. “But I thought the date with Jaebum went okay?”

You give him a look. “Date? We were studying for our midterms, like I told you.”

“Oh, I thought– but he looks so interested in you…”

Taehyung nods along, “Yea, whenever he sees me he asks about you.”

“Wait, are we talking about Jackson-hyung’s friend?” Jungkook asks, tone mildly curious. You drown the words out, but his voice still makes your throat close up for a few seconds longer.

“Yup,” Namjoon confirms, “You know him?" 

"Never actually talked to him, but Yugyeom hangs with him from time to time. Seems nice enough,” Jungkook shrugs, turning to you with a soft, encouraging smile. “I don’t know if he likes you but if you’re interested I could ask–”

“I’m not,” you snap, jaw clenching. Your fingers stiffly hold onto the chopsticks, a flimsy attempt at ignoring the way your bones hold your heart before it slips and falls. And it does fall, because you can already feel the sickening feeling pooling and spreading from your stomach and along your limbs. You notice it so quickly that you remind yourself, like a mantra, that this is ridiculous, that you shouldn’t even be feeling this way. Yes, he doesn’t like you. You knew that already, Y/N. Going from point A to point B, it’s logical he doesn’t care if you date anyone, that he encourages it as long as you’re into it. But you don’t want his kindness.

Hurt flashes over Jungkook’s gaze as you stare him down, but it’s gone so quickly you’re unsure if it was there in the first place. Still, the thought you might have caused it doesn’t sit well with you. It quickly forms a lump in your throat, making you swallow before softening your features.

“I’m– I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like an ass,” your voice comes out a whisper, and you turn back to your plate. Jungkook’s own “it’s okay,” is too soft your ears. You know you have to behave normally, quickly. So you press your lips together and offer them a dramatic sigh to at least begin to sound believable. 

“I’d just rather none of you did anything. I already know he likes me, he’s asked me out before,” you confess, voice somehow unwavering. It gives the push you need to put on a mask of indifference as you look head on, not at Jungkook but at Joon. He looks surprised, but remains quiet. “And no, I didn’t accept. He is nice, but I–I don’t like anyone like that at the moment.”

It takes effort to finish the lie, to hide the sting in front of them–in front of him– but you have more than one tell. And Taehyung knows each and every one very well. The soft rebuke, the intensified interest in your noodles as the lie flowed through your lips. Tae knows you, sometimes better than you know yourself, and he knows he has to do what he does best: he shifts the tone. 

“That’s okay. You’re too good for him anyways. But none of that matters because I just remembered something I find absurdly unforgivable,” Taehyung says, face going completely serious. His eyes are fixed on you with such intensity you wonder if he’s about to tell you the secrets of the universe, or his mom’s secret strawberry cheesecake recipe, which seems less likely. Instead he lets out the shrillest whine, “you did not tell me you love me back. Now explain to me, how am I supposed to continue on? What will inspire me now, huh?”

And just like that, the tense air begins to clear out.

“Eh, you’ll live,” you joke, physically unable to push back the tiny smile lighting up your face at his antics.

“Not like you’ve painted anything in ages, anyway,” Namjoon adds, teasing. 

“Well, if I had any of my own paint,” Tae mutters, giving Jungkook a pointed look, “maybe I’d find some inspiration.”

Jungkook scoffed, “I have two tubes total, not your entirely collection, hyung.”

“Yes, but you have my favorite ones! Amethyst Shards and Indigo Fields are so hard to find, too…”

“I’m almost done with them anyways, just pass by tomorrow and pick them up,” Jungkook snickers, eyes crinkling at the other’s pout.

“Fine, but show me what you’re working on.”

Taking the moment to drift away, you grab the already empty plates and take them to the kitchen. It’s Namjoon’s turn to wash the dishes so you leave them be, and return to both of your boys huddled around Jungkook’s extended hand, phone on display. 

You don’t know what you expected to see, but it’s definitely not the portrait of the girl he was kissing the other day. She’s laying on her side, naked on a bed of violets, and you can’t deny she’s beautiful. Your heart sinks further than before as you take in the level of detail he poured into his work, into her. The way her hair falls over her arms and tangles with the leafs underneath, the way a form of innocence is reflected on her eyes. They’re elements you see only because he sees them. Did she change his mind about relationships? Does he like her, just the way you like him? You don’t know– you don’t know anything at all. 

You feel like puking your insides out. And you’re aware you’re at the end of the rope for the day, that the thin line is about to break, and that you can’t hold back the water pooling behind your eyes for much longer. So like usual, you try to flee.

At the very least you compliment his work, genuinely amazed by his ability, but that’s the last you can do before the masks starts to crack. You don’t register his grateful smile, nor anything after that, really. You just give Tae an offhand excuse you don’t really process, and without waiting for any sort of response you scurry out of the room, vision blurry.

By the time you’re inside safer walls, tears have already stained your cheeks.

[hiirunakaarchive]

– to act in haste (3)

↳ Facts could never be disputed, but natural and insensible phenomenons like fate were fickle and ever-changing. Ethan hoped that maybe the outcome of this god-awful situation he was in right now could be fickle and ever-changing too.

↳  (pt 1), (pt 2), (pt 4)

◇ pairing: ethan ramsey x mc (haruna sakurai)

◇ genre: like 99.9% angst, 0.1% comedy (?) i hope that part of the story was funny man idk

◇ word count: 4.6k+

◇ tags: @aworldoffandoms, @perriewinklenerdie, @jooous​, @senseofduties​, @moteestro​, @anything-but-reality​

◇ author’s note: hey friends, i hope yall are staying safe and indoors during these strange times! classes have been moved online, so i’ve been writing and lo and behold –– part three to my series (which i finished a lot sooner that i expected :o) ! i was honestly writing this thinking it’d be the finale but the 10k word count was telling me smth else, so a FOURTH part is gonna be posted and THAT is gonna be the last one! also not to toot my own horn but i really, honestly, TRULY believe this third part is the best ive ever written, and i hope you guys like it as much as i do! like always, feedback is super appreciated and i’d be more than happy to add anyone to the tags! happy reading!

–

Dr. Ramsey was almost never wrong.

Almost.

And he hung on to that almost with a vice-like grip, that one in a million possibility that maybe this time, he could be wrong, and God, he had never wanted to be wrong so badly. But anyone with half a brain could put two and two together and figure out why his spiteful ex-lover stood in his office long after her shift had ended; white coat folded neatly and hugged against her chest with a sealed envelope at hand. Yet, despite knowing fully well what that letter being slid across his desk meant, he dared to challenge the inevitable truth. To let himself hope—

I could be wrong.

He took it in his hands carefully, and tore the envelope open.

Let it be wrong. Let it be wrong, let it be wrong, let it be-

”You’re resigning.”

He read it slowly and steadily, gathering himself with one long breath and the last sliver of calm he could find.

Over the course of the year, Haruna Sakurai had become some sort of a celebrity in Boston’s exclusive world of health care professionals, dubbed the perfect model to emulate in all aspects of being a doctor. She was as kind as she was intelligent, but unflinching in her righteous principles and a terrifying force to be reckoned with.

She was Edenbrook’s most valuable asset, yet the letter of resignation laying open on Ethan’s desk seemed to taunt him in ways that delved beyond a professional context. He regarded it hollowly, absorbing the great loss her departure would serve to the hospital, but also let his mind pathetically wander to the thought of where her resignation would leave the both of them.

It was silly and stupid, because they weren’t even romantically involved anymore. That tranquil period where they sat across from each other in comfortable silence, danced in his kitchen until they realized breakfast was burned, talked and laughed until they couldn’t breathe – it was such a distant memory that Ethan was convinced that it was nothing but a dream. 

It didn’t matter because she was slipping from him anyway.

“Losing you would be quite a blow to the hospital, Dr. Sakurai. Is there anything that would make you reconsider?” He had to be impartial. 

Convince her to stay. For the hospital, not for yourself, you selfish prick. No more of this lovesick nonsense.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, and it was deplorable. The year Haruna spent on the fellowship had changed her. She stood taller, spoke louder, smiled wider, and Ethan convinced himself that losing her was a trivial price to pay for the success she so deserved. 

Haruna had grit her teeth and accepted his twisted gift, abandoning that whirlwind romance they had, and as compensation, acquired invaluable knowledge that no one could pry from her cold dead hands. She had so clearly moved on, thus, there was nothing left to do but for Ethan to make peace with it and follow suit. 

“I’m sorry, but my mind is set. It’s a...career move.”

Yet why did he still insist on making her stay?

“A career move? Dr. Sakurai, you do know that you’re employed at one of the best hospitals in the United States.” He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, and she rolled her eyes at his statement of the obvious.

“Of course I do, but our partnership with Panacea Labs has them trampling on every standard and principle that made Edenbrook one of the best in the first place.”

“I hate saying this as much as you hate hearing it, but that’s not something we can change.” Ethan sighed as he rubbed his temples. 

“I know, so I’m leaving before it disappoints me further.”

“Life in and of itself is a disappointment, Dr. Sakurai.” he argued. “We-“

“I’m going back to Japan.” She blurted.

Haruna bit her lip, bringing a hand to her face like it was a secret she meant to keep and just as suddenly as she said it, Ethan’s world stopped all at once. The clock that hung just above the entrance to his office stopped ticking. He saw Haruna’s lips moving as she continued to speak, but couldn’t hear a thing. Every joint in his body seemed to have froze and gone numb. Dead silence enveloped Dr. Ramsey to the deepest part of him that it could dig.

Dr. Sakurai’s confession rang in his ears like a siren, and Ethan wanted nothing more than to make it stop. The loss of what they had stung him to the point that he almost clutched at the imaginary ache of his chest, but despite that, he carried on. Seeing Haruna was never easy, but the dull sting at the sight of her served as a very real reminder that she wasn’t just a dream. That there once existed a period where Ethan loved a woman so much that he was no longer himself. She was real and tangible, and as long as she remained so, Ethan fooled himself into thinking he had a chance and the luxury of time in fixing what seemed to be irreparable.

You can’t fix this anymore. 

That cruel realization slapped him back to reality.

“-y parents are encouraging me to come home and work in their hospital. I’m hoping that it can offer me new and invaluable insight– Dr. Ramsey are you listening?”

Ethan lifted his gaze from the envelope on his desk and met her eyes. He stood from his office chair and planted his hands on the surface of the table, leaning forward.

“I’m listening. And what insight, pray tell, can the Sakurai Medical Centre give you that Edenbrook can’t?”

The tone of his voice adopted a subtle bitterness to which Haruna raised a brow. She uncrossed her arms, imitating Ethan’s pose and setting one hand parallel to his on top of his desk.

“It’s a new experience.” She responded impatiently, “A more challenging setting.”

“In the hospital that your parents own? How could that setting ever challenge you the same way we do here?” He continued to prod.

“In ways you couldn’t possibly hope to understand. Are we done here?”

“Not until you tell me the real reason why you’re resigning, Dr. Sakurai. You’ve made a name for yourself in this city, you’ve accomplished what thousands of doctors wished they could at your age. How could you leave that all behind?”

Here they were again, arguing, God, they were always arguing. Both of them were far too proud and far too stubborn to swallow their pride and back down. The only thing that seemed like a capable reminder to keep things civil was the mahogany desk that kept them mere inches apart. 

She placed a hand on her hip and leaned closer across the table.

“I think you’re taking things too personally, Dr. Ramsey.” Haruna accused.

She was close. Too close, and Ethan swallowed hard and realized he could never win against her.

He looked away, in denial. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Haruna scoffed.

“Really? Then look at me and tell me that I got this far so early into my career because of my own hard work. Tell me that every doctor in Boston would know my name even if you didn’t use your position to land me that spot on the diagnostics team even though I was in fourth place. Face it, Dr. Ramsey, you don’t want me to leave because it means that everything you did was for nothing.” She spat.

Ethan threw his hands up in aggravation. “Sakurai, this isn’t about me, god damn it! This is about you compromising a perfect career that–”

“You don’t know what it’s like!” She yelled, her voice resonating across the room. 

The sudden raise in volume took Ethan by surprise, and he bit back a response as Haruna scowled in an attempt to calm herself.

“You have no idea what it’s like...walking into that room everyday with doctors like you, June and Baz, and knowing that I’m not even supposed to be there. I come in here and see you and am just reminded that every bit of success I have now is because you loved me. Too damn much, if you ask me.” 

“You want to know the worst part of it all?” She laughed despite herself. “Acting like I didn’t enjoy every minute of that fellowship, when the truth is that I relished in it. I spent this entire year resenting you yet basking in all this knowledge and these opportunities that you gave me. Then I’d come in the next day and hate you a little less than I did the day before. One day, I woke up and realized that I probably never even hated you at all. If anything, I was...grateful.” She cringed as she said it, then looked at Ethan with contempt.

For the first time in a long time, it wasn’t directed at him, but at herself.

“Do you get it? I can’t keep working here, because the mere sight of you is proof that I’m just as greedy and self-serving as bastards like Declan Nash, and I’d sooner die than become a doctor so disgusting. If I can’t bring myself to hate you, then...” She trailed off and looked away, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

The revelation was all too much for Ethan to process, and his mind was riddled with questions. For over a year, he’d wake up in a cold sweat from nightmares of how she regarded him with immeasurable animosity. Was she trying to tell him that, that too, was a facade? A tense muscle in Dr. Ramsey’s jaw relaxed as he asked her quietly,

“Are you running from me, Haruna?”

“If I am?”

They looked at each other in a moment that seemed to end all too quickly, and the weight and meaning of what she said dawned on the both of them. Her eyes widened at the proclamation she mistakenly let slip and Dr. Sakurai snatched her letter of resignation from Ethan’s desk, starting towards the door.

“Never mind. Forget it.”

For a moment, he considered listening to her. To let her go like he’d always done. Every time they spoke, she always ended up leaving anyway. Ethan persuaded himself into believing that she was better off without him, but–

You are never going to have another chance after this.

And he realized, that the moment he let her leave that room, everything would really be over. He’d have to live with the regret of never having taken that final opportunity to mend what they’d both thought was unmendable, or at least try to. Would she have also wished that he’d tried to stop her?

“Wait...I said wait!”

Ethan bolted towards the exit, and Haruna froze in her tracks as he slammed the door back shut as she was about to leave. Her back was to him and his arm remained situated on the wooden surface, inches from her head.

“I need to know, Dr. Sakurai,” He breathed,

“Do I still mean something to you?”

Ethan heard her sharp intake of breath, taken aback by his sudden inquiry. Cautiously, Haruna turned to face him and that calm air of hers that always seemed so natural now looked like nothing but a brittle front to hold herself together.

“You do.” She admitted.

“I still love you, Dr. Ramsey. So much. I’ve loved you all this time but I-“

Her breathed hitched, and like a dam, she, and that distant and unbothered facade she was so adamant on maintaining, collapsed. Her cheeks were wet with tears and Ethan’s face fell as Haruna buried her face into her hands. He willed himself not to hold her.

She wouldn’t want you touching her. You don’t have the right. You don’t-

But against his better judgement he took her in his arms, and the solace he felt with the familiarity of this woman’s warmth, who seemed so small trapped against his chest, overwhelmed him with emotion. It had been so long since he last touched her, and both Ethan and Haruna knew that it may very well be the last. So he held her. He held her the way he wished he could have in the year that they didn’t speak. The way he should have held her from the start. And she let him.

He wasn’t sure if he could ever embrace anyone else the same way ever again.

“God, Ethan, where did we go wrong?” She sobbed.

He rested his chin gently on her head and didn’t respond, because he knew that nothing he could say in this predicament that they were in– no, that they’ve been in, would console her. Dr. Sakurai’s shoulders shook uncontrollably as she cried, and Ethan felt her go slack against him, holding her tighter as he lowered the both of them gently to the floor. 

***

She was in his arms for the next hour. Sixty minutes of pure silence, apart from her weeping, and Ethan could do nothing but comfort the woman. He looked up at the ceiling as Haruna sniffled, and couldn’t remember the last time she had let herself be so vulnerable in front of him.

“We can’t be together like this.” She finally spoke, her voice raspy from the crying.

“I-” Dr. Ramsey began, ready to argue. He knew better though, and sighed as he leaned his head back against the wall. “I know.”

“Good. So you know that you have to let me leave, then.”

He stayed silent in an attempt to avoid the question. Of course he knew that, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. If he did, he’d be acknowledging that this was for the best; and more often than not, the right decision wasn’t always the easiest.

“Haruna, I...” He started in protest, but paused as he felt Dr. Sakurai’s hand slide up to rest on his cheek.

He looked down at her, and wondered if he was being too transparent. If she could see how broken he was at realizing the choice they both had to make. She sat up a little straighter, still in Ethan’s arms and rested her forehead against his. Then she asked him quietly. Pleadingly.

“Please, Ethan.”

How could he ever say no to her?

So he responded wordlessly, tilting his head and bringing his lips to hers. Haruna met him halfway, and a year and a half of fierce self-restraint and inexplicable pining for the feel of each other erupted all at once. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer by the nape of his neck. Ethan cupped her face in his hands as he kissed her, softly at first, but every second that passed with her mouth on his summoned a tide of longing that he forced himself to keep latent all this time, and it only urged him to kiss her harder.

“I love you.” He groaned against her mouth. “God, I love you.”

She merely smiled at his reckless confession, holding him by the lapels of his coat until, Ethan, breathless, forced himself to pull away. He brought a finger below her chin and tilted her head up to look at him. Her eyes were red and swollen from the crying and her hair was disheveled from the moment of passion they just shared, but Ethan couldn’t recall ever being in love with her more than he was in that moment. 

“Haruna, marry me.” 

Her eyes widened in surprise. She looked like she was going to say something in protest, but Ethan continued in order to validate his outrageous request.

“Not now.” He interjected. “You’re going to go to Japan, and become the best damn doctor they’ve ever seen. Your success will be your own, and no one will ever remember that you were ‘The’ Ethan Ramsey’s protege in the first place because you’ll become someone a hundred times better.” 

Dr. Ramsey pushed himself off the floor, and pulled Haruna up following that. Her eyes had begun to shine with tears again, dangerously close to falling, and Ethan held her face in his hands. He offered her a comforting smile, but he wasn’t certain if it was meant to reassure her, or to hide his own brokenness.

“Then, if these god damn stars ever choose to align for us and we see each other again, however long that might take, we’ll get married. Is that clear, Rookie?”

She laughed through the tears.

“Crystal, Dr. Ramsey.”

–– 

Dr. Haruna Sakurai departed for Japan the following week. No one knew of her resignation except for the diagnostics team, Naveen, and her closest friends from intern year, so Ethan remained unbothered at the gossip that rang through the hospital when one day, she had stopped coming to work and no one knew why. 

After that evening where he vociferated that almost childish marriage pact, Dr. Ramsey and Dr. Sakurai failed to have another chance to speak. He was busy with his own doctorly duties and Sakurai was preoccupied with tying up any loose ends before she left for good. They’d merely pass by each other in the halls and their interactions alternated between a subtle smile, a curt nod, or a discreet brush of the fingers.

When Haruna accepted his poor excuse of a proposal, Ethan thought he’d convinced himself that it was going to be alright. That things would turn out fine because they parted on good terms and with the knowledge that they’d made the right choice.

So he had to pretend, and to an extent he never did before.  

Pretend like he wasn’t heartbroken at the fact that she didn’t say goodbye. 

Pretend like he wasn’t just as surprised as everyone else when he came to work and didn’t hear the sound of her voice by the nurses’ station like he would everyday.

The feigning of indifference had embedded itself so deeply into his routine that Ethan believed it was real. He readopted his strictly objective nature, like how he used to be before he met her, and just like that, his world went numb and grey.  

“I’m worried for you, Ethan.” Naveen sighed as he sat across Ethan’s desk, genuine concern written all over his face.

Dr. Ramsey didn’t bother looking up as he flipped through applications for the year’s new batch of interns. “We have hundreds of patients to treat and a budget cut that still needs to be solved. I’m not who you should be worried about, Naveen.” He replied dryly.

“My shift ended twenty minutes ago, my boy,” Dr. Banerji chuckled. 

“I’m not here as administration, I’m here as your friend. Now tell me, why are you acting this way?”

"Acting what way?” Ethan quipped, setting down a folder to give his mentor his full attention. “I’m not any different from the last twelve years we’ve been working together.”

“Completely and wholly devoted to your job, I know. But in the past twelve years I’ve known you, you’ve never been so...” Naveen rested his elbow on the armrest of his chair as he pondered for the right word. “Anesthetized?”

Banerji eyed Ethan carefully, almost strictly. 

“You’ve always been a workaholic, Ethan, but never to the point that you neglected your own health. You’re a walking contradiction as a doctor.”

Ethan knew he was right. If there was anybody in the world that he could never win against in an argument, it was his mentor and his mentee. The three of them were an elite trifecta with a unique bond equipped with boundless knowledge, and Ethan swallowed hard as he remembered her for the first time in the four months since she left. 

After coming to terms with her resignation, Ethan thought that their parting satisfied him enough to live on happily and assured of their love for each other. But the following week of being deprived of her presence and being reminded he might never see her again made Dr. Ramsey realize that it was stupidly naive of him to think so. This was nothing like the two months he spent in the Amazon, because he didn’t have that certainty of her greeting him when he inevitably came back. He was unsure of whether the stars really would align for them like he suggested, but certain that he’d never love anyone the same way he loved her. 

He drowned himself in work and almost stopped coming home. The bags beneath his eyes had grown so much more prominent, and four months of this self-negligent lifestyle had aged him more than twelve years of working as a doctor of internal medicine ever could. Of course Banerji had been the first one to notice.

“She’s there everywhere I go, Naveen.” Ethan confessed, unable to keep it to himself any longer.  

“Can’t even leave this damn office and grab a coffee anymore. I ordered my usual roast at Derry’s, and you know what happened? The barista snuck me a free espresso Romano! Told me, ‘for the other pretty doctor,’ and I almost lost it.”

Dr. Banerji stared in disappointment at his own pupil’s oblivion. He had given him too many invaluable lessons to count, but the one thing he never succeeded in helping Ethan understand was the importance of subjectivity. That sometimes even the most logical and calculated decisions were no match against the fickle loyalties of the heart. 

“Answer me honestly, Ethan,” Naveen dropped all hints of playfulness. 

“Do you regret letting her leave?”

–– FIVE YEARS LATER

“Do you regret letting her leave?”

When Naveen asked that question, the answer popped into Ethan’s mind shamefully quick. Accompanied with that epiphany, his world, the one that went numb and grey, began to scream altogether. The imaginary pain that once pricked him frivolously like pins and needles hit him all at once and burst into flames. Shallow incisions made to his heart with every thought of her and what could have been, transitioned into relentless, deep cuts that came at a pace faster than he could heal. 

Over the course of five years, Ethan stopped trying to fight it and left his heart to be mangled by the regret.

“Yes, I regret it.” 

Today marked his seventeenth year of working at Edenbrook, and Dr. Ramsey had lost count of how many batches of interns had come and gone. He still thought about her occasionally, when he’d see her friends in the hospital or at midnight in bed and alone with his thoughts; but time had done a fairly adequate job of healing that wound. Five years in retrospect didn’t seem that long, but it was enough for Dr. Haruna Sakurai’s face to blur and drown into the deepest recesses of Ethan’s mind. 

“He’s so freaking fine, but I swear he doesn’t have eyes.”

Making his rounds, Ethan’s brows furrowed irritably at the interns he caught gossiping in the hall. He tucked his clipboard under his arm, more than ready to reprimand them until a calloused hand caught him by the shoulder.

“Shhh. I want to know what they’re saying about you.” Ethan turned his head just enough to see that it was Dr. Lahela.

He never expected to grow close with one of her brother-like figures, but him and the surgeon spent too much time together at the gym, and Ethan grew fond of the younger doctor more than he cared to admit.

“You know Dr. Tremaine? The pretty one with a sixteen thousand follower count on Instagram? She asked him to dinner and he just walked past her like he didn’t hear anything.”

“You did not turn down Dr. Tremaine.” Bryce covered his mouth with a hand, feigning shock and Ethan retorted almost immediately with his own dry humour. 

“I think you forget sometimes that the thought of your best friend still torments me.”

“Right. Sorry.”

They turned back towards the young doctors, so deep into their conversation that the two didn’t even bother hiding anymore. Ethan leaned against the wall patiently as Bryce cleaned his stethoscope with an alcohol wipe he dug out from his pocket.

“Dr. Castillo’s brother did his residency here too, and rumour has it that Dr. Ramsey actually had a fling with an intern from his batch a couple years back.”

“Shut up. She must’ve been so hot if she could make Dr. Ramsey budge.”

Ethan leaned over to Bryce, unsure of why he was even following his request of keeping silent.

“My ears are bleeding, Lahela.” He aggressively muttered under his breath.

“Wait, they’re getting to the good part. You know how I love hearing Haruna’s praises sung– wait, Dr. Ramsey!” The surgeon’s voice faded as Ethan ignored his plea, beginning his march towards the rumourmongering interns. 

“–Super hot, super smart, and super scary. Apparently she punched Declan Nash in the face once.”

“Shut up! Who is she?”

“You know the one from the last issue of Times? Like, total medical prodigy? Asia’s top doctor who-”

“–Turned her parents hospital into Japan’s top research facility, I know the whole deal. What about her?”

“So, like, she used to work at Edenbrook right? Apparently-”

“You two, interns!” Ethan barked down the hall.

“Dr. Ramsey!” And his terrifying approach was drowned out by Harper Emery’s own voice and the loud clicking of her heels as she rounded the corner.

Complete, utter fear settled into the young doctors’ eyes as they realized that they were in the company of Edenbrook’s most skilled and accomplished staff, one of whom they were gossiping about. Their gaze darted between a cool and collected Harper, and Ethan, who was very visibly seething, and found they could look nowhere else but the floor. 

Harper and Ethan rekindled their friendship following Aurora’s transfer to Mass Kenmore. Harper realized that she wanted the fellowship more for Aurora than she did for herself, and thanks to the younger Emery distancing herself from Edenbrook and her aunt’s legacy, the women were closer now than they’ve ever been before.

“We need to talk.” Harper demanded, despite being aware of the tension.

“It might have to wait, Dr. Emery, I’m in the middle of something important.”

Harper stepped towards him and spoke in a voice low enough that only Ethan could hear, her tone demanding his full attention.

“Dr. Ramsey.” Harper repeated, more firmly this time.

Ethan sensed the urgency in her voice, and looked between his friend and the interns. Exhaling once, he shot them one more infuriated look before turning back the way he came and following his colleague. Ethan eyed Dr. Lahela expectantly as him and Harper strolled past.

“You're up, scalpel jockey.” And Bryce smiled excitedly, closing his eyes and getting into character before storming down the hall.

“Coffee must be one hell of a drug if I’m seeing not one, but two interns chatting ‘til kingdom come while they’re still on the damn clock! Both of you, names!”

Harper failed at containing a smile. “You’re a horrible influence, Ethan.”

He shook his head, repressing his own laughter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. That pupil of yours wouldn’t leave me alone until I showed him the ropes of...what did he call it, ah– oral persecution. So what was it that you wanted to tell me?” 

“You and Dr. Hirata will be in attendance for a medical conference in Kyoto as Edenbrook’s representatives.”

He nodded in response, continuing to look straight ahead as they walked. “Hmph, like always.”

“And Dr. Sakurai will be present as the keynote speaker.”

[eninilaup8]

10 Questions Tag! 💗

Rules: Answer the ten questions, write your own, and then tag ten people.

thank youuu @jongin-be-my-jagi for tagging me, your questions were sooo interesting as well as your answers 

1.  What is your idea of a perfect (or, almost perfect) day?

hmmm, first it has to be sunny and warm, but not too warm and with a little breeze. i would be around my best friends, we would be talking and laughing and seeing pretty things, eating good food, drinking wine and just enjoying each other’s presence. simply :)

2.  Do you have a "type" - a type of person you generally find attractive? What qualities do you like best in people? (Can be physical traits, character traits, or both.)

i kinda do? physically, i’m generally attracted to dark-haired, dark-eyed guys, and i do particularly enjoy tan skin. but i already have been attracted to guys that were blonde with light eyes and lighter skin, so i guess he just has to attract me somehow, vibes are important :) However... i’m pretty picky in terms of personality; i like open-minded people (not judgmental, tolerant, supportive of differences, not racist, not homophobic/transphobic etc, not sexist (i’m a woman, wouldn’t make sense) anyways you get it :) i also like people who make me laugh, and who are kind, peaceful and mean well. i also tend to like passionate people, cause it is something we share :) (i cut it short cause it was going to be hella long) 

3.  Is there anything you would never do for any amount of money?

the first that came to my mind was killing an innocent, cause... obviously? (capitalists are shaking) i can’t think of anything else cause that’s just the only horrible thing i can think of right now? but there are probably more things for sure 

4.  What makes you feel most alive?

helping someone, being helpful. i feel like my existence is useless if it only concerns me and impacts no one else, it’s just a “selfish” and self-centered existence, but to me having an existence that matters means being involved in making the world a better place, and making other people’s lives better at the same time. also, i feel alive when i do something i have been waiting to do, a goal that i’m achieving like, going to a concert or visiting a country i really wanted to visit. 

5.  If there was going to be a movie made about your life, is there a movie director you would like to oversee the project? Who would that be? What genre and mood would your life movie have

hummmmmmmm that’s so hard to answer cause my life isn’t special lmao also, i don’t know that much movie directors so i can’t really tell :/ i guess if my life is not special, the film would be a slice of life kind of film, obviously a comedy too cause me and my bffs are the funniest people of this planet ngl, but yeah... just a film about an ordinary girl and her ordinary life (i wouldn’t recommend watching it, don’t pay for that, it’s a waste). but the scenes and mood and music would definitely be veeeeeeery aesthetic and very pleasant.

6.  What is something valuable you have learned in your life that you would like to pass on to others?

i think it would be the fact that you have to work hard for what you want, and when it gets hard, remember why you’re doing it and where this will lead you (the achievement of your goal), you can’t expect things to be given to you on a platter, sometimes they are and you’re lucky, but it won’t always be that way, and you have to be ready for that. also, surround youself with good people, who are here for you and who look out for you, this helps in every situation that can occur in one’s life. if they don’t make you happy, do not waste your time and energy on them and find better people, you deserve better. 

5.  Who is your ultimate bias? If you met him or her in real life, what kind of relationship do you think the two of you might have?

this question is tricky cause, how to sound not delusional or creepy? but you know what, fuck it i know i’m not. my ultimate bias is mister kim jongin, and if i met him in real life i’m almost certain we would at least be very good friends. from what i know about him as a fan, and what i’ve seen, we’re pretty similar (mbti twins🤪), we share the same passions and whenever he says something deep, about his thoughts and ways of being, i can usually relate. also i’m almost certain i would fall in love with him lmao have you seen the guy he is?? but i obviously don’t know if the feeling would be mutual :)

6. Is there a song that captures your mood recently? What is it?

i recently discovered artist Summer Walker, and i fell in love with her voice, style and entiiiire discography. i don’t know what my mood is these days, i don’t think i have one tbh (i sleep at 4am and wake up at 2pm i basically am a soulless body walking around the house), but one thing i know is that she captures my favourite kind of music. 

7. What are three books that are important to you?

ok so most of the books i have read were given to me by my teachers, they asked me to read them, and i liked some of them but they aren’t important to me, except for one; The Awakening by Kate Chopin (very beautiful, feminist, and revolting), but that’s honestly the only one that has a deep meaning to me so far :/

If you could meet anyone in the whole world, who would it be, and what would you do with them?

meet donald trump, put him in a cage, and leave him there. lmao no more seriously (i’m not kidding tho), the only person i would love to meet right now is jongin, and i would just talk with him until we have nothing else to talk about (if that can even happen). he’s the first person i’m thinking about atm, but i’m sure if i think hard enough there should be other people i would love to meet, for other reasons. 

My 10 questions;

1. What is happiness to you?

2. What kind of people (or if there is someone particular, who) inspire you?

3. How would you describe your fashion sense?

4. How do you know you like someone? (platonic/romantic)

5. If you HAD to move to another country, where would you go and why?

6. What is something you always remind yourself?

7. What form of art do you prefer? (dance, paintings, sculptures etc...)

8. If you could make a song, what kind of song would it be? (and also what genre)

9. What’s one goal you have set for yourself?

10. If you could have any career for a week, which one would you choose?

i’m tagging @salt-andmud, @amandoaexo and @mayrubyy, enjoyyyy💓

[kingofthewilderwest]

I don’t think it was wrong for hiccup to put his first best friend toothless over his people. Because I would do the same for my dog. Animal lives are far more important then human lives. Humans are horrible so why should someone who got bullied his whole life care about the people who tormented him over an animal who actually cares about him and doesn’t judge him. Humans judge you animals don’t. Thoughts on this?

Seeing a discussion topic like this gives me immediate flashbacks to my undergrad in Philosophy and those Ethics courses. XD  

There’s several things that pop into my head about this ask, since you’re bringing up multiple topics that could be debated in depth ethically. I want to make several things clear in my response before I get the ball rolling:

I may be wrong, but you, friend, sound like someone who lives life through your heart. If so, I imagine that means you find emotions and feelings extremely important, and these are used to guide your life choices. It’d be the framework by which you see of the world. Your perspective is valuable and beautiful. I do want to make you aware, though, I’m on the opposite end of the spectrum. I’m not able to respond to this question with the same emotive values-based discussion because I think differently. I navigate the world with a logic focus. The fact the two of us differ and have different ideas about us is beautiful! Please understand none of what I say will be dismissing, devaluing, or decrying your perspective, just supplying my own alternate framework.Now, sometimes people talk about ‘cold logic’ as though it’s separate from morality, but I believe logical choices require conscientious moral judgment. If you ignore morality when you make a choice, you’re not being logical because you’re not taking all important factors into account. This means that my discussion will be a LOT more logical than you probably think about this topic, or expected me to handle it. But this is the way I can respect and tackle the ethical questions!

Interesting as the topic is, I don’t want to turn this into a back-and-forth discussion with anyone. But I do want to point out before I provide my thoughts: different ethical schools of thought have existed for millennia for a reason. Ethics is an extraordinarily nuanced topic and ergo, hard to arrive at a definitive “answer” for, even when we’re all acting out of love. And frankly, ethics is a topic I think humans are incapable of fully understanding.

As you discuss it, animals are worth more because you see them as morally pure. Humans, however, have moral failings and can do terrible things. The people of Berk hurt Hiccup, which makes them less valuable to you.

To me, this brings up three big relevant questions:

Is someone’s value based on their morality?

Can we judge animals on morality in the same way we do humans?

How immoral were the Hairy Hooligans?

But the final concluding remarks I’ll have (see Read More) will be looking at THW. I’m not 100% sure which part of canon you’re discussing, but since THW showcases Hiccup needing to make a choice between staying with Toothless or becoming a human leader apart from dragons… 

In THW, it’s not a strict matter of putting animals or humans first. Either Hiccup hangs out with Toothless and puts both species in danger, or Hiccup gives humans and dragons and Toothless what is best for everyone. And if Hiccup wanted to stay with Toothless, he’d only be making a choice based on his own happiness, not on whether or not he’s actually helping his friend (Toothless will have a happy life even if he leaves New Berk). In the end, Hiccup’s two moral options mean his outcome is either “happy” or “less happy,” but the results for everyone around him is “saved” or “condemned” to war and possible death. And choosing a preference of happy vs unhappy instead of life vs death to me is something I wouldn’t call ethically responsible. Hiccup putting the people of Berk first before hanging out with Toothless is something I’d call the right choice.

The first question is one I care about a lot personally. It’s deep in my values, I mean. You don’t have to agree with me, that’s chill, but again: the reason different ethical frameworks exist is because ethics is complicated! XD

I have strong beliefs that all lives are inherently valuable. As I believe, neither productivity in society nor ethical choice changes the fact lives are innately valuable. When someone is evil, the reason that is disturbing isn’t because they’re “automatically bad” and “born horrible”; it’s because they have a valuable soul that they corrupted through their unseemly life choices. All of us are human and all of us err. All of us could have lived a life purer than we did, and all of us could have descended to worse evil than we did. We all have within us the potential to be horribly evil, and we all have within us the potential to be a thoughtful and considerate soul. Our value doesn’t wax and wane as we calculate our ratio of sins to virtue, because the tragedy of the sin is that our innately valuable soul is being used for evil instead of the good it could do.

This is also coming from someone who hates the idea that people “deserve” to have bad things happen to them. And I am also someone who hates ideas of revenge or “getting back at someone.” If a person hurt you, they hurt you and that’s wrong, but that doesn’t give you the right to stoop to their level and hurt them back. You’re just repeating what they did and making yourself as bad as they were in the first place. That’s petty and cruel. (Note: this is different than discipline, which is done with an intent to curb dangerous effects for someone’s actions, and to correct behavior to help someone grow.)

Humans can be horrible. Unfortunately, you’re right. Our species can be awful. I think that’s why we need to take actions to help our species grow. Helping other humans is a step we need to take to make society better and less horrible. The more we make choices to help people, the more we fight back on the horrible things humans do to one another - then in turn, the more we prevent those things from happening. For some, they’ll keep being evil. But for many others, they’ll be taught how to be better, and as they grow, they’ll become more acting agents working to make the world a better place. It’s to note that, in many cases, people make horrible choices because they were victims and weren’t put in an environment where they could fully learn to act healthily; this is unfortunately why abuse may continue generation to generation in families. Kids grow up to enact the same abuse their parents did to them. Ergo, someone can be both a victim and a perpetrator. Instead of condemning that behavior as an indicator of evil in human society, and say these people deserve to be left behind… I’d rather step in to prevent the cycle from continuing, and give the next generations a chance to grow and live happier, healthier, kinder, and more compassionate lives.

Hiccup abandoning the Hairy Hooligans makes no social progress and doesn’t give humanity a chance to grow to be better people; Hiccup helping the Hairy Hooligans does good work. This isn’t to say we’re morally obligated to help everyone who does a wrongdoing (we’re not), but it is something to keep in mind before we say that someone should suffer and/or be punished because they’ve done wrong. 

And I think that Hiccup being the chief of Berk makes him especially responsible to them.

So for me, I don’t think that the Hooligans’ behavior toward Hiccup is any excuse for letting them suffer. The world is a better place by preventing a cycle of more suffering, not perpetuating it. And in the case of Hiccup’s conflict between him and Toothless, this is a matter of saving lives from an upcoming war - a pretty big deal.

But my ethical opinionating here can be sidestepped through the other two questions I raised. Whether or not you agree with me here, I think we can look at two other relevant angles fresh.

The second question deals with how we judge animal morality. I’ve heard debaters mention dolphins save lives and murder people, suggesting moral behaviors akin to humans. I’ve seen people talk about how dogs show guilt after they’ve done something they know will bother owners. I’ve seen people point out that whether or not humans can morally kill to eat meat is different than discussing whether or not carnivores like lions (whose entire biology requires meat) can morally kill to eat meat.

But honestly for me, I think it’s comparing apples to oranges, and we get nowhere by trying to put a human framework on a species that isn’t human. I don’t want to project my human values on their behaviors. Dogs, lions, and dolphins won’t have the same internal psychology as me on account of them being different species. I can’t judge a dog for acting like a dog because I can’t be a dog knowing how dogs think through choices.

So to say that one creature is more valuable than another on account of their moral perspectives… to me is impossible to do. To say one species deserves suffering more than another frankly bothers me. (And yes, that includes ants, spiders, snakes, and wasps. I squeed happily when I saw a snek the other night - what an adorable cutie

The third question I think is the most relevant. How much wrong did the Hairy Hooligans really do to Hiccup? And are they irredeemable for it?

Hiccup felt ostracized from his tribe because he couldn’t kill dragons like they could. He didn’t feel like his father respected who he was, and was hurt by some of the things Stoick said about/to him. He was taunted by peers for being a screw-up. The adults of the tribe could speak harshly to/of him, too.

Now, I don’t want to defend the people of Berk in their bad choices. I don’t think it’s okay to mock your peers, for instance. I don’t agree with disowning a kid ever. But at the same time, I think it’s important to look at both sides of what went down in Hiccup’s situation in HTTYD 1.

1. Hiccup is not innocent. Hiccup’s struggles are understandable. He wants to fit in in a society that’s filled with dragon-fighting Vikings. He wants to be a dragon-fighting Viking too because that means he’ll no longer feel like the odd one out. The desire to fit in and be respected is especially prominent in teenaged years. Teens want to fit in badly, and they can emotionally struggle thinking “I’m different and no one understands or respects me.” Ergo, Hiccup wants to murder dragons, JUST like everyone else. 

Hiccup’s desire to fit in with a warrior culture is so strong he makes VERY BAD choices. Hiccup repeatedly charges into battle. Hiccup is an untrained teenager who shouldn’t be in a dangerous dragon fight. He’s a liability, not just for himself, but for everyone in the village. He can make the battle harder for the fighters, and he can put himself in harm’s way so that now others have to save him. Hiccup trying to fight dragons is outright irresponsible, and puts not only his own life at risk, but the lives of the adults around him. I can sympathize with him wanting to fit in and prove his worth… his emotional pains are relatable… but he’s going about it the wrong way. Trying to fit in by putting others’ lives in danger is not okay.

There’s a reason the Vikings of Berk are annoyed at this kid. Hiccup is repeatedly instructed not to put his and their lives in danger. He keeps doing it, putting his selfish insecurities first and their safety last. When the Vikings grumble, it’s because this kid is making bad, selfish choices.

And let’s be real: it’s not so different a world where Hiccup could have killed Toothless with his first shot. And if he did, would he have become a repeated dragon killer like the others? He’s living in a culture where that is the norm, and his desires (as evident in the start of the first film) show he’s not separate from his culture. A unique set of circumstances was what allowed Hiccup to stare deep into Toothless’ eyes, reflect on what he was doing, and make a choice to be different (a hard choice that he derided himself for, and only grew to accept as his friendship with the dragon grew).

2. They’re at war. The Hairy Hooligans do not know about the Red Death. They don’t know that the dragons are being forced to raid the village. All they know is that their livestock, their homes, and their lives are in jeopardy because enormous winged beasts attack them. The dragons are attacking their settlement, not the other way around. The Vikings have never made it to the dragon nest and the dragons’ environment, but the dragons appear to be the aggressors.

The Vikings, as far as they can understand their situation, are defending themselves. They’ve had to learn to fight dragons to stay alive.

In the middle of a war, a kid comes up to you and says the enemy’s okay. How easy is that going to be to accept? Especially when the Kill Ring turns into chaos, and both a Night Fury and a Monstrous Nightmare are fighting humans? 

Hiccup might be trying to show them that dragons aren’t what they thought, but to be fair, most wars don’t evaporate when one kid tells you everybody can be friends. For generations, the dragons have been a proven aggressive threat.

The Hairy Hooligans killed dragons. The Hairy Hooligans were very harsh when Hiccup stated that dragons weren’t the enemy. That’s not cool… but in this sort of circumstance, isn’t it easy to see that the people of Berk could see Hiccup as a traitor putting their lives in danger? A society that’s trying to defend themselves from death… is in greater threat because this wild kid is bringing up a wild idea that’ll probably lead to more death.

Is that actually widespread thoughtless bullying?

3. Parenting is HAAARD and the entire plot of HTTYD is a rift between father and son BOTH being imperfect. Stoick said a few harsh and unwarranted things to Hiccup, but in many cases, Stoick was doing his best with what a father should do: calling out his son for bad behavior, and trying to connect in positive ways. Stoick is not a Bad Guy Dad. He and Hiccup have a rift that makes it hard to understand and communicate with one another (but the difficulties go BOTH WAYS). 

Stoick does live in a society which values dragon fighting, and Stoick (as a good dragon fighter) values it a lot. Hiccup understands that and knows his father will respect him if he fights dragons. While Stoick would be ecstatic for his son to exceed in the warrior ways, he’s also not a father PUSHING his son to be a fighter. In fact, he protests when Gobber suggests Hiccup goes to training… Stoick doesn’t want his boy hurt. When he fans over Hiccup being chosen to kill the dragon in the ring, it’s because he thinks his son is already a fighter.

We can understand why Stoick makes the choices he did, and even though they’re not 100% perfect, they’re also understandable things that a caring parent does in difficult situations with difficult kids.

4. People change. AND THE PEOPLE OF BERK *DID*.

Hiccup got taunted by Snotlout, Ruffnut, and Tuffnut for being a screw-over. Now they’re his best friends and help him save dragons. Hiccup was dismissed as a nuisance by the tribe when he was a teenager. Now the tribe cheers his name and accepts him, with pride, as their leader. Hiccup was considered a problem because he wanted to befriend dragons. Now the tribe’s ENTIRE CULTURE changed because they realized the boy was right, and the entire tribe has taken on the duty of trying to protect, save, train, and befriend dragons.

You’re right that Hiccup got bullied and hurt by his tribe (I doubt this was his whole life, and I doubt it was the whole tribe, but yes, Hiccup had some bad interactions happen). But that’s not how it ended. The people of Berk profoundly revolutionized their society because they came to respect Hiccup’s ideas. They changed. They don’t bully Hiccup anymore, and the worst they do in THW is dismiss Hiccup’s ideas as youthful, naive, or impractical. That’s not some high level moral offense.

Tumblr is awful about decrying bad actions without understanding that humans constantly grow. What we once were isn’t who we are today and isn’t who we will be tomorrow. People grow, people become better, and life becomes better when a previously bad person learns the error of their ways… repents… and starts doing good.

If we don’t allow humans to change… then we can’t fully endorse moral behavior when it does happen. If we don’t allow humans to change… we’ll be punishing people for who they were rather than who they are. If we don’t allow people to change… we’re the assholes stuck in the past, not them. If we don’t allow humans to change… we lose allies, we lose friends, we lose agents who can make the world a better place. The Hairy Hooligans are agents of good change. As Hiccup says at the end of HTTYD 2, “We are the voice of peace, and bit by bit, we will change this world.”

So I suppose I don’t agree with your initial premise: that the Hairy Hooligans are bullies, horrible humans, tormentors who screw Hiccup over. On the contrary, I feel like the Hairy Hooligans are supporters of Hiccup, the Hiccup Fan Club, the people who believe in him, the people who follow him, the people who will leave their lifelong home and follow him on a quest to save dragons, because these are a people who value him. Are these horrible immoral people who don’t deserve help?

But I think the moral question all boils down to this:

In The Hidden World, Hiccup can either put his friendship with Toothless first, or he can put his leadership of New Berk first.

When Hiccup puts his friendship with Toothless first in THW, it starts by him trying to stay with Toothless. When Hiccup puts dragons first in THW, it starts by him wanting to protect over all dragons in Berk. Hiccup decides to leave Berk and search for the Hidden World because he’s thinking about the dragons. He thinks he’ll be able to live with humans and dragons together at peace, everyone safe, including Toothless. Hiccup isn’t thinking about the rest of his tribe so much as he’s thinking about how he can continue to save dragons and continue his friendship with Toothless.

Of course the solution in THW suggests that what’s best for Toothless is for them to part ways. If Hiccup and Toothless don’t part, the Hairy Hooligans AND the dragons (including Toothless!) stay in greater danger. Hiccup’s selflessness toward Toothless is letting his friend leave his side. It is a choice for Toothless, and ultimately, as THW wants to frame it, the best choice.

But of course, the conflict of THW is that Hiccup thinks that what’s best for the dragons is for everyone to stay together. And in doing so, Hiccup puts the Hairy Hooligans in danger. Because humans and dragons are still together, dangerous people like Grimmel and the warlords will be after them. Even if they defeat Grimmel and the warlords, more people will be antagonistic against them and the dragons. This means that, if Hiccup keeps putting his initial concept of “Toothless first” and “dragons first,” he puts the Hairy Hooligans in DANGER of war.

And this is where the moral choice becomes clear to me.

Putting you and your friend’s HAPPINESS over an entire population’s SAFETY is something I understand the desire of emotionally, but it’s something I can’t ethically condone.

You can either:

Save a city of people from tyranny, war, and possible death (while giving up hanging out with one friend, who’ll live a good life regardless) OR

Give you and your friend happiness, and in the process condemn the stability and safety of hundreds of people - who are the people you’ve officially sworn to protect as their official governing ruler.

One of these choices screws people over, the other doesn’t.

It isn’t a matter of animals over humans, because in one choice, the humans and the animals are both safe, and in the other choice, you get to have fun with one animal while putting everyone in grave danger.

Anyway! You got me pulled down a long response, haha! HTTYD is amazing because of how it gives us beautiful non-human characters like Toothless. I love that, too. Animals are important and beautiful! And so are you and I hope you have an amazing day! Take care!

[lets-talk-appella]

2018 Fic Roundup

I was tagged by @aliciameade​ and @acabellas​, so thanks for that you two! Okay actually this was loads of fun to do because I’ve only been writing fic since like April/May so here we go:

Total 2018 Word Count: 206,438 - not gonna lie, pretty proud of that

Total 2018 Hits: 33,768 on AO3. No idea on FFN because the website won’t tell me

Other 2018 AO3 Stats: Kudos: 1921 Comment Threads: 177 Bookmarks: 218 Subscriptions: 121

Links & Titles to 2018 Works: There are 30 - literally everything I’ve done has been this year - so I put a break.

Four Sambucas - 987 words, Not rated Beca is the DJ at a popular club and she's just doing her thing when an incredibly drunk Chloe confuses her with the bartender.

Jealousy’s a Bitch... or Maybe it’s Just the German - 15,171 words, G All Beca/Kommissar interactions in PP2 (plus some additional content) as told from Chloe’s POV. Basically, an extremely jealous Chloe Beale. Largely cannon, but I added some things in the middle and at the end. Part of a series, but can stand alone. “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #1

Just a Joke? - 1,316 words, G When Jesse says something serious to Beca, meaning it as a joke, she freaks out and goes to the one person she can open up to: Chloe. Part of a series, but can stand alone. “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #2

Chloe’s Secret - 7,364, G Chloe needs to know why Jesse broke up with Beca, so she secretly goes to LA to confront him for hurting her best friend. Takes place about five months after PP2 and is part of a series, but can stand alone. “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #3

That’s When She Knew - 4,214, G In which Beca finally wakes up to realize that she’s been in love with Chloe this entire time. Much fluff ahead, enter at your own risk. Takes place just under a year after graduation/Worlds/PP2. Part of a series, but can stand alone. “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #4

Expectations - 7,801, T The immediate follow up to That’s When She Knew (this will make more sense if you read that first), in which Beca and Chloe finally admit their feelings to one another. After leaving Central Park, they go back to their apartment and Beca believes that Chloe seems to have some… expectations of where things should be headed next. Of course, she panics. Part of a series. “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #5

Spooning Looks Easier in the Movies - 2,716, G Sure, they’d decided to wait before getting really intimate together in their new relationship. That doesn’t keep Beca from being a little awkward about sharing the bed for the first time since they’ve told each other about their feelings. Part of a series. “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #6

Reality - 23,703 (listen I got excited), M Continuing the series and following the established Bechloe line, this follows Beca and Chloe as they figure out life as a new couple. Specifically, how they prepare for their first time. Smut, but more in a making love way. “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #7

Accidents Happen - 1,892, G A different take on the Activities Fair from Beca's freshman year. Or, Bechloe Week 2018 day 1 - prompt "accidental kiss."

The Underwear Incident - 3,967, Not Rated Beca Mitchell is one of the most famous music artists in America. She gets a lot of attention from her fans, which occasionally makes Chloe a little jealous... established Bechloe. For Bechloe Week Day 2 - Jealousy.

Don’t Touch Her - 3,504, T Getting drunk texts from Chloe is nothing new for Beca. However, when the messages become alarming, Beca races into action. Part of Bechloe Week Day Three - Drunk Texting.

How to Break Beca Mitchell with Six Words - 473, G Submission for Bechloe Week Day Four - Why. Angst ahead. Read at your own risk.

The Eight Times Aubrey Posen Had to Ask Why - 7,482, T Aubrey prides herself on knowing her best friend, so to suddenly not know what Chloe's thinking is alarming to say the least. Or, the times Aubrey was confused about Bechloe's relationship and had to ask about it. Alternate Bechloe Week Day Four - Why.

Five Minutes - 2,661, G Beca and Jesse have gone on a road trip meant to seal their future together, leaving Chloe devastated. She gives up entirely, hiding away from the world... but then, there's a knock on the door. For Bechloe Week 2018 - Road Trip.

Sealing the Crack - 2,215, G When Chloe's valuable good luck charm breaks in an accident, Beca is there to pick up the pieces. For Bechloe Week Day Six - Good Luck Charm.

Come Home to Me - 10,377, T Chloe dishes herself out some of the pasta, being sure to save a good amount for Beca. She chases it around her plate with her fork, suddenly not feeling particularly hungry. She finds herself glancing out the window at their empty driveway with increasing frequency. Beca really should have been home by now.

Amy’s Limit - 2,461, G This came from Tumblr Prompt - "Stop being so cute," but I decided to add it to the series because I thought it fit well. This follows the events of "Reality," and is established Bechloe. Told from Amy's POV. Pure fluff and horrible pick-up likes ahead, read at your own risk. “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #8

Fallen Leaves, Fallen Bellas - 35,086, T “It’s not true, though,” Chloe’s voice jarred them from their thoughts. “I mean, it can’t be. Ghosts aren’t real, and they definitely don’t kill people. You made that up to scare us, right?” she asked Aubrey, smiling uncertainly. Aubrey didn’t smile back. Or, a horror-themed twist on the Lodge at Fallen Leaves. Originally for Pitch Perfect Horror Week 2018.

Restless Nights - 5,706, M Prompt: "If you can't sleep... we could have sex?"

I Want to See You be Brave - 3,065, G Prompt: "I'm your lock screen?!" "You weren't supposed to see that." For this one, I did an alternate version of the "Confession Scene" following the fight for the pitch pipe in PP1. Enjoy!

Naked Mole Rats Aren’t Endangered - 4,052, G Based on Tumblr prompt - "That’s my ex-boyfriend/girlfriend.” - “Well, kiss me so they see.” Honestly a little ridiculous.

Black Sabbath - 4,783, T For Tumblr prompt "Don't do that again! You scared the shit out of me!" This is set during Beca's junior year, meaning that Emily isn't here, sadly. Enjoy!

Dangerous - 5,307, M A spin-off on the last motorcycle prompt. This is pure smut, actually no plot whatsoever but with the added motorcycle imagery from the last chapter. So, yeah. If you don't want to taint the motorcycle fic, look away now! I also want to give a shout-out to Redlance's excellent A Moment's Reprieve fic, which inspired part of this. Um, pretty NSFW stuff ahead.

The 12 Times They Said, “Stay Awake” - 10,347, T Based on Tumblr prompt "Stay awake." I low-key forgot about PP3, so ignore that. Also, if you don't want your heart torn out, stop after segment 11. Also, warning for character death. Sorry about that.

Area 51, Now in Barden - 1,555, G For Pitch Perfect Horror Week Day 5 - Alien Abduction Listen. Don't take this too seriously, because I definitely didn't.

Friday the 12th - 5,649, T For Pitch Perfect Horror Week Day 6 - Fears Come to Life. It's set sometime between PP1 and PP2, and is definitely cannon-divergent.

Shine Bright (Like Cubic Zirconia) - 10,015, E Created for Tumblr prompt "The diamond on your engagement ring is fake." Contains a lap dance and smut, so if you're not a fan, I'd skip this one. Also, the French was an idea stolen from Tumblr user isthemusictoblame (who also goes by iPhone on here).

Make Me (Where Dreams Come True) - 15,629, E Beca doesn't want to dress as a Disney princess for Halloween. But it's all Chloe's idea, and Beca will do just about anything for her girlfriend, especially when Chloe bribes her... Smut. For Bechloe Week Day 7 - Disney. So, yes. Disney-related smut. And a second chapter for the strap.

Winter Dreams (Beca’s Song) - 3,441, G "The touch brings memories of the night before, of needy kisses, of soft whimpers and sharp gasps, of lips pressed to bare skin, and of limbs tangled together; memories that make Chloe’s body heat up and heart beat faster in her chest. She stretches out her limbs slowly and takes another deep breath. The touch on her back pauses, and Chloe cracks open her eyes a millimeter to see Beca – propped up on an elbow, like she’d imagined – watching her, deep blue eyes heavy with sleep and a tenderness that makes Chloe’s chest ache. Beca’s hair sticks up in weird places and a small purple mark dots her porcelain skin just below her collarbone, a proud remnant of the night before. She’s absolutely perfect." “PP3 Doesn’t Exist Here” series #9

Real Hot Wings and Fake Hot Dates - 3,566, G “Hey, it’s okay,” Aubrey says with surprising gentility. “I’m a little nervous, too.” That makes Beca turn back to her in shock. “You are?” Aubrey nods and says, “Of course. If they figure us out, we’re not gonna get that discount.” Mitchsen fake dating fluff as a Pitchmas 2018 gift.

Favorite Fic: Yikes, mate, asking the hard questions. Probably Expectations, because that’s the idea that started literally everything else - without it, I wouldn’t be a fic author. Otherwise, Chloe’s Secret, Naked Mole Rats Aren’t Endangered, Friday the 12th, Stay Awake, or Winter Dreams.

Hardest Fic: Honestly, anything with smut. I have such a hard time writing smut. And, currently, planning my Beca Sexuality fic (more on that in 2019!).

Do you plan on taking prompts in 2019? Tentatively yes! I love doing dialogue prompts the most, because they give me room to play. I do still have 12 prompts in my inbox, some of which are from like August, so, yeah... I’m gonna do those first.

What was the best thing about 2018? Honestly, just discovering this fandom and starting to write this much. I’ve always enjoyed writing, but writing fic like this took me to a whole new level. I’ve loved it more than I can say, and I feel like I’ve gradually been becoming a better writer because of it.

What was the worst thing about 2018? As for fics? Maybe... not enough time to write? Or just pressuring myself to churn out fics more quickly than I was really able to with classes/life.

Any last thoughts for 2018? I’m gonna miss the 20gayteen references, tbh, but make room for 20biteen! Also where’s the Bechloe kiss?

Goals for 2019:

Complete and post a fic where Beca struggles with her sexuality. I’ve got a ROUGH outline and all flashbacks written!

Finish my inbox prompts because, like, it’s been months.

Maybe try creating an original work? I have a couple ideas, but we’ll see.

And because I had so much fun with this, I’m going to toss it at @chloes-yellow-cup!