#that said if someone replies 'google it' or 'do your own research' i do then assume they made it all up

[proteusolm]

I wish there was a way to phrase a request for a source to back up what someone is saying which makes it absolutely clear that I am genuinely asking and want to read more about it. I feel like it always comes off as a passive-aggressive way to imply that they're talking out of their ass.

Sometimes I read something online about a topic I consider myself knowledgeable on that I don't immediately recognize as true, and I want to read where the person got the information to either learn a new thing that surprises me or figure out where that inaccurate perspective might be coming from, you know? Not as a backhanded online argument tactic.

#that said if someone replies 'google it' or 'do your own research' i do then assume they made it all up #i did my own research in the form of several years of college on this topic. and it didnt tell me that. squints. #i have had some great informative conversations with experts online through asking them for more info when they say something surprising #so it does work out sometimes

[star-sparkler]

Gathered up a bunch of August and Papatello info dumping I did yesterday on tweeter. Some was in reply to thoughtful or excited insight from others. I just love them so much OTL

👾🦋

Mikey: [googling] Wait Augustine means "great, magnificent"?

Donnie: [without missing a beat] Correct.

Leo: You....you named your daughter GREAT AND MAGNIFICENT...?

Donnie: Is she not?

Raph: I mean she is but-

Leo: You Cloned YOURSELF. And named your clone GREAT AND MAGNIFICENT-

👾🦋

Donnie and the family absolutely stop referring to August as or joking about her being a/the clone when she's still a baby. Once her personality starts to develop it's so clear she's her own person deserving of individual respect so that doesn't belong on the table. Donnie never hides that August was cloned / how she was made (and August takes pride in being cloned from her Papa who she admires and loves so much - NO ONE is smarter than her Papa, thank you VERY much!) but the clone word is Never used to put her down or belittle her or deprive her of full personhood. If anyone did refer to her specifically as Donnie's clone rather than Donnie's daughter it would absolutely be uncomfortable and kind of sting her. In cousin AUs, how August was created might cause her a little insecurity because she was the "unplanned science experiment gone 'wrong'" in her mind when she's feeling down but no one in her family has ever or would ever consider her that. Donnie boasts that she's his greatest creation (Next to Shelldon, obviously - I don't talk about his role as much but he's just as much Donnie's kid as August, he's just older and pretty self-sufficient by the time August shows up). August and Donnie mutually see their papa-daughter connection as a uniquely special one and enjoy/take pride in sharing it with each other. ;w; <3

Oh my gosh Donnie loves his daughter more than he can handle yES. He would be heartbroken if he ever found out she harboured thoughts like that [being a freaky science experiment mistake forced upon him] and likely go overboard doing his best to assure her in every way he can that he chooses her every millisecond of every day. August would get smothered in gifts and surprises and words of affirmation until it became overwhelming and she demanded he stop. But he'd still be extra attentive and aware of it afterwards.

I don't think August being a clone would be common knowledge outside the family - most would likely assume she has a biological second parent - but if for some reason she ever was teased about it and the fam found out there would be some serious glare intimidation and Very Big Words with the perpetrator's parents

👾🦋

It's important to me that August is treated like her own person independent of her family while also being a valued member of it. Of course Donnie is still going to lay down Dad Law but August's feelings and personhood are taken seriously and treated with respect. It likely helps a LOT that August is normally a pretty well-behaved kid but Donnie does an IMMENSE AMOUNT OF RESEARCH on parenting and babies when he decides to keep August and I think, by the time he's an adult, gentle parenting is something he would do well with. Will he still lose his temper or get impatient? Absolutely. But they both do their best to meet each other half way and ALWAYS apologize and address miscommunications or outbursts after they've cooled off. Neither likes being mad at the other. From his experiences with Shelldon, Donnie would know that just yelling at someone "because I said so" doesn't work and only hurts both of them to punish without August Fully Understanding Why she's being told no or being disciplined. I would say he's strict but fair. This gets tricky when she gets up to mischief but he recognizes her acting out is usually out of boredom / lack of stimulation / genuinely not realizing what she’s doing is ‘bad’ rather than maliciousness, and if he's clear in his explanations of why something is inappropriate then August is (usually) very receptive and respectful (unless she sniffs out a flaw in his armor - like their unspoken game of her trying to hack into his lab / certain files and him letting it happen sometimes because it's a good practice and mental challenge for her).

I also rly love August and Donnie bringing out the best in each other, both because of how similar they are AND because of how their differences can sometimes elevate, compliment, and teach each other. ;w; <333 It's not always easy to be a dad or a kid, but there's always, always love, and they actively seek out ways to express that and stay aware of each others' wavelengths even when (ESPECIALLY when) one of them is struggling or they aren't lining up.

I love Donnie having someone he can share his special interests with and who Gets Him and can Relate to how his brain works and struggles and shines. It's definitely such a blessing to have someone like that in your life. ToT

PS - I don’t normally explicitly state it because I worry about not being able to write it well enough but when others clock the neurodivergency in August I just [fist clench, manly tears] I’m rly glad it’s reading. Because writing her that way is definitely intentional.

👾🦋

August gets her own ninpo but it's still a secret right now UwU <3 She WILL however find it difficult to use, yeah. August spends so much time trying to be like her family that she struggles to find Herself amidst powerful giants and that definitely impacts how her ninpo manifests. At first it's unreliable and changes what it is sporadically, refusing to choose what it is. So although she unlocks it much younger than the boys unlocked theirs, she's unable to reliably use it until she's older. To compensate, she spends a lot of time learning how to use different weapons/ninja skills and hand-to-hand combat so she can still be effective even when her ninpo is on the fritz / struggling to find it's own shape. ;v;

Her best not-direct-family buddy is little CJ of the good timeline! They're around the same age and get on thick as thieves. Lots of hockey and junior vigilante-ing and goofing around. Also also->

He would solidly go as "CJ" and is still Casey Sr's son. I imagine him being like kind of a mix of Rise movie Casey Jr. and 2012 Casey when he's older. A little louder and more gremlin than movie CJ cause he didn't grow up in an APOCALYPSE and is fully raised by Casey Sr, but still possessing plenty of the heart and heroics. Timid when he's younger though. Very

Augs: Excuse me, he asked for NO PICKLES

CJ: 🥺[shyly letting August take the lead, holding the hem of his own shirt]

Very old art incoming->

👾🦋

Anyway yeah I love August and Paptello (And CJ!)

#AugustineHamato #I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS ABOUT THEM #WITH THE RIGHT NUDGE I COULD TALK ABOUT THEM FOR HOURS #THIS DOESNT LOOK LIKE MUCH BUT IT’S WHAT HAPPENED YESTERDAY

[copperbadge]

Hi Sam! When you decided to go for an adhd diagnosis, is there a reason you went to the type of place you chose? I know you ended up having a difficult time with them after your evaluation. Did you go to your pcp first or try any other routes?

I’m starting to feel very heavily impacted by what I’m fairly certain is undiagnosed adhd, and I really want to try medication to see if it helps, but as I’m sure you’re aware, the process of making appointments is very difficult for one with undiagnosed adhd. Sigh. I’m wondering if it’s worth it to try and just make an appointment with my regular doctor to see if that gets me anywhere. But I know that doctors tend to be very cautious when prescribing, and I don’t want to bother with completely pointless appointments.

I just feel so overwhelmed when I think about trying anything else.

Yeah, I started working on getting evaluated in 2019 and only managed it in 2022, so I'm familiar with The Delay :D It never occurred to me to go through my primary care doctor -- I haven't had one for most of my adult life, because my insurance doesn't require it in order to see my specialist, and I just use a clinic if I'm sick. If you have a PCP you trust that's probably your best bet. You don't need to talk to them about prescribing, even, just talk about "I wonder if you have a recommendation for where I might get evaluated." You might even be able to get a recommendation without making a formal appointment. But if you get pushback on getting evaluated, then you can venture out on your own (more on this below).

I had a recommendation for a testing site, and I called a handful of times in 2019, but they never called back -- the desk person would say "Leave a message for our scheduler" and I'd say "Is there any way I can talk to a person? I keep leaving messages that don't get returned" and they'd say "Oh, they'll definitely return it this time" and that never happened. So by about mid-2019 I gave up and said I'd deal with it later. I started to research it in 2020, but then there was a global pandemic and I didn't want to be spending hours on end in a small room in a medical center.

And honestly, whenever I spoke about it to someone who wasn't a peer -- a parent, a doctor, etc -- I'd get a skeptical look and the response, "But you're so put-together and you're successful. Why would you think you have ADHD?" And I internalized that a little, to the point where I thought, yeah, I'm coping fine, it's not like anything would change other than maybe medication, why bother? Which...

That worked until it didn't, sometime in late 2021.

It worked until I looked at my life, which was not falling apart, and could see it fraying, and that if it did fall apart, it would be catastrophic. So my resolution for 2022 was to get evaluated. If it was ADHD, to get medicated; if it wasn't ADHD, to get help because clearly my life was not going as well as it looked.

So I just...sat down with an empty spreadsheet and I started googling "adult adhd evaluation chicago" (If you're not in a major city, I'd google your state or major cities nearby instead). Every site I found, I recorded the URL, my thoughts on the site, and their process for making an appointment. Once I had a list of places, I started "cold-calling" -- mostly via email, just reaching out to each place and recording the date and how I contacted them. When they answered, I recorded the date they replied and whether I responded.

The place I ended up going wasn't the first to call me back but they WERE the most responsive, and the first to schedule me for the evaluation (I did save the spreadsheet in case that fell through). They did a good job, more or less; I had struggles with them, but those were more to do with the fact that the woman who evaluated me already had one foot out the door and left my eval unwritten, meaning someone else had to take up the slack, which took time. And it at least helped to be able to say to my prescribing psych, during our first meeting, "Look, I have a diagnosis but I'm struggling to get the paperwork from them, and I'm really hanging on by a fingernail here." He gave me a much-abbreviated evaluation (basically a 20-minute questionnaire) and was able to prescribe for me that day.

So your other option is to just...find a psychiatrist who specializes in adult ADHD and/or ADHD medication management, make an appointment, and say, "I don't think I have it in me to set up a longform evaluation for this. I'm wondering if you can help me get evaluated and get some help." One of my goals was to get medicated but your overall goal is not medication -- the goal is help, and that just often happens to be medication. This isn't like, a trick to get a prescription or to manage a suspicious doctor (those have their place, believe me I know) -- your goal in getting treatment should always be to improve your life. But it's okay to want medication, you just have to want it in terms of improving quality of life, not medication qua medication.

So on the one hand, you sound like you need help, and you should work towards getting it -- but on the other, bear in mind that this sometimes just takes the time it takes, and keep your eyes on the goal. If you can be doing something, do it, and if you can't, then don't feel guilty that you can't.

Good luck :)

#sam has adhd #adhd

[flamingo-writes]

Hello Flamingo!!! how are you? I hope ok.

This is an idea that came to my head a few weeks ago, if you'd like to write it, it's up to you! I hope you like it💕

Reader who was generating a great addiction to the medications that were prescribed for his anxiety and depression, adding other types of addictions such as cigarettes or alcohol, meets Hobie/Spider-Punk and helps they with this problem, empathizing with their situation, Hobie would visit Reader from time to time to ask how things are going or develop some kind of relationship with they.

I think it's an essence of Hobie that you don't often see and I think it's something he would do quite often.

I am finally replying to this! Jesus, I am so SORRY for the delay!

I absolutely loved this request! And I learned so much about addictions during my research. And got google constantly concerned offering me hotlines every google search.

Flirting With An Addiction — Hobie x GN!Reader

Title based of the song Particles by Nothing But Thieves. Love this band, love this song, helped me set the mood for the angsty parts. Especially any live or acoustic version 😭

A/N: i have to clear some stuff first, because some of you are too quick to feel victimised. I do not specify colour nor gender of the reader. I do mention the reader looks pale at some point. Now, because it happened to me once, that someone tried to get sassy with me because dark skin can’t get pale, yes, yes it can. If you have a heartbeat you can get pale, period. Pale is not only a synonym for white, paleness is a medical term used to describe the loss of normal colour in skin or membranes. Pale is a way to describe someone who presents paleness. If you have dark skin, you can still get pale when you’re sick.

Warnings: drug consumption, needles, depictions of several withdrawals symptoms like stomach issues (emetophobia), depression, anxiety,

Word count: 2.7K

Hearing from your parents first hand that you had gone missing was the worst that could have happened to Hobie Brown. You were his favourite person, his best friend, his go to confidant, his partner in crime. And hearing you had gone missing felt like the ground on his feet started crumpling down. His lungs ran out of breath as he mouthed:

"What?”

And your mother explained, drowning in her own tears. And even as she did, he couldn’t understand what was coming out of her mouth, as a horrendous buzz was drilling his brain. He simply heard: "drugs" "weed" "ecstasy" "used needle" "gone". His stomach turned, making him feel nauseous as he couldn’t find anything to say to your parents other than:

"I’m so sorry" he said. "I could’ve helped them" he said. "I wasn’t there for them," he said. And with that, he was gone. Somewhere along the line, he put his mask back on and took off.

Pav and Gwen were there with him when it happened. What started as an innocent hangout at his place, turned into a search party. When Hobie thought of inviting you over as well and realising you weren’t picking up the phone in your house, he decided to look for you. You weren’t at your place, you weren’t at his, your coworkers said you hadn’t showed up for work in three days, and that’s when he went to your mother.

"They’ve been gone for the last five days…" were the last things he heard before that painful buzz started echoing in his head.

He took off. And he’d never swung so fast in his entire life. Pav and Gwen didn’t even have the chance to exchange glances when both of them were running after him. "Running". Between not being familiarised with Old York’s building distribution, nor being familiarised with the streets, they had absolutely no clue where Hobie was heading. They simply guessed Hobie knew where you were.

Boy, we’re they wrong.

Hobie had not the faintest clue where you were. He had a notion of where you could be. But with every fibre in his body he wished he was wrong. "Used needle" was perhaps his best clue, and possibly the one that terrified him the most.

He had a pretty decent notion of where the most famous crack houses were. He’d grown in the streets, of course he knew. More than once he’d been in them, not to make business, but because he was looking for something or someone, or doing Spider-Man duties. And truth was, the very last person he thought he’d ever go looking into a crack house was you.

As he arrived to the first one and kicked the door open, the few junkies there flinched, expecting to see a copper. But instead they saw Spider-Man. He looked around. Pushers, burnouts, and crunched junkies passed out on the floor. Some, Hobie wasn’t even sure they were still alive. He walked around looking for you.

Pav and Gwen caught up with him, and soon realised what was going on. Hobie did not know where you were, he was looking for you. Gwen didn’t have much experience with the darker side of her New York, she was creeped out. Pav, on the other hand, was the youngest of the gang. And he’d been Spider-Man for so little, he hadn’t had the misfortune to end up in the lower parts of Mumbattan. Pav was terrified.

"Hobie?” Gwen asked as he quickly walked out of the flat.

"Not ‘ere" He mumbled, more to himself and took off again.

It went on like that for the next few hours. Crack house after crack house. Desperately looking for you, whether you were baked out of your mind, or simply OD. But the fact that with every place he went to, his chances of finding you grew narrower and narrower, he didn’t know what he preferred. To find you dead on the floor of one of those nasty places, or not finding you at all. With each location, Hobie’s anxiety grew, his movements became clumsier, rougher, even more aggressive.

"Hobie, wait—" Pav yelled after the fifth crack house.

But Hobie didn’t stop. He listened, but his mind was rushing with adrenaline, hyper focusing on his task at hand: finding you.

The guilt accumulated in his chest, weighting more and more with every passing minute. Why was he even feeling guilty for? It’s not like he’d given you the drugs, and forced a needle up your arm. But he knew you had problems with loneliness, he knew about your consuming anxiety and your seasonal depression. He knew you had a strange relationship with your medication. He knew you were picking up a liking for recreational drugs. Harmless stuff like weed and shrooms. Acid at most. He should’ve imagined you’d eventually try to stray into the drugs you swore never to mess with. Ice, dust, junk…He should’ve guessed something like this was going to happen. But he was busy. He was busy being Spider-Man, he was busy jumping between universes. He was busy helping others, but not helping you. Not when he knew you had it rough. That guilt consumed him. He was busy helping everyone else, but you. He was busy helping people from another universe, but not that one person who he considered his family, his world. And boy, that guilt was drowning him.

Was it good luck or bad luck when he found you? He couldn’t tell. He felt his blood turn cold the moment he saw you.

Despite the pale look on your face, and the dark circles under your eyes, but you looked so peaceful. Lying on a dirty mattress, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, relaxed face. You looked so beautiful in the most disturbing way. Thinner than what Hobie remembered. And so terrifyingly still. Were you alive and lost in some euphoric dream? Or were you dead? It was hard to tell. You didn’t seem to be breathing.

Hobie rushed to your side, and he quickly checked your pulse. He called your name, almost in a desperate cry as his eyes quickly teared up behind his mask with the most suffocating feeling of powerlessness and incompetence that he’d ever felt washed over him. You groaned in response, unable to form coherent words and simply stuck to noises, your mind was far too dissolved, drowned in heroine, trapping you in a haze.

He checked your pulse. He checked your breathing. Your eyes of course were almost completely black due to the high. And you had a couple of marks on your arms from needles. Hobie didn’t even dare to count them, the less he knew about your newfound addiction the better for him, or so he thought. He looked around and next to the mattress there were various classic heroine use paraphernalia, making Hobie’s throat close.

"No, no, no, no baby…" Hobie whispered as he stared at you as you lied there, relaxed and heavy in his arms. He pulled his mask off to better look at you. For you to look at him if you were there by any chance. "Not heroine, why heroine…" He whispered as he pulled you closer and kissed your forehead. "You knew heroine wasn’t to be messed with, one time is fine, two makes you an addict, sweet’eart…" He purred with his lips pressed against your skin.

"Hobie…" Gwen said gently touching his shoulder.

"We have to go," Hobie said at once as he carried you.

Once in his boathouse, Hobie gently set you down on his bed as he sat on the edge and stared at you attentively. His eyes looking miserable, as he caressed your cheek delicately.

"Hobie?” Pav said, slowly walking inside his room. "We’re very sorry…"

"I am too…" He murmured in response.

"Can we help?” Gwen asked softly.

Hobie was ready to tell them to leave him alone for a while, when he actually thought of something.

"Yes…"

He then gave them a short shopping list with food and over the counter painkillers and some medication for stomach issues. It seemed very random to them, but in that moment Hobie thought he’d keep you in his boat and help you through your detox. At least as long as he could. A week or two, to start, and from then, he’d improvise along the way.

His impulsive and spontaneous thought of keeping you there over the period of detox didn’t really prepare him for the absolute torture it turned out to be.

To him, it was terribly, awfully, agonisingly painful. Watching you suffer like that. The way you whined and curled up on his bed, crying in silence from the pain, dealing with the tummy issues. The nausea, the not being able to leave the bathroom, looking weak, constantly upset, the shivering, and awful ups and downs in your anxiety and your mood.

Everything hurt, your head, your limbs, every muscle in your body, your stomach, even organs you couldn’t exactly pin point where they were, now you could because of the sharp pain. Even the smell of food made you excruciatingly nauseous, and puke green bile across the room, even feeling nausea was painful. It was hell. You were dying, you were sure your entire body was shutting down and you were going to die in this aching hell. Too anxious to sleep, to weak to move, too nauseous to do as much as roll over on the bed, too shaky to even be able to hold things in your hands. Sometimes you didn’t even feel your limbs at all for hours.

He could only imagine how it was like for you. How it was going inside your head. But sitting and watching was awful for him. He wanted to help, and from an objective point of view he knew he was helping, but he didn’t want you to hurt. He wished time and time again that he was able to take that pain away from you. The first three days were the peak of your suffering. And there was nothing Hobie could do other than keep an eye on you and get you what you needed.

When the physical symptoms started to subside, when you were able to keep food in your stomach, and when you stopped complaining about everything hurting, the psychological symptoms began. The consuming guilt and anxiety, the fear of showing up at work or at your parents’ house, the fear of the disappointment. Pitying yourself, pulling yourself down into that depressive hole you’d been digging.

Crying every night before going to bed became a recurrent event. You crying your heart out as Hobie held you tightly in his arms, comforted you until you’d fall asleep. You cried several times a day, but the one before bed was always the worst.

And soon, it became a recurrent event. Hobie keeping you all in one piece, as you cried and your heart broke all over again. His long yet strong and warm arms managed to hold you together every single night. Soon, sleeping together became a habit. And more than a habit, soon, Hobie’s company became a better painkiller than the pills you took. His scent managed to soothe the nausea which was thankfully decreasing with every day. His warmth seemed to help you control the shivers and the goosebumps. His voice quieted down the mean anxious thoughts in your brain. His company drifted you to sleep for several hours without waking up with tachycardia and short breath.

Falling asleep in his arms became just the right medication, although the long term effects were still there. But they were much bearable. The mornings were the best time of the day. First thing in the morning, drowned in the aftermath of that sleepy haze, you’d always find yourself staring at Hobie.

He didn't like mornings, he wasn’t a morning person. But something about seeing him sleep, his face relaxed, thick lips slightly parted, and the dim sunlight hitting his face, making him look absolutely gorgeous. Had he always been this attractive? Easy, yes; he had always been an attractive lad. But had you always felt that feeling in your heart? That was new. And you were sure it was not the usual tachycardia you’d get from the drugs, but something Hobie did unconsciously.

"You know it’s real creepy that you stare at people while they sleep…” He whispered softly as he woke up slowly, opening his eyes slowly and seeing you staring at him with a subtle and sweet smile on your lips.

"Shut up" You chuckled.

"How are you feeling?" His voice was low and raspy, still creeping with sleep.

"Better…although that might change in a couple of hours" You sighed, already getting mentally ready for the awful up and downs in your mood and anxiety.

"I’m sorry"

"That my life now, I guess"

"It’ll get better…it’s been getting better hasn’t it?" He immediately added as he looked at you, slightly more awake, taking in the details of your face, as you were snuggled next to him, most of your body touching his, sharing the same comforting heat.

"Yeah I think so" You purred.

"Hey, I’ve got you, okay? Not letting you fall again into that dark place"He whispered, leaning forward, bumping his forehead against yours, as one of his hands caressed you cheek, making your heart skip a beat.

"Thank you" You closed you eyes, as you savoured this sweet intimate moment with Hobie.

"Don’t mention it, luv"

"But I mean it…" You whispered. "You’ve been basically the entire time here…keeping an eye on me…ignoring your Spider-Man duties…I’ve heard you argue with that Miguel guy over your watch…"

"He can fuck off," He said with a cheerful whisper and a chuckle "he’s got another hundreds of spider-people at his service, he doesn’t miss me, he just likes to be patronising…"

"I still appreciate it very much…" Your eyes opened slowly with your statement as you stared into his eyes, and he seemed to immediately get lost in yours.

"No problem…I’d do anything for you…"

You both stared into each other’s eyes. And something about his eyes was slightly different. The eyes you grew up looking at, those eyes you knew how to read perfectly, almost being able to read his thoughts, now had something slightly different about them. Something that made your heart race and your cheeks grow hot. Something Hobie saw reflected in your own.

And you both read each other’s minds. And you both leaned forward without having to be told. Closing your eyes, you felt your breath leave your lungs when you felt his warm lips against yours.

Hobie wasn’t by any means a slow tender guy, he was the passionate dude who knew how to use his tongue. Not this time. This time he felt the world stop, time stop, and all there was, was you. And he wanted to savour it. He kissed you slower than he was used to. The kiss was gentler than what he was used to. He was used to kissing strangers, perhaps someone he shared chemistry with, but never really someone he cared for as much as you. This felt far more special, far more unique. This felt like something he could get addicted to, and something he wanted to relive often.

As he broke the kiss slowly, catching his breath, he opened his eyes and stared at you as you remained with your eyes closed, still processing what you’d felt. He smiled and bumped his forehead against yours.

"I promise you, you’ll be alright, okay? I’ll make sure you’re safe and sound…even if it kills me" He reassured you.

"Please don’t say that," You murmured.

"What?" He chuckled.

"Anything that’s in some way related to you dying," Hobie chuckled, thinking your concerns were very cute, although very understandable as well.

"Fine…" He replied "I’ll make sure you’re safe and sound even if…it’s a near death experience…better?"

“No, not really…" You chuckled, "but I appreciate the effort

"Hey, you mean so much to me, you know that?"

"You mean mean so much to me too…"

#hobie brown x reader #hobie x reader #hobie brown #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie x you #hobie brown x y/n #hobie x y/n #hobie fanfic #spider punk #spiderpunk fic

[nuggetsofgems]

How you met BTS: (Hyung line)

A/N: I am the first person to admit I love reading these kinds of fics. There is something so wholesome and wonderful about them. Somewhere along the way I made up my own little universe and I thought I should write it down for others to enjoy. With that being said this is the first time I really wrote anything like this. I know I haven't 100% nailed the personalities of the members but I hope it is still an enjoyable read.

Oh! One more thing. I am not a gymnast, not a neurosurgeon, and I don’t know much about art. I thought it would be fun to learn more about these topics for this series. I did just basic google searches for this one. I plan on doing more thorough research in the future. If you know anything about these topics, I got anything wrong, or know any good resources so I can learn more let me know!

Warnings: mentions of anxiety but nothing too graphic. Let me know if I need to add anything.

Kim Seokjin

You meet Jin through a mutual friend. You weren’t looking for a significant other at the time. Heck, you weren’t even planning on living in Korea. However, your best friend, Ha-Yun, happened to give birth to two baby girls. She is a single mom, the father disappeared as soon as he heard about the pregnancy, and desperately needed help. You of course volunteered to help your best friend. She was there for you through thick and thin and you always promised to do the same for her.

Thank goodness you were on sabbatical for your job. You dropped everything just to be with her. It was the second week of your stay when you officially met Kim Seokjin. Ha-Yun had just fallen asleep along with her baby Ae-Cha. However, Mi Cha just couldn’t sleep so you took it upon yourself to help her. You just gave Mi Cha her bottle and were in the process of burping her when Seokjin knocked on the door.

He would tell you later that he never saw someone more beautiful than you. When you opened that door your hair was up in the messiest of buns, your clothes wrinkled, a burping rag over your shoulder covered in whatever Mi Cha just burped up, dark circles under your eyes, but with the most loving eyes and gentle smile. 

“Hi, can I help you?” You asked so softly as not to disturb the calm atmosphere. 

“Hello. I’m Kim Seokjin. I am here to visit Chang Ha-Yun. She’s a dear friend of mine.” He replied with a kind smile.

“You just missed her. She’s sleeping.” You replied taking off the burping rag and bouncing Mi Cha gently in your arms.

“Well, that is poor timing on my end. I knew I should have called.” Jin muttered to himself.

“Hey, it’s okay. Come in. Yunnie had a feeling you would be coming over today. She gave me clear instructions to let you in and tell you to make yourself at home.” You chuckled leading him inside. 

“Thank you. You must be the famous Y/N I have heard so much about.” Jin responded.

“I am and this little one is Mi Cha.” You smiled brightly at him as Mi Cha cooed.

“It is a pleasure to meet you both.” Jin returned the bright smile.

Seokjin stayed for the rest of the week not only helping Ha-Yun with household chores (mostly building furniture and fixing household appliances) but also helping with the cooking, cleaning, and the babies. He became your shadow helping you with everything. He was great company and by the end of the week, you both exchanged numbers much to Ha-Yun’s glee.

Min Yoongi

You were born with two best friends by your side. Tripletts much to your mother's joy and your father's dismay. They were your everything. They were the sun and moon to your earth. They were the land and sky to your ocean. You weren’t complete without each other. Yet it was always written in the stars that you three would part. Nevaeh the oldest of you three would travel to England to study art. You would become an author. And Alice the youngest of you three would become a make-up artist working with some of the biggest K-Pop stars in the industry.  You three were as busy as bees in your chosen careers. 

Well during an unassuming Wednesday in November you had your monthly video call with your sisters. Navaeh was living her best life in England! She went on and on about the culture, architecture, and art. Meanwhile, Alice disclosed she was going through a depression spell. She didn’t say much other than she just felt so alone. 

It was later that night you bought a ticket to see Alice. The next morning was bright and the air was warm. You went up to your sister’s apartment door with your backpack your trusty laptop and your suitcase. You knocked on the door and waited patiently. 

“Coming!” She called out rushing to the door.

Your sister opened the door still in her pajamas, her hair an unkept mess, and just by the look on her face, you could tell she just rolled out of bed.

“Morning Alice! I missed you.” You whispered giving her a light hug.

“Y/n! I can’t believe that you are here.” Alice, bless her, returned the hug and started softly crying.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m here. I’m here. Now let’s go inside and I will make you breakfast.” You cooed leading your sister to her kitchen, after bringing in your things and shutting the door of course, making her the favorite breakfast of her childhood chocolate chip pancakes and hot chocolate with whipped cream and sprinkles. 

Alice gave you a watery smile and gobbled down everything you put in front of her. Now that you were face to face with her you saw the bags under her eyes. You saw the sparkle that was in her eyes was significantly dimmed. She seemed thinner and exhausted. With that being said she seemed at ease with you here. You sat next to her and ate with her.

Breakfast went by fast. Your sister went to freshen up, showered, and changed into an outfit she felt comfortable enough in to face the day.

“So I am off today. What do you wanna do Y/N?” Alice asked looking at you with big eyes. 

“I’m here for you. You decide.” You replied giving her a soft smile. 

That’s when her phone went off. She seemed confused but answered. You couldn’t gather much from the conversation other than apparently you were going with her somewhere.

“Y/N please don’t hate me. But I have to go to work. Will you come with me?” Her eyes pleaded with you.

“Of course! I would be honored!” You replied jumping off her couch and grabbing your backpack. “Come on Alice! It is time for an adventure.”��

You both went on a bus to your destination. To be completely honest you were not paying attention to where you were going. You were more focused on making your sister smile. You both did arrive safely. Alice got you both through security and into the room where makeup artists do their magic. 

Alice had left you in that room promising she would be back as soon as she could. Apparently, she needed a bathroom break. You decided the best way to use your time would to be look around the room. You had totally underestimated the amount of makeup these artists needed to do their job. 

“Alice-ah isn’t today your day off?” A voice from behind you started you.

You turned around only to see Min Yoongi from BTS. Right. Alice works with K-Pop idols. Don’t panic.

“I’m sorry. I’m not Alice.” You reply bowing your head wishing your sister would turn up. 

“Don’t be silly. If you aren’t Alice why do you look exactly like her?” Yoongi asked. His feline eyes searched yours. His lips twitched up into a smirk. 

“Yoongi hyung! You won’t believe who we found in the hallway! Alice Noona is here on her day off to help with the music video!” Jungkook practically yelled storming into the room with your sister being dragged behind him. 

You let out a relieved breath as you ran to your sister giving her a big hug. 

“Wait. Who’s this Alice?” Yoongi asked looking between you two.

“Do you remember how I mentioned I have two sisters?” Alice asked. The members nodded their heads.

“Well let me introduce my middle sister. Y/N. The world-renowned author.” Alice replied with a bright smile.

Jung Hoseok

People are always surprised when you tell people that you meet Hoseok at a dance convention. Yet you are probably one of the worst dancers in Korea. You have always been told that you danced to the beat of your own drum. You had your own internal song that you and only you knew the rhythm. Your family was full of dancers. Yet, you decided to become a gymnast. That way you decided the rhythm instead of it being decided for you. 

It turns out you were good at gymnastics. You loved it and you practiced hard. Your favorites were uneven parallel bars and the balance beam. Despite not enjoying being in the spotlight you had participated in many gymnastic events and competitions. You did very well and won many awards. Once you were old enough you jokingly sent an application to be a coach for the next upcoming Olympians. However, they hired you very quickly and you were over the moon.

 This is how you found yourself at a dance convention of all things. You were there with the five young women who would be competing at the Olympics. One of the other coaches thought it would be a great idea to go to this dance convention to empower, inspire, and team build. The idea sounded lovely until you lost your team. 

You found yourself leaning against the wall near the women's bathroom deeply sighing. No one in your team was answering their phones and despite your frantic searching, you could not find anyone you recognized. You felt the anxiety bubbling in your chest, tears building in your eyes, and your breathing becoming uneven.

“Excuse me, are you alright?” You looked up surprised to see BTS’s Hobi. You tried to not freak out standing in front of one of your idols.

“I lost my team. I cannot find them anywhere.” You replied sighing and looking down at your feet.

“Team?” Hoseok asked tilting his head. 

“I am one of the coaches for our future Olympians.” You said sheepishly scratching the back of your head.

“That's really cool!” He replied. 

You nodded your head. 

“Come on! Let’s go find your team.” Hoseok said pulling you toward where the events were taking place. 

After about half an hour of searching you found your team. You couldn’t help but tackle hug the five young girls in your care. 

“Unnie there you are! We were looking for you!” The youngest said happily hugging you back.

“I see you found your team,” Hobi said appearing behind you.

“Thank you so much for helping me.” You turn around, after escaping the group hug and bowing to him.

“You are the most welcome. This convention lasts two more days. Why don’t we exchange numbers? Just in case?” He replied bowing back with a giant smile.  

Kim Namjoon

Life as a neurosurgeon is difficult. Every person you ever operated on would never ever be the same again. Sometimes when that reality becomes too heavy for you, you escape to art exhibits.  

One of your best friends and old schoolmates Kang In-Su is a museum curator. His museum is known for its exquisite exhibits. You two have made a deal since you visited the museum so often. You pay him a set fee every month and you would be allowed in whenever business hours were open to the public. 

It was a quiet morning. It was raining and storming outside. It was a perfect day to look at some modern art. Apparently, you were not the only one to think so. 

Your mind drifted as you stared at the painting in front of you. You admired the brush strokes. The colors. The emotion that called to you through the painting. Warm tears fell down your face. 

“Are you alright?” A gentle voice asks from beside you.

“Yes, I am quite alright. I always cry looking at art. It’s amazing what the brain can do.” You reply not looking over at the stranger.

The stranger hummed in response. You two stood there looking at the art. You two seemed to follow each other around the museum. Not saying anything but enjoying each other's presence.

Eventually, you did look at the stranger. He was tall, nicely dressed, had a facemask that covered the lower part of his face, and a hat that obscured the rest. You found his presence calming.

“Thank you for looking at this exhibit with me. I have to get going. I have an appointment I need to get to.” You whispered to him.

“Of course. Have a great day.” He replied.

“You as well.” You said before heading to the hospital.

It turns out that the stranger is Kim Namjoon from BTS. You often would run into him on quiet days early in the morning. You two got into this habit of walking around the museum together. At first, it was in silence but it eventually led to quiet conversations. 

He learned about your work. You learned about the music industry. He listens to you ramble on about really interesting brain studies and you listen to him ramble about songwriting. You two became immersed in each other's worlds. Then one fateful day Namjoon sought you out before he had to leave the country. Shyly he asked for your number. Of course, you said yes, and well as they say the rest is history.

#bts #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts fanfic #kim namjoon x reader #min yoongi x reader #jung hoseok x reader #kim seokjin x reader

[newwwwusername]

Community - Jeff & Study Group - Pride Month Prompt 30 : Aromantic

Warning : Arophobia Requested by : Anonymous on my Google Form Request : I'm not sure if you're taking requests for the Pride Month prompt challenge or not, but I really like aromantic!Jeff Winger and I'd like to read a fic about it on the last day of the challenge if possible Pride Month Prompt : Write a fic in which an aromantic character (can be a canon or headcanoned character) is coming out to/being comforted by/otherwise talking about romantic orientation with their friend(s) or queerplatonic partner Headcanon : Alloaro!Jeff

"Guys, I've realized something about myself" Jeff said with a big smile on his face as he entered the study room. The rest of the group looked up at him.

"You are gay" Pierce guessed.

"Uh, no" Jeff shook his head as he set down his bag by the leg of the table and sat down. "I'm... Aromantic"

The room went still.

"Sorry, you're whatnow?" Shirley asked. Everyone else seemed equally confused- Except for Britta, that is.

"I call bullshit" the blonde spoke up. Everyone looked at her. Jeff seemed uncomfortable.

"Um-

"If you're aromantic, what's with all the advances you've been trying to make on me since day one?" she asked.

"I think you're hot and wanted to have sex with you, not a whole relationship" Jeff said and then winced as he realized how that came out. Britta scoffed. "I didn't mean it like that"

"Okay, Jeff" she rolled her eyes. The man looked hurt, which was odd, but seriously who the hell did he think he was? There were people out there who were actually aromantic and here he was flagging the label around because he had commitment iss-

He got up and left the room.

----------

Abed walked into he and Jeff's dorm room and took in the sad expression on his roommate's face.

"So, what's aromantic?" he asked. Jeff chuckled humorlessly.

"You heard what Britta said" Jeff sighed. "It doesn't matter"

"Britta tends to do surface-level research on a lot of things, but she rarely actually makes an effort to understand them" Abed replied. "I'd like to know what it means to you, since you're the one who this is actually about"

Jeff smiled weakly at his friend before taking a deep breath and giving an explanation.

"I've just never saw myself in a real relationship with anyone" he explained. "Romantically, I mean. Sex is nice. Friends are nice. But the idea of dating someone just isn't all that compelling to me" he continued. "And it's not just an issue of not wanting to commit"

"Okay" Abed said. Jeff stared at him for a moment.

"Okay?"

"Okay" Abed repeated. "Do you want me to tell Britta that?"

"No, no, I'll do it" Jeff replied before groaning in annoyance. "This whole thing is so dumb..."

"I don't think it's dumb"

"Well, thank you, Abed"

----------

"Britta, hey" Jeff said meekly as he approached the blonde in the line of the cafe. She rolled her eyes and looked away but didn't tell him to fuck off, so he supposed he could continue. "I want to talk about what happened"

"Are you done pretending to be something your not so you don't have to own up to your bullshit?"

"Britta, I'm not pretending to be anything, I-"

"Right, right" she laughed humorlessly. "Of course. Because big and mighty Jeff Winger never does anything wrong"

"Britta, lis-"

"He'd never treat a woman like an object he can just fuck and then throw out. No, no, cause he's different and special"

"Brit-"

"He's 'aromantic', so it's all perfectly well and good if he-"

"BRITTA!" he shouted and a few people turned in their direction, concerned. Britta's mouth clamped shut as she stared at the agitated man. "Sorry... Sorry, I didn't mean to yell" he apologized. She still said nothing. "I just... Look, I'll buy your breakfast, but please just... Sit and listen to what I have to say?"

"Okay, Jeff" she agreed quietly before pulling out her phone to text him her order as she sat at one of the smaller tables.

He returned a few minutes later with two coffees, a croissant, and the sandwich that Britta had asked for as well. He sat by her at the table and handed her her breakfast before contemplating his next words, grateful that she just remained patient.

"I've never felt... The urge to get romantically involved with people" he explained. "It's not that I have a fear of commitment or anything like that, I just don't want it" he continued. "And yeah, sex is nice. I like having sex with people, but just so long as we're... Friends. The thought of anything becoming more than platonic fuck buddies just... It isn't appealing to me"

"...Jeff-"

"What?"

"I'm sorry" Britta sighed. Jeff's eyes widened. "I mean, I'm sure you can understand why I was on guard, but still... I shouldn't have said those things. If this is how you really feel, then I'm sorry, and I accept you"

"So... Does that mean we can be fuck buddies now?"

"Very funny"

----------

Jeff walked in for study group with a weak smile on this face. "I'm gonna try this again"

Abed smiled. Britta nodded.

"I am Aromantic" he said, this time with more confidence. In response to the confused looks, he continued. "It just means I don't feel the want or urge to date people. I don't feel that spark, and I'd like for all my relationships to remain platonic"

"Oh, okay" Troy nodded genuinely. "That makes sense"

"Thank you for telling us, Jeff" Shirley smiled.

"This actually makes a lot of sense" Annie laughed lightheartedly.

"Pierce?" Jeff asked, looking at the old man. The man seemed to consider this for a moment before speaking.

"So... You're still gay, right?"

Do not repost on other sites! If you want to participate in this month's challenge, there are 30 LGBT-centered prompts that you can find here

#fanfiction #fanfic #fanfic challenge #fanfic prompts #prompts #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtqiia+ #pride #pride month #alloaro #aromantic #aromantic jeff winger #community #jeff winger #abed nadir #britta perry #nbc community #arophobia #aphobia tw

[numerousbees1106]

Wasteland Scraps

Various cut tidbits from my Wastelands story! These are from various chapters, specifically chapters 5-8 :)

…

Where was he?

His limbs were heavy and somewhat tingly, but otherwise responsive and relatively pain-free. He moved to cover his face with a hand, only to smack someone else in their face.

“Uhnhgggg…” said person groaned.

“Max,” Piett called, recognizing that groan from a few-too-many drunken Imperial hangouts.

“Hnng?” Veers moaned again, twitching.

“Max, get off of me.”

The Imperial General swiftly rolled over, flopping next to Piett with no shortage of wordless complaint.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Piett scanned their surroundings.

It seemed to be a medical room of some sort, with a blinding, sterile atmosphere and an abundance of related machinery. An active bacta tank sat in the middle of the room, and a quick buzz from the Mindlink confirmed who it was.

He had been so certain that this week would be his last. Now, bound in chains and forced to kneel in absolute darkness, he wished more than ever that he had died like he was supposed to.

He remembered shattering the mindscape (he refused to think about why he had spiraled, lest he spiral again) and causing his Hivemind to collapse, injured but alive. The others in the group hadn’t been so lucky, and neither had the remainder of all the lifeforms in the base - even the stray tookas loitering around had not been spared.

He remembered his Master looming over him, a scowl on his features as he ordered Red Guards to lift him to a nearby hoverstretcher. He remembered watching as medics from his own fleet approached Piett and Veers, and he remembered the way his Master instructed the guards to cover him with a sheet, lest anyone else see. He remembered the shame, the humiliation that such an order brought, like he was something disgusting that needed to be hidden from view.

Mostly, he remembered how his severed jaw hung grimly from the wire necklace, glinting in the light, making him sick with fear.

“You must grow stronger,” Lord Vader insisted. “It is pertinent for our relationship for you to be able to defeat me in battle, for you to be able to kill me should the need arise.”

Piett blinked at him, stunned.

“Why, in all the Galaxy, would that be a needed skill?” Piett snapped, horrified.

Vader simply tilted his head, equally perplexed.

“It is important for relationships to be balanced, to be equal,” he said, finally. “I have been researching healthy relationships, and that seems to be a recurring sentiment.”

Piett pushed away the amusing absurd mental image of Lord Vader googling “how to have healthy relationship??? help???” and instead continued to stare at his idiot other.

“I must admit, I do not have very much experience with ‘healthy relationships’ or ‘boundaries’ or any of the other things I found in the advice I have received. I suppose that I will be… learning.”

Piett took a deep breath, resisting the urge to place his face in his palms.

“My Lord. Darling. Babe. That’s not what that means.”

Silence, save for the rhythmic breathing.

“They don’t mean physical prowess when they talk about a balanced relationship dynamic, though it is incredibly sweet that you thought so.”

“Then what do they mean?” Vader huffed, annoyed.

“They mean, like, financially, or when it comes to household chores, and stuff,” Piett replied.

“I… I do not have any money, personally,” Vader admitted. Piett just stared at him, unsure of what he meant.

“If necessary, I am permitted by the Emperor to utilize funds given to me, but I do not have anything else.”

“Hold on, excuse me?” Piett squawked, incredulous. “Aren’t you getting paid?”

Another blank stare from underneath the mask - Piett could feel it.

“For what?” He asked.

“For your job.”

“I do not have a job.”

“Then what do you call this?”

Staring at the screen, he found himself enraptured in what he saw, yet in disbelief of it at the same time.

After passing out in the mindscape, Piett had awoken to the crisp, sterile atmosphere of Recovery. The front of his skull had been fractured, just above his frontal lobe, and the medics said it was a miracle that he survived, let alone that he’d continue to survive with no further complications or long-lasting effects. Even more shocking, they said, was that the same exact thing had happened to General Veers.

He had felt much the same way hearing that tale as he did now, staring at the I-SORE (a rather unfortunate name, if you asked Piett - the place really was beautiful, and in no way an actual eyesore) report, seeing his name listed as the co-discoverer of a new species of warbler.

Of course, when Lord Vader had inexplicably called to him, a small bird in his hands, he had been… perplexed? Bemused? Experiencing an odd mixture of ‘what in the galaxy is happening’ and ‘oh shining stars that is SO romantic’? Either way, he didn’t quite know how to express, with words, the confusing mixture of emotions he felt.

He hadn’t seen what Lord Vader had opted to name the bird, or if he had even decided to name it at all. In fact, he hadn’t even known Lord Vader to be the least bit interested in birds, and Piett couldn’t deny the fluttering feeling he felt in his chest when he realized they possibly had a (very unexpected) shared interest. Still, never in his wildest of dreams could he have imagined that Lord Vader would have named the bird after him. And yet, staring in front of him in unyielding text were the words Piett’s Warbler, and Piett felt ready to just pass out then and there.

#ao3 #ao3 author #cut content #fanfic #fanfiction #star wars #original trilogy #darth vader #firmus piett #piett/vader #pieder #maximilian veers

[firespirited]

i woke up prepared to apologize for getting angry over doll stuff but the more i think about it the more it’s obvious exactly where I stand.

Whether it’s “You shouldn’t reblog from vapider they’re a paedo” which led me down a rabbit hole that took hours and led to him being friends with someone who supports writing properly tagged dark fic.

“You should have researched BarbiesGBF he made caricatures without consent” which led to hours of searching to find one use of the r word (and since when do you need consent to make cartoons or post about popular public figures in a fandom?)

“I need to know for my safety your position on [extremely complex syscourse/vast spectrum of religious discrimination]”

I refuse to play broken telephone with a rumour mill. If you want “accountability” in your community you can keep dated screencaps somewhere public and decide as a community what the boundaries and acceptable responses are.

It’s stupid fandom stuff but it’s hitting deep because I’ve been in religious communities run on gossip and charisma and seen the same for activism. It was toxic, it destroyed multiple good people’s lives and if this kind of thing, the whole guilt by association, those awful doll confessions and vague accusations come to dollblr, I will make a new place with actual rules where we start over from scratch because I believe in rehabilitative justice and transparency.

So here’s the deal, we can make a baddollydeals type thread on The Pony Arena (or a google doc) for active bigots, theft and scams.

Anything else is vibes based judgement based on gossip and WILL be ignored. If you want accountability you either put up or shut up: you might think you’re just being a good person but you are being played in a systemic game I have seen play out before many times before. Your blocklist is your own business, the rumour mill is community business.

---------------------------

So as part of the “research” I went to twitter and there was a screencap of me so I went and deleted that comment because I can totally see how it could be construed as thoughtless and sexualizing - I’m mortified (for the record, I think highly of Brooke and thought her caricature was a guy at first because her public image is as a mermaid or a Disney princess, a while back we had an interesting email convo about doll repair)... That person didn’t message me on instagram or even reply, they just screengrabbed and shared as part of the public “scandal”. I’m a creep to the 56 people who liked that and who knows how many more. No questions no context and I find out by accident and can’t apologize and explain as I don’t have twitter.

------------------------------

Said it before, i’ll state it again, if anyone has a problem with me: talk to me, @ me with your complaints, ask people if I have the ability to react to new information, grow and learn.

And more importantly, do the same for everyone: if you have an issue, leave a comment. otherwise we end up with broken telephone of 4 tweets saying variations on “barbiegbf is a sex offender” because someone once used a stolen picture of him to *say* hateful things on a live and it was clearly not him.

How many whispers until you are tainted for having interacted with me? it’s no way to do things.

#saf #dollblr #drama #i have always been completely open #i was just looking for stuff to watch

[trisshawkeye]

Can we hear more about enjolras and his merry men?

You most certainly can! Enjolras and His Merry Men is, as it sounds, a Robin Hood AU for Les Miserables. I wrote the first chapter of it for the Les Mis Across History event back in 2013 (I put it on AO3 later when I finally made an account). I got really into the historical research and planned out a bunch more. I had detailed notes on which Les Mis characters corresponded to which Robin Hood characters, backstories, English history, all sorts of stuff.

The problem was, I was doing this all in Scrivener, which I'd just gotten a copy of and was quite excited to use. I then realised that actually I really bounce off Scrivener as a writing and organising tool (I prefer to keep everything in one Google doc, as bonkers as that is, it's just what works for me). Also, this was at least one laptop ago and now I don't actually have Scrivener installed anywhere. All the notes are there, in the .scriv folder, they're not encrypted or anything so I could just lift them out, or reinstall Scrivener to rescue them and reorganise. I've just not bothered, really. The fic text itself is in a Google doc that I haven't touched since 2014. Oops.

Is it abandoned? Nooooooo... making it my WIP with the longest lag time between updates. I don't know when I'll actually sit down and continue it, but I just really love it as a silly concept so I want to come back to it eventually.

Here's a little bit of chapter 2 beneath the cut, for your patience, everyone. They're not using their French names here, but I think you can tell who's who.

Chapter 2 - The Guide

The Sheriff of Nottingham woke with a startled grunt to the sound of someone putting something down on the table. He snapped upright with a curse, to see that a chunk of bread had been laid on his desk. Across from him sat a scruffy servant boy, chewing on his own breakfast and swinging his legs from the chair.

“Did you stay up all night?” the boy asked.

William Brewer rubbed his eyes, mentally chiding himself for abandoning his usually solid routine of waking and sleeping. He made vague attempt at shuffling the paper on his desk into some form of order, then gave up and reached for the bread.

“Staying out of trouble, I hope, Much?” he asked, suppressing a yawn. “I haven’t seen you in a few days. I hope you’ve been making yourself useful.”

“Mmhmm,” Much replied around a mouthful of bread. The Sheriff eyed him levelly, sighed, and returned to his papers.

“Well, I will be writing a report on these outlaws this morning. I do not wish to be disturbed except for matters of the greatest urgency. I will take dinner here. In the meantime, go see what help you can be in the stables.”

Much scowled. “Can’t I stay here and help you?”

“Not unless you could either read, or tell me in great detail about the outlaw John Little, also known as Combeferre.”

Much cocked his head to one side in thought. “Well... he’s really tall, and he uses a quarterstaff. Also he’s second in command to Enjolras.”

“Where did you learn all that?” the Sheriff asked sharply.

He got a shrug in response. “Folk talk about things around a kid more than they do around the Sheriff,” Much replied with a grin. “I hear a lot, I do.”

The Sheriff of Nottingham narrowed his eyes. “You have told me nothing I didn’t already know. Run along now.” With an exaggerated sigh, Much went to obey. He had pulled open the door when he heard Brewer speak again. “Oh - but keep your ears open,” he said gruffly. Much gave him a wide grin and bolted out of the door. Despite himself, William Brewer felt a smile ghost at the corners of his mouth.

#writing stuff #wip ask game #les miserables #robin hood #my fic

[michellebyee]

Bra Fitting at Torrid

So, I have always wanted to have a correct bra fitting done. This is my amazing journey.

If I am going to be investing some money into clothing including bras, lingerie and other women’s clothing, I feel that having the correct bra size is important. I started looking around the internet for different stories and saw what other crossdressers had experienced. I guess that is a little of my OCD but if I am going to purchase anything, I have to do my research.

I should have saved the link but I found this amazing story of a crossdresser that found a boutique that helped her out. The owner was nice enough to open for him late after closing. She even asked an employee to stay a little late to help. They went through the whole process. Tried on a couple of different bras. The owner and employee gave their honest opinion. After the correct bra was chosen, they even let her try on some other sexy lingerie and even some shapewear. 

After reading that story, I was determined to find a local store that could provide me with the same experience.

So a couple of weeks ago, I headed onto Google Maps and found the closest (some local and some in a neighboring town) independent lingerie/bra stores and started to contact them mostly by a carefully worded email. I started to get emails back slowly and I wasn’t very happy with what I was reading. Some of the responses included

“Unfortunately, as discreet and comfortable as I am, my services are provided for bodies with full bust or no busts due to breast cancer loss. I take my employ quite seriously & as a result, will advise that I’m not comfortable fitting you.”

Then I started to get some positive replies but lots of these stores don’t deal with larger or plus sized women.

“Based on your measurements, your size would be about a 40 or 42 A or B. Unfortunately, we have very limited options in those sizes, and what we do have are quite standard and simple looking.”

I contacted some of the more commercial lingerie stores but I knew that the majority of these stores would also have limited options available. So, in my location, Ontario, Canada, there are only a few women’s clothing stores that will cater to larger/plus sized customers and sell bras and lingerie. They are Reitmans, Penningtons and Torrid. We used to have Addition Elle stores but they were owned by Penningtons and closed back in August of 2021. I tried to use the customer support channel for these commercial stores but that didn’t lead me anywhere so I started to call the stores and talked to the Manager.

My first store was Penningtons. I called and I talked to someone (I should have probably asked for the manager) and I was open and honest, I asked if they had ever done a bra fitting for a man and she said, “Nope but if you want to make an appointment, I think we can help you.” She thinks. No thanks. I wanted this to be discreet and something that they had done before.

My second store was Reitmans. I called and asked to talk to the manager and/or assistant manager. I waited a few minutes and a lady came on the phone and introduced herself as the store's assistant manager. I asked her, "Do you carry plus size bras? For example, 40C." 

"Yes, we do. We carry all the way up to a 54 DDD. Are you looking to buy a bra for someone?" I quickly replied back, "Yes, actually, it is for myself but I wanted to ask if you, or someone there would be able to get me a proper bra fitting? I have been told that I should be a 40C but I want to make sure." 

And then the very long pause as I can picture the person on the other side of the phone picking their jaw up from the floor. And then she replied back, "Oh alright. I don't see that being a problem. Would you feel comfortable being in the store doing this?" I could hear a little reluctancy in her voice as she asked. I replied back, "I would want you and your customers to be comfortable too. Thank you and it is good to know that you can offer this service. I will be in touch." She said, "Thank you." and we ended the call. 

That's not the response I was really looking for but at least I found a place that I thought I could go but I still had one more place to call.

I called my local Torrid store in the local shopping mall. I don’t remember if I asked for the manager or not but a nice lady came on the phone and introduced herself as Tracy. I said “Hello Tracy. I am wondering if you or someone at your location has done a bra fitting for a man.” Her response was “Yeah. We have. All of the girls here have. Would you like to have a bra fitting?”

At that moment, I felt a sense of relief. A weight lifted off my shoulders. She was honest and confident in her answer which brought me a sense of calm. I replied back, “Yes I would but I want to be discreet. I don’t want to upset your customers or your staff.” She completely understood and she appreciated me mentioning that. She said, “When you come in, hopefully it won’t be too busy and I will get you into a change room as quickly as I can without too many people noticing.” I said that would be perfect. I will call you in the next few days to set up an appointment and see what would be the best time for me to come in.”

So a couple of days later when I knew I could get to the store, I called my local Torrid store and set up an appointment for a proper bra fitting for that night. Luckily, I had an excuse to go to the mall without my wife. I told her that I was going to go shoe shopping for a wedding coming up.

On my way to the mall, I quickly called the store to see how busy it was and Tracy told me to come in and she will help me. Immediately I had butterflies in my stomach. Thinking to myself, “Is this really going to happen now?” Calming myself down, I started to think about all of my adventures lately being out and wearing a bra and all of those were great experiences with no incidents or problems. I said to myself, “You got this GIRL!”

As I walked in the store, there were a couple of ladies shopping for different items. A dress caught my eye so I immediately went over to see it. As I was looking at the dress, a lady approached me and said quietly “Hello, how can I help you. My name is Tracy.” A smile came over my face and she knew exactly who I was. She said for me to follow her and she has a changeroom already saved for me.

Great start so far!

She comes into the changeroom, closes the door and asks me to lift my arms. She wraps the measuring tape around me and then asks me, “Are you wearing a bra?” I said, “Yes but it was something I picked up quickly. I don’t know if it is the right size. Hence me coming in to have this done.”

“Well, let us take a look then.”

I take off my t-shirt to reveal my Genie padded bra. “First off, I didn’t even notice that you were wearing one if you were concerned. Secondly, I think this is a little tight. You can probably go a size bigger.” She then proceeded to show me why it was too tight. 

“Lets go back to your fitting.” She wrapped the measuring tape back around me and said, “OK so you are a 40”. Then she moved the tape up a bit and measured my chest. “Well, you are definitely 2 inches or a B cup but I am going to assume you would like something a little bigger.” I nodded and said, “But I don’t want them to be too big. I would like them to have a natural look.”

“Then I think you should either go with a C or D cup. Personally, with your shape, a C might be better.” I nodded again. She said, “Just wait here and I am going to see if I can find you some bras to try on. Oh, by the way, I can put a star on the door instead of your name.” I gently said, “You can put Michelle.”

“Ok perfect. Michelle, I will be right back.” She gave me a huge smile and a little wink and headed out. A couple of minutes later, I hear a knock on the door and I hear “Michelle, can I come in” It was so nice to hear my girly name said to me for the first time. I wanted to say “YES” but I didn’t want to say anything with my male voice so I just opened the door to the changeroom. I think I was blushing when she came in.

She had given me 3 bras for me to try. 1 of them I put it on and quickly took it off. Not for me. The second I put it on and I heard “How’s it going in there Michelle?” I opened the door, telling her that she could come in. She looked at me in my new bra and said, “Now that looks good! Actually amazing!” She asked me to turn around and she looked at the back. “Perfect! I really like this bra on you, Michelle.” There was my name again. Euphoria! I loved hearing my name.

“Ok try on the other 2 and let me know what you think.” I quickly said, “I tried this one on and I didn’t like it. I took it off immediately. I’ll try the other one.” 

I quickly changed bras and Tracy came back in. “That one looks nice.”

“I like it but I don’t like the straps and the way that they come up. wearing a t-shirt like this one is nice but I am afraid that if I wear anything else, you are going to see those straps, which is a huge sign that I am wearing a bra.” She agreed and said, “Ok. Take off that one and put the other one back on. I will be right back.”

“I'll be right back???” I agreed but now I was a little baffled. Why is she asking me to put the other one back on? I did as she said and a couple of minutes later, I heard a knock and “Are you ok Michelle?” I open the door and Tracy walks in with a couple of pieces of clothing:

A black silk camisole.

A beautiful light blue blouse with a flower pattern.

The dress I had my eye on when I walked in.

“Why not give these a try. You have amazing blue eyes so I wanted to see how these would look on you.” I was absolutely shocked. I was literally on Cloud 9. She continued, “Well you need a nice cami and this one will compliment the bra. I think this blouse will look nice with your eyes and you already had an eye on this one.” She gives me a huge smile and a giggle.

I tried on each item. Each felt amazing and Tracy came into the changeroom to give her opinion too. The silk camisole felt amazing and looked great. Tracy agreed. The blouse she picked out looked great. The dress I picked out looked great on the rack but, unfortunately, did not look good on myself.

I changed into my normal clothes and waited a few minutes. No Tracy so I slightly opened the door to see if anyone was outside. The coast looked clear so I opened the door and headed out of the changeroom. There were 2 women standing there that I could not see from the crack of my door. So I looked them straight in the eye, smiled and said, “Excuse me ladies” and walked right past them. One gave me a nice smile and the other gave a stunned (not weird) look.

I went to the cash register and said to Tracy, “Those other clothes are lovely but I think I am only going to get the bra today.��� I had tried on the black version but ended up getting the “beige/nude” version. I am going to go back to get the black one soon.

As I waited to pay, I pulled up my phone and gave the store a 5 star rating on Google Maps. I waited to post it because I wanted to show her the review.

Before leaving, I had to thank Tracy for an amazing experience and it will be something I will never forget. The last thing she said was, “Michelle, it was a pleasure helping you today. Please come back soon if you want to do some more shopping and try on some different outfits.” I was smiling from ear-to-ear. One very satisfied customer.

Thank you Tracy! Thank you Torrid!

#torrid #brafitting #bra size #cross dress #cross dressing

[kaibacorpbros]

KNOWING YOUR PARTNER WELL CAN POTENTIALLY MAKE WRITING TOGETHER A LOT EASIER. ( REPOST DO NOT REBLOG ! )

NAME: Mew

PRONOUNS:  She/her or They/them

PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION: Tumblr IMs or discord - if we’re mutuals I 1000% prefer discord though because... ugh dumblr misbehaves a lot lol

NAME OF MUSE(S): Seto and Mokuba Kaiba. I also have some sideblogs with Diva/Aigami, Jounouchi, Kisara, Priest Seth, the ignis from YGO vrains, and two OCs Hermit and Riley!

EXPERIENCE/HOW LONG (MONTHS / YEARS?): im bad at math and years but loosely did chatroom rps in 2013ish but only started doing proper rp about 2 years ago I’d say!

PLATFORMS YOU’VE USED: chat rooms, tumblr and discord

BEST EXPERIENCE: Too many to say honestly? like everything there’s been some ups and downs but I have gotten to meet some awesome people that have become good friends and I’m forever grateful to rp for that.

RP PET PEEVES/DEALBREAKERS: Hoy boy alright buckle in. For one, I can’t only do oneliners. For crack or the like it’s fine but if that’s the only way someone rps I can’t.

Also can’t with people who have sporadic activity but each time they relaunch their blog(s) they start over and start a buncha new stuff yelling that they want attention and to do so many things only to poof and when they come back to rp they do the same thing all over again and you never/barely actually get to RP with them. On a related note because these things tend to go together--when someone is constantly remaking their blogs.

I also will politely bow out on people who’s main desire for rp is sexual and/or romantic ships. You do you, but that’s not for me I’m here to tell a story first and if that happens to include a ship cool but there are more stories than just people falling for each other and going on dates. Also on this topic people who overly post sexual things several times a day. It’s okay to have a sexual muse but idk man I really don’t need to be seeing all the lingerie they like and posts on their favorite ways to have sex and their kinks 5 times a day. This aint p*rn hub. Likewise if someone spams with romance posts their ship(s) and never shuts up about them and just constantly harps on how in love they are and nothing else

Big dealbreaker is when I try and set boundaries for my own comfort and someone goes off on me and tries to gaslight me into thinking that I’m overreacting or I have no reason to want to avoid a certain kind of content. Like, nearly everyone’s rules say they’re chill with tagging triggers for people or avoid topics in conversations if asked and etc and yet when you try and do that some people bite your head off. 

Another one is when rpers can’t be assed to do good research to 1) make sure they aren’t writing anything harmful or 2) just be?? generally respectful to the culture whatever your piece of media you’re rping in comes from? I don’t expect people to know everything about Japan, but idk maybe do stuff like google if Christmas is celebrated over there and if so how and also maybe a general idea of what their idea of death and the afterlife is like when the series takes place in Japan?? Just. Google at a minimum jfc.

FLUFF, ANGST OR SMUT: I’m a big sucker for angst and I don’t think that’s a secret 8) . The other two have other things going for them but man, I just like that emotional gutpunch. I like to watch muses break. Physically or mentally or both : >

PLOTS OR MEMES: Both! I like a mixture of stuff. Like usually I like starting something via memes but then plotting from there!

LONG OR SHORT REPLIES: Longer! as I said about the not being able to do oneliners thing. Buuuut of course if whatever is happening between the muses is a light or funny thing of course it will be shorter and I think that totally has its place and is good because sometimes I don’t have the braincells to do bigger replies lol.

BEST TIME TO WRITE: Nights are now my day with my job but even before that I always did better at night lol

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S): We have some things in common yeah! I think it’s natural to like characters that you have some things in common with, because like acting it helps you portray them better. Like how when an actor becomes a parent for the first time they tend to start wanting to play characters who are also parents.

Tagged by: @sakurarisen thankies Poms :D

Tagging: @lightyourpyre @kingofblueeyex and you!

#(dash games) #ooc: Mew mews

[delicatebluebirdruins]

rant incoming

do you remember the fucking armor bikinis from the justice league film? that happened five years ago

i didn't but at the time I remember seeing a comment that someone made saying that some of the cast made about preferring the bikinis because it allows for greater mobility (valid reason to be honest) and they preffered the lack of discomfort liking chafing and bruises (not valid because the off shot is exposed skin and things)

and I saw a thing about it on pinterest and made a comment about the above that some cast members liked it

"i found it really interesting that the women themselves preferred the armour in the Justice League over Wonder Woman edit: It was in an interview with the women in the picture at some point but I can't remember which one or where I read/watched it but I do remember they preferred JL armour because it did not cause them bruises or something?? sorry i can't remember which interview"

I got a response the other day

"Iff you can't find the source it is not a source so don't post the lie"

I actually looked it up and found a source Samantha Win (formally Samantha Jo) I have no idea what I was searching for to miss her comment but eeh (i was probably running out of space and time as 2017 i had college to get too)

and I responded after many attempts because fuck pinterest

"my comment was made under the assumption that google is somewhat easy to access. did you type anything into the search bar and read the results at any time before saying I was lying? here use this as search terms Samantha Win she is the one who prefered the bikini armor for two reasons mobility (valid) and that it didn't chaff/ bruise cause discomfort (not valid dumb as heck would you rather be uncomfortable or dead?)"

my response was ratty and i was 100% insulting their intellegience if they couldn't use google and went straight to calling me a liar

their response

"Not my job. If you make a claim you are responsible for backing it up. That is one of the responsibilities of media use. Time to grow up, child."

I'm the child? this was five fucking years ago and no one else had a problem with the comment but they did and they could have searched it up and said that I should have done better research still I'm the child? how many people in the world on the internet made claims without backing it up and then no one looking it up afterwards

does this count as name calling? both times i reported them as well as blocked instead of replying to that last one at all

kind of wish i did just to see how much further they go because they called me a child for the assumption that other adults can do their own research oh wait many don't

I actually wanted to find it because I remember how frustrated I was not finding the information to share and I was kinda excited to share it despite how rude I was

(does pinterest still have a character count?... it does it only flashes when you go over it)

DA I hope you have a day that's good but you stub your toe four times (the length of time it took for me to find my source)

edited to add: by this logic the internets misinformation will thrive anyways because people can misquote sources, make them up, take things out of context if a post has a source read it when you have the time

#block block block #this hit several sore spots and made me cry #and I need a hug #so many things are wrong with me right now #ju.stic lea.gue bikini armor reminder in the year 2023 #links #that will be posted seperately

[coltwinchesterdsm]

Roleplay Rules - #Trident

1. Please do not post a tweet to storylines I'm involved with and you are not in the story. It messes up the replies and creates a space where we have two chains instead of one. 2. I'm not a fan of DM roleplay. I do it for the selective few in regard to sex, sensitive material etc but I'm /not/ going to do whole storylines in dm's. I'm here to write and read others' stories not hide out in dms where nothing can be read and then when you get on the timeline nothing makes sense because essential events have happened and there's no explanation. If I do roleplay in dm's those replies will be done when I have time, I won't put a priority on something that isn't even worth it to you to have on a timeline. 3. If all you want is sexual roleplay then be upfront about it, I like to write all kinds of things. But I'm /not/ the guy who's going to be posting dick pictures all day with no real storylines and just fucking in dms with no storyline. 4. Please don't ask me to put five of my own characters into your storyline when you only have one. If you're to lazy to create characters needed then ghost them or rewrite your storyline to make it work. 5. Storylines... to me a storyline is discussed prior to starting, a beginning, middle and ending needs to be outlined and any key elements that need to happen need to be added so that the authors can figure out how to make it flow right. For people I rp with a lot and we have good flow I probably won't require that but if it's more than two characters and/or I've never roleplayed with you then yeah I'm gonna want a game plan. Because to many times people want to roleplay but are /to lazy/ to do the research and make a game plan. Then I end up having to do it all and I'm sick of doing it so thus why I'm posting this. 6. I don't roleplay for the sake of a ship. There will always be a plausible background established, even for the raunchy and taboo accounts. Just the way I roll. 7. If you start roleplays with me and ditch the storyline's then don't expect me to mess with you anymore. My /time/ is valuable just as yours is and I make a serious effort to answer storylines first before I dick off. 8. DMing constantly, unless you're my mate back off. I get online and I get bombarded and then I'm stuck in dm's with stuff that could wait or be said in chat. If you have something important and by important I mean you need a character added to the lists, problems with another author or something that needs to be handled by staff or an owner then please leave your message @DSM_RP that is why the hub exists. And this way when our staff come online they can actually roleplay and not be constantly interrupted for no good reason. Common curtsy. 9. If you are not a member of #DSM and I've agreed to roleplay a storyline with you just be advised any site storylines take precedence. Why you ask? Because if people are dedicated enough to be a part of the site then they deserve for me to put in the work needed to keep storylines rolling. That being said I reserve the right to say /NO/ to anyone whether in the site or not. 10. I understand the term "Bio" means different things to different people. And how's it's used as well. So... let's talk about it. A one tweet pinned tweet that has maybe some warnings in it, your preference of what your sexual preference is etc isn't a bio. I get some don't realize that but it's /not/. Google Biography and take a look, it helps other writers and yourself. For those who show up wanting to roleplay to be your new best friend and you've never seen them before... Handing someone your bio that's ten pages long and expecting that person to suddenly know everything and be your buddy... it's rude dude. People have lost the art of building relationships and when I say relationships I'm not just talking about sexual, friendships take work as well. Not everyone can just magically click, doesn't work that way. I've had people I click well with and they change characters and I'm like yeah... I feel nothing for you. Building a character and relationships takes work. If you're not a part of DSM and you are interested please get ahold of the hub @DSM_RP and we'll be happy to work with you. You have to be 18years old and be able to write complete sentences and use punctuation. And if you have a disability let's say something like dyslexia or have issues with having seizures with gif's etc let us know. I'm completely understanding about those kinds of things. We aren't looking down on you or anything. We'll do our best to help and we can't help if we don't know. Also, very important, if English isn't your first language you need to let us know. I know English is a pain, but if we look at your tweets and you sound like a kid we might go wow okay yeah no. Our content is for adults only, with no exceptions. Underage people can band together and make their own sites and roleplay. So there you go. One last thing... if you are involved in group storylines and you come online blow off the six people waiting for your reply because you just want to hook up with every guy that comes along... don't get involved in the group storylines. It pisses us all off and just drags morale down. If you want to be a solo act then go right ahead just don't waste all our time waiting on you because you are not making the group a priority. And if you take on a lead role and all you want to do is dick off then at least be upfront about it in your bio. Put you're a solo writer or something so people don't waste time trying to roleplay with you when you have /no/ intentions of really roleplaying with them. Also, we will not force ships whether it's canon or not. Alright, thanks for reading this long-ass post. Hope we roleplay on one of my many accounts.-

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day Something: The

Hey friends. I've been struggling with writers block a little bit lately, the muse is flighty and I'm out of the routine of writing because I've been so busy. So I'm just filling a prompt that kindled a little fire. Sorry that it's out of order! I don't think this one is even on the list yet (sorry for that too, nonnie!)

"You've got the Banquet for the War Orphans coming up on Sunday, the meeting with the board of trustees for the Lycanthropy Research Foundation tomorrow, the Minister booked an appointment with you today at 4:00, we-"

"Matilda," Harry interrupted, "Could you put them into the Google calendar?"

"They're already on it, Sir," she said.

He rubbed his forehead, "Harry," he corrected.

"Yes, sir."

Harry blew out a sigh, “just tell me what’s coming up in the next two hours.”

She rattled off a few things; a meeting with shareholders, meet and greet for funding a new wing of the hospital, lunch with the board.

"Right," he said, "Cancel my next two hours of things."

"But, sir-"

"Harry," he all but growled. "Reschedule the lunch meeting with the board; send Amanda with a report for the shareholders, they like her anyway; and send Anthony with a personal check for 10,000 galleons to the hospital opening."

"But Sir-"

"Harry," he corrected again before shaking his head. "I'm going. I'll be back in two hours." Without waiting for a reply, he apparated straight out of his office and into a very different office within the Ministry.

(Keep reading below the cut)

"You're not supposed to do that, you know," Draco drawled, not even bothering to look up from what he was working on.

"I know," he murmured, sidling up behind him and wrapping his arms around Draco's waist.

Draco continued the work he was performing, "What if I'd had someone else in here?"

"How many other secret lovers do you have?" Harry tried to tease but it didn't come out as much like a joke as he'd intended.

The other man huffed, "I do have people who consult with me at work, for our work, on occasion."

He didn't respond, couldn't respond, because he hadn't thought about it, had only thought about needing to see him, needing to not be the savior, the boss, the Harry Potter.

"Harry," Draco sighed, casting a stasis spell on whatever he'd been working on before warding the door. He turned and Harry pressed his face into Draco's neck, inhaling him. "I know," he murmured.

"How much longer?" he whispered into Draco's skin.

He huffed a laugh, "How much more do you want to accomplish with your money?"

Harry groaned, that was just it, wasn't it? He kept investing in the things he felt were important, people joined in investing because he was the Harry Potter, and his assets only continued to grow. Which, in theory wasn't a problem, but in practice meant that he had too many board meetings to attend with people who acted like he shit gold bricks.

"Oh, love," the other man murmured.

"I just," he huffed, "I needed to be me for a little while."

"What if you were you at work?" he offered, pressing a kiss to Harry's forehead.

He laughed humorlessly, "How can I be? I can't even get my own bloody personal assistant to call me Harry."

"Fire her," he said simply.

"Right," he said, drawing back and rubbing his hands over his face, "Because that's the image that I want to be associated with my foundation, someone who fires people for trying to be respectful."

Draco shrugged unrepentantly, "Being you at work isn't easy."

He frowned, "Draco, this foundation got where it is because I learned to play my cards right; I learned to bite my tongue and bide my time and now I can help people all over the world."

The other man nodded, "You're right."

"Stop that," he grumbled.

"What? Agreeing with you?"

"Yes."

The corner of Draco's mouth turned up, "I'm just saying, being nice is all well and good, and it will get you where you want to go. Working the room, playing the game, it's very effective but there's a reason I didn't go into politics and a reason that I am an unspeakable who works alone most of the time."

"I'm not in politics," he said.

"No?" he asked.

Harry groaned, "This isn't helping."

"I'm sorry," he replied, but he didn't sound particularly sorry. "Living a double life is difficult."

"I'm not living a double life," Harry protested.

"You've got a job where you never say what you really think and feel, you go to all sorts of functions and play the role they want you to fill. Then when you want to visit your boyfriend at work you have to tear through the bloody wards around the Ministry because people can't know that I exist."

"Wait-"

"You have a house that people know about that you floo to every morning so people can see you leaving from it, even though you spend every night in my flat and my bed."

"But that's for you-"

He shook his head, "Don't pretend that this is for me."

"The press-"

"Would look really bad for you," he said.

"No!" he snapped, "The press would fucking hound you. They'd tear you to shreds."

"Gee, I wonder what that must be like," he said, "because they don't already do that," he added sarcastically.

"I-"

"And don't pretend that everything you're doing now isn't about you either," he continued.

"I don't want kids to go through what I did, is that so wrong?"

"I'm just saying Harry," he said, shaking his head, "If you don't want people to see you as a martyr, stop playing one."

He took a step back like he'd been slapped. "Wow," he said.

Draco folded his arms over his chest.

"How long have you been holding onto that one?" he asked.

The other man shook his head, "This isn't about me."

"Right," Harry said, "because you're the one that's got this all figured out. I'm the broken one."

"Your words, not mine," he replied tightly.

He nodded, "Right, then. I'll just see myself out, shall I?"

"Harry-"

"Don't," he spit. "I get it."

"Harry-"

But he didn't wait to hear how that sentence ended, didn't want to stick around to hear the apology because he wasn't ready to forgive him anyway. He popped back up in his office and checked the calendar. He'd missed most of the shareholder meeting but ought to be able to make it to the hospital wing meet and greet.

------------------

Harry normally would have apparated straight into Draco's flat. After a day like today, he was liable to apparate straight into Draco's bed.

But their argument had stayed bright and hot at the forefront of his mind, and like a bruise that you just couldn't help poking, Harry hadn't been able to stop replaying the conversation.

And no matter how he turned it around in his head, Draco was right. Or justified in feeling that way at the very least.

Instead of doing what he'd normally do, Harry stopped off at the little flower shop a few blocks from Draco's flat and told the girl working that he needed a bouquet that said 'sorry for being an arse.'

She laughed but set to work, making a bouquet with white tulips and daffodils with a few blue hyacinths to finish.

He walked the remaining blocks to Draco's flat and practiced the apology he'd been working on all day as he approached. Harry took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

It swung open a moment later and Draco startled when he saw him, "Harry," he said, glancing around at the street behind him.

"I'm sorry for being such a fucking arse," he said.

"Come inside," Draco said, tugging at his arm.

He shook his head, "I don't care who sees-"

"Come inside, you absolute menace."

Harry huffed and allowed Draco to drag him in and close the door behind him.

"I don't need you to apologize," he said, "I overstepped. We're not-"

"Marry me," Harry said, pressing the flowers into his hands before dropping to his knees and pulling out a ring box that contained his mother's engagement ring, redesigned so that the diamond twisted around the band.

"Harry, what?" he asked incredulously, setting the flowers behind him on the table and closing the ring box that he was holding out. "You're being insane."

"I'm not," he replied. "You can choose, we can tell everyone or I can tell them to piss off, but-" he broke off and shook his head. "I’m me when I’m with you. It's the only time that I'm not calculating and trying to decide what the best move is."

"That's fine," Draco said, kneeling in front of Harry and cupping his face. "This is fine."

"I," he swallowed and looked down at the box in his hand, "I want to marry you," he said. "I want the ring on my finger, the tangible reminder of who I am when I start forgetting. Draco," he said, cupping his cheek, "I love you. I'm sorry I've hurt you by keeping you a secret. I've been selfish-"

"Harry," he said, kissing him softly, stopping his flow of words. "It's okay. You-"

"I'm not done yet," he said softly. "I'm not done investing in things, trying to do good, and trying to repair the things that are broken."

"That's fine," Draco said. "I'm fine, I'm an unspeakable for Merlin's sake! My entire life is one big secret, I was being a hypocrite-"

"Marry me," he said again. "And we can tell everyone or we can tell no one. Just," he looked down at the ring box, opening it once more, "be my husband. Let me tether myself to you. Let it be a promise that no matter what, I am always thinking of you. I am always wishing that you were by my side."

"Harry," he whispered, eyes filled with tears.

"Say yes," he pleaded. "We can elope or we can have a huge ceremony that we invite the entire wizarding world to," he nudged his nose against Draco's and leaned their foreheads together. "This is the best thing in my life," he said. "And I've treated it like I was ashamed of it, like I'm ashamed of you. And I'm not, Draco."

"I know," he murmured, his hands sliding up and down Harry's neck. "I know, love."

"Marry me?" he asked again, his hands trembling as he held out the ring.

Draco sobbed and pressed a kiss to Harry's cheek, "I didn't mean to guilt you-"

"Draco," he said, pleading, "Sweetheart, please say yes."

"Yes, of course yes," he said, hiccuping around his tears, "Of course I'm yours but only if this isn't out of guilt."

"It's not," Harry promised, pulling back far enough that he could slip the ring onto Draco's finger. "I love you," he said, wrapping his arms around Draco's back and holding him.

Draco's arms wrapped around his neck and he held him back just as tightly. "I love you, too," he whispered. "You're not broken," he added.

"I am," Harry said honestly. "And that's okay," he added.

"We're all broken," Draco replied.

Harry leaned back and kissed him, "I want to be better. Please," he said, brushing his nose over Draco's, "tell me when the things I'm doing hurt you."

"This floor is certainly hurting my knees," Draco teased wetly.

He huffed a laugh and stood, pulling Draco with him. "I mean it."

"Okay," he said, combing his fingers through Harry's hair. "Move in with me?"

Harry nodded, heart flipping in his chest. "Yes."

"We could find a bigger place," he offered, looking around the tiny flat.

He shrugged and replied, "I'm happy to be anywhere, as long as I’m there with you."

--------------------

Day 170: Geotaxis | Day 171: Tacent

#Drarry #100 drabbles in 100 days #love #angst with a happy ending #marriage proposal #apologies #ewe #Boys In Love #secret relationship #drarry #ficlet #one shot #out of order prompt

[cloudteawrites]

chapter: six ( 15.5k ) rating: mature (death, past abuse, eventual smut) genre: mystery | romance | hurt/comfort tags: bts x reader | ot7 x reader | hybrid | poly summary: when an estranged uncle leaves you his massive fortune you wonder if the universe is playing a joke on you. when that fortune comes with seven hybrids, you know for sure that it is. << first < previous | next > last >>

what is hybrid marking

8.2 million results. 

While scent mixing (heretofore referred to as ‘scenting’) is temporary and lasts a maximum of twelve hours if left undisturbed, scent marking (‘marking’ in common parlance) is semi-permanent. A ‘mark’ is created when the pheromones present in a hybrid’s bodily fluids are applied directly to their markee’s skin. When said chemical compounds seep below the epidermis and bond to the sweat glands found within the dermal layer of the skin, the target has been officially ‘marked’. Between domesticated hybrids and their human caretakers, this is most commonly done by applying hybrid saliva to the skin of the neck, where a human’s scent tends to be strongest. While the behavior involved in marking resembles some aspects of human foreplay, it is a non-sexual expression of mutual trust and affection. It is important to note that most hybrids of age are able to mitigate the oral secretion of pheromones and cannot mark accidentally-

“How do I look?” 

The sound of Jimin’s voice makes you jump. You fumble with your phone, trying to exit out of the website, shove it in your pocket and look at the leopard hybrid’s outfit at the same time.

“You look great!” You tell him once the device is safely tucked away.

He rolls his eyes at you. “You’ve said that about everything I’ve shown you.”

You had, but only because it was true. No matter what the trio of hybrids tried on, they all looked great. You weren’t sure what it was, but seeing them in something other than neutral sweat suits made them look even better than they already had. You were discovering they all had unique senses of fashion too. Taehyung preferred earth tones, soft fabrics and slouchy cardigans, Yoongi tended toward plaid overshirts and dark denim and Jimin had just come out of the dressing room in his sixth button down and second pair of chelsea boots. 

When the four of you had arrived at the mall that afternoon, you’d told them to go wild and call you when they were ready to check out. There was an entire section of the shopping center that catered specifically to hybrids and you were certain they’d be able to find everything they needed and more. You’d been all set to sequester yourself in a booth in the food court and indulge your hybrid research habit, but Taehyung had fixed you with a forlorn look the moment you tried to part with them and Jimin had insisted that you personally review every piece of clothing he put on. You wouldn’t deny that you were having fun, but surreptitiously trying to google what every little thing they did meant without getting caught was getting harder and harder. 

Jimin breezes past you to the semi-circle of mirrors on the far end of the fitting rooms, brushing his tail against your shins as he passes. That was another thing that had changed. Since the talk you’d had with the boys last night, it seemed like they were always finding some excuse to touch you or brush up against you . You didn’t know if it was a manifestation of their cat genes or them just wanting physical reassurance that you were there, but it seemed like every time you turned around there was a tail curling around your calf or a nose tip against your ear or a shoulder brushing your own. You were practically wreathed in them. Even Yoongi hadn’t seemed to mind when your fingertips had brushed against each other at breakfast when you’d passed him the juice. You didn’t know if you should count that as progress, but you want to. 

You’re not entirely used to physical contact and nearly every time Taehyung rubs his cheek on the top of your head or Jimin reaches out to link your fingers together, you jump. It feels strange, to have people be so blatantly physically affectionate with you. It’s not like you dislike it, exactly, it’ll just take some getting used to. Whatever adjustments you need to make, you know you’ll need to make them quickly. You don’t think the hybrids will give up on friendly hugs just because you never initiate them first.  

“Y/N-ah,”Jimin calls, catching your attention. He’s twisting this way and that on the platform, trying to catch his reflection in every possible angle. He hums in disappointment as he turns back to the front, tail waving behind him. “This collar,” he says, tugging on the offending band of bright green plastic around his neck, “-is ruining my outfit. We’ll need to get real ones today.” 

You feel like a stone has settled in your stomach. Your shoulders sag, but if the leopard hybrid notices, he doesn’t say anything. “Yeah,” you reply. “Yeah, you’re right.” In truth, you’d hoped to put it off for a little while longer. Collaring and leashing a hybrid had always seemed odd to you. After all, weren’t they people too? The law was the law, you knew, but something about publicly and visibly marking someone as property...well, the morality of it was gray at best. The temporary collars had provided you with a stay from the inevitable, but there was no avoiding it any longer, you supposed. They’d have to get collars. 

“I saw a store for them a couple shops down,” Taehyung supplies as he steps out of his dressing room in a white linen shirt and cream drawstring pants. “We could go there?” 

“That works for me...Taehyung, one of your buttons is in the wrong hole.” 

The tiger hybrid squints down at his shirt, feels blindly for the hole he missed, but can’t seem to find it. 

“No,” you tell him. “Not that one, the other- do you just want me to fix it?”

He pauses and looks up at you for a solid three seconds before giving a single, slow nod. 

You come to stand in front of him and start undoing the buttons from the top. There’s only four of them but each one you pop open reveals more and more of his honey brown skin and prominent collar bones. Your fingers brush his skin accidentally and he chuffs happily, one hand resting on your lower back as you start buttoning him up again. Heat starts crawling up your neck unbidden. Even through the fabric of your t-shirt, you can feel the warmth of his palm, how long his fingers are. He presses you closer until your arms are nearly flat against your chest as you try to finish buttoning him up. It’s hard to move squished between the insistent pressure of his hand and the- surprisingly- hard line of his body, but you make do. “There!” You pat him gently on the chest as you finish the last button. “All done.”

He dips forward and rubs his cheek against your forehead, rumbling so deep in his chest that the vibrations pass into you. “Thank you.” He releases you and pulls away, but as he does, his lips brush against your hairline. You try not to read too deep into it. 

The tiger hybrid sidles over to his friend in the mirror, wrapping his arms around the smaller man’s waist and dipping his head into his neck. Jimin reaches back and scratches behind one of his ears and your heart swells in your chest. It was nice to see them be so openly affectionate with each other. They’re so close in a way you can’t even begin to understand. It’s beautiful. 

Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you thumb the screen to life. An incoming call from Mr. Seo. “You guys keep trying stuff on,” you tell the pair, already standing to make your way out of the dressing room. “I’ve gotta take this.”  They both call at you to hurry back and you give them a shout of assent as you rush away. 

The second you’re outside the store, you answer. “Hello?”

“Ms. L/N,” Mr. Seo’s voice crackles on the other end of the line. “I trust you’ve settled in well.” It isn’t a question and the tone of his voice makes it clear that he doesn’t wish to spend what precious time he has exchanging pleasantries with you. 

“Yeah, everything’s okay.” Everything had most certainly not been okay when you’d emergency dialed him two days ago about the tiger on your couch. The text he’d sent you back six hours later had told you to figure it out. You had and you knew you weren’t his responsibility, but him tossing you in the deep end was still a sore spot for you. 

“There’s been a change of plans.” 

You grimace. Straight to it, then. “What’s going on?” 

“Black Mountain Canines- the company your uncle purchased two of the hybrids from- changed their pick-up date. They want you to come get them in person today.”

“Pick-up?” You frown. “No, they were supposed to drop them off.”

“They were,” Mr. Seo confirms, “But it’s apparently no longer profitable for them to drive all the way into Seoul to hand-deliver two of their charges. They also claim they’re incurring additional expenses by feeding and housing two hybrids who’ve already been purchased, but we’ll see about that when we arrive.”

Your anxiety spikes and your fingers wrap tighter around your phone. You’d promised the boys a whole day out. All you’d done so far was get them phones of their own and furniture for their room. There was still so much to do, so much to see. “What about Yoongi and Jimin and Taehyung?” You blurt out.

Mr. Seo sighs and his breath crackles over the receiver. “Those are the cats, I assume? I suggest you let them know sooner rather than later that they’ll have to share their space.” There’s a flurry of movement on his end of the line, the sound of someone calling his name and papers shuffling. “I have to go; they need me to look over some case files.” He tells you. “I’ll be at Haneul Tower to pick you up in three hours. Be downstairs waiting.”And the line clicks off. 

You sigh and hang up. What were you going to tell the boys? Day one of your new friendship and you were already breaking promises. 

“Trouble?” Yoongi’s voice right behind you makes you flinch and whirl on him. His ears press back against his head and he takes a step back at your sudden movements. 

“Sorry!” You tell him, forcing your spine to relax. “Sorry, I didn’t notice you there; I thought you were still shopping. ”

“I can tell,” he snarks, but there’s no heat behind it. His eyes trace the line of your shoulders, still tense and flick to the phone in your hand. “I dropped my stuff at the register. What’s going on?”

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek, nerves making your stomach ache. “C’mon,” you tell him, walking back into the store. “Let’s pay and grab some lunch. I’ll tell you when we sit down.” He follows after you a few paces behind, trying not to let worry prick in him at the anxious shift in your scent. Something was about to change, he was sure, and not entirely for the better. 

Twenty minutes later, the four of you are sitting in the food court, a mess of shopping bags at your feet and a bowl of tteokbokki between you. Yoongi and Jimin had picked out all the fish cakes first and were bickering good-naturedly over who the last one should go to, but Taehyung seemed content to just gnaw at his rice cakes. You’d hardly touched anything, your eyes flicking back to the time on your phone. 1:20 P.M. Two hours and forty minutes ‘til Mr. Seo would be at your apartment to pick you up and bring you to get two more of the hybrids your uncle had bought. You push a rice cake around on your paper plate with the end of your chopstick. Well, no point delaying the inevitable. 

“Hey, guys?” You call softly. Three pairs of ears swivel toward you immediately. The words die in your throat and your tongue feels like lead as they look at you, all their eyes focused and expectant. You clear your throat and force yourself to continue. “So...you know how I…” You search for the right word, but there’s really no other way to say it. “...inherited you guys from my uncle?” 

Taehyung’s eyes flick toward Jimin and the leopard hybrid brushes his tail against the tiger’s. Silent communication you couldn’t even begin to decipher. “Yeah,” Yoongi says, tossing his chopsticks down and leaning back in his chair. “I told them.”

That was right. What you’d blurted out at Yoongi yesterday on the street you had yet to disclose to his juniors. “Thanks, Yoongi,” You tell him, meaning every word of it. He’d spared you from yet another uncomfortable conversation. 

“...For what it’s worth, we’re glad it’s you,” Taehyung tells you, his tail twining around your ankle under the table. He looks at his hyungs for confirmation and when neither of them deny it, he settles his amber gaze back on you. “We like being here with you, even if you didn’t pick us. It’s...It’s nice.”

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips at his words. He beams at you, his boxy smile soft despite the sharp incisors poking his bottom lip. “I like having you guys around, too,” you admit, taking the time to meet each of their eyes. Jimin purrs as you look at him, the corners of his mouth curling. When your gaze meets Yoongi’s, his ears twitch but he doesn’t look away. He doesn’t blink either, just holds your stare with an intensity that makes heat crawl up your neck. You suddenly remember the warm stretch of his body over your’s, the sensation of his lips against your neck. You snatch your eyes away and cough to cover your lapse in speech.  “It would’ve been scary, I think, if I had to deal with all this alone.” 

You couldn’t even imagine it.That clinically clean apartment with its blank white walls and its imposing emptiness would have driven you down until you couldn’t stand it anymore. You’d always had a little pit of loneliness inside you. You didn’t know how long it’d been there. Maybe it always had been, a seed of something sad and dark at the core of your soul. You’d done well keeping it contained. You felt it in your goshiwon, but your room was small. It couldn’t grow beyond your keeping. In Oliver’s penthouse, it would’ve had endless room to sprawl and with no one to clip it back, you would’ve choked to death on vines of doubt.

“There are others,” you tell them, before you can down spiral into the mire of your own thoughts. “He bought other hybrids before he died. They weren’t supposed to be coming until next week but their company wants me to come get them today.” 

The mood at the table shifts almost immediately. Taehyung’s ears and tail sag, Jimin’s smile goes sharp at the edges and Yoongi’s lip curls. “How many others?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest. You notice he does that when he’s nervous or uncomfortable. It’s a defense mechanism, no matter how at ease it makes him seem. 

“Four,” you answer and the bobcat hybrid’s ears tilt back in irritation. “Two are coming home today and the other two toward the end of next week.” Jimin doesn’t say anything, but you see the tip of his tail flicking back and forth. He’s annoyed. Taehyung drops a hand onto the smaller hybrid’s back and rubs circles in it, trying to soothe him. 

“Maybe it’ll be okay?” The tiger hybrid offers. He’s trying his best to be diplomatic, but you hear the strain in the deep timbre of his voice. “Having other cats around again might be nice. We used to live with a lot back at the center…”

You wince. “...they’re canines.” Almost immediately, all of their ears go flat against their skulls and they hiss in unison. Yoongi stifles himself the quickest, setting a hand on Jimin’s knee and squeezing to get the leopard hybrid to get a hold of himself. 

“Hybrids of different species don’t play well together,” he explains. “Especially not when our animals are solitary in the wild. The only reason Jimin, Tae and I are able to stand sharing the same territory is because we’ve known each other since we were kids and we’ve had to do it before.”

Before? A question forms in the back of your mind, but now isn’t the time to ask it.

“We don’t like sharing what’s ours,” Jimin continues for his hyung, interlocking his fingers with yours on the plastic table top. “It’s instinctual.”

“I know, I know.” You squeeze his hand lightly, trying to reassure him. “But the apartment is big; can’t you avoid each other starting out?”

All three of them give you a strange look and Jimin’s lips curl in a way that isn’t quite a smile. “...right,” he purrs, a little delayed. “The apartment.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, anxiety sinking its claws into you. “I’m really sorry to spring this on you guys, I know it’s not great, but…” Your shoulders sag. “I don’t want to have promised someone a home and rip the rug out from under them, you know?” You knew what that felt like. You wouldn’t wish that feeling on your worst enemy. “I’m just...I’m worried that they’re not being treated well.”

“They were up for sale,” Yoongi drawls. “They definitely aren’t.” 

The taxi ride back to Haneul Tower is uncomfortably quiet. Jimin still holds your hand and Taehyung still leans on your shoulder, but nobody says a word. You help them carry their bags upstairs and drop them off in the master bedroom. You’d told them they could have separate rooms if they wanted, but they’d insisted on sharing, so you thought it was only fair that they get the largest room in the penthouse. Clothes went onto hangars and into closets and before you knew it, there were only ten minutes until Mr. Seo’s arrival. 

“You don’t have to go,” Taehyung huffs. He’s got you wrapped in a bear- well, you suppose a tiger hug and his cheek is mashed against the top of your head. You don’t even think he’s actively scenting you at this point, just keeping you from leaving. “Send your assistant instead and stay here with us.”

You let out a puff of laughter and pat the hybrid on the back in a way you hope is soothing. “Mr. Seo isn’t my assistant, buddy, he’s my uncle’s attorney.” You give a little tug away from him and he lets you go, albeit with a sad little mrow that makes him sound just like a disappointed cat. “I couldn’t ask him to do that. The only reason he’s coming is because they broke the contract. And I can’t drive.” 

The look Taehyung gives you is so downtrodden that you toy with the idea of calling the whole day off and staying with them- but no. You can’t bail out now, especially not with what you’d put Mr. Seo through when the first group of hybrids were delivered. “I’ll be back before you know it,” You tell him with a steadfast smile. 

“You’d better,” Jimin says, nudging the taller hybrid out of the way. Taehyung gives a half-hearted growl, but settles as Yoongi squeezes his shoulder. “The longer you’re away, the longer you’ll have to sit in the stench of those mutts.”

You frown. “Jimin-”

“Only joking,” He soothes, bringing both of your hands up to his cheeks. You don’t believe him, but you don’t press it. The leopard hybrid nuzzles into your palms, purring happily at the feeling of your skin against his. Your palms nearly burn from how warm he is. You feel a warm puff of air against your fingers and tense as Jimin presses all ten of them against his lips. 

“Jimin.” Yoongi’s voice is hard, but his junior’s lips curl up in a satisfied smile, one of his incisors pricking at the pad of your index finger. 

“Hurry back,” he murmurs. You try not to shiver at the feeling of his plush lips moving against your oversensitive fingertips. 

“I’ll do my best!” You say,  a pained smile tugging your lips apart. He hums in response and drops your hands, his fingers trailing across yours as he lets you go. 

“Hyung,” he calls over his shoulder. “Is there anything you’d like to say to Y/N-ah?”

“Don’t let them scent you.” Is all Yoongi says as he breezes toward the stairs. “You know better now.” 

It’s as much as you were expecting. “I’ll see you guys later,” You tell them as you head out the door. “Finish setting your phones up and text me if you need anything!”

True to his word, Mr. Seo is parked out front at 4 o’clock on the dot. You haven’t seen him in a little over a week and you’d almost forgotten how imposing he was. He cuts a sharp figure against the backdrop of the bustling street, dressed in all black and leaning against a brand new Buick Enclave. The poor valet stationed at the front door looks like he’s been trying to work up the courage to ask to park his car for the past twenty minutes and sags in relief as you start heading over.

The lawyer dips his head in acknowledgement at you and checks his watch. “Miracle of miracles,” he says, popping open the passenger side door for you. “You’re on time.”

“I was late one time,” you huff, sliding past him and into your seat.

“And that was enough,” he snips back, closing your door before you can come up with a retort. You grumble to yourself, but don’t press him. You know he’s right. He’d gone out of his way to help you and you’d put him out. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him as he settles into his seat and reaches for his seatbelt. “It won’t happen again; I know you’ve got other things to do.”

He stills and looks at you over the gold frames of his glasses. For a long moment he holds your gaze, unblinking. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek. Had you done something wrong? 

Finally Mr. Seo blinks and finishes buckling himself in. “I apologize for staring, I wasn’t sure if I’d heard you correctly.” He push starts his car and pulls away from the curb. “I never thought I’d see the day a L/N would apologize to me.” He edges the car into the steady stream of Seoul traffic and you’re off, zooming toward the freeway.

Silence fills the car again, but as Mr. Seo takes on-ramp, you work up the courage to ask your question. “Did Oliver never apologize to you?”

Mr. Seo snorts and it’s such an undignified sound that you almost can’t believe it comes from him. “You could tell your uncle the sky was blue and he’d argue that it was red until he was. And your grandfather-” He seems to catch himself, reigning back whatever meager bits of his personality had managed to slip through the cracks in his normally flawless veneer. You’re all ears.

Up until a week and a half ago, you hadn’t known you had any family, much less an uncle who owned buildings and bugattis. Now you were finding out that you had a grandfather too. “What about my grandfather?” The word feels strange in your mouth. It’d been years since you’d followed the word ‘my’ up with any type of familial relation. 

Mr. Seo cuts his eyes at you, and flicks them back to the front. “Nothing,” he replies, clearly done talking about him. “I spoke out of turn.” He reaches forward and turns on the radio, the sound of national news filling the silence.

You pout and slouch in your seat, disappointment setting in as the promise of new information slipped out of your grasp.

The rest of the drive is easy. Mr. Seo takes the highway out of Seoul and up into the foothills but you’re asleep before he even finds the exit. You’d slept more in the past two days than you had in the previous three weeks, but it seemed like years of bad habits were catching up to you.

Last night, you’d passed out halfway through the second movie snuggled up between Jimin and Taehyung. They’d been so warm and soft and the quiet thrumming of their heartbeats had lulled you to sleep before you knew what was happening.You’d woken up with them still curled around you and -maybe most surprising of all- Yoongi plating breakfast in the kitchen.

Still, it seemed even twelve hours of the best sleep you’d gotten in years and a peaceful morning devoid of stress -for the most part- hadn’t been enough.

You wake up just as the asphalt transitions into gravel, the sound of it crunching under the tires and the car’s shaking waking you up. You’re bleary-eyed and confused, but a sign up ahead snaps you to wakefulness. Standing like a guardian over a chain link fence topped with barbed wire is a metal sign, imposing as it is tall: Black Mountain K-9s, written in stark font.

“We’re here,” Mr. Seo says, as if it’s not obvious. He kills the engine and without its purring to distract you, you feel nerves starting to boil in your belly. What kind of place was this? You half expect sinister organ music to kick on and lightning to start flashing from black clouds. Neither of those things happen, though. The sky remains startlingly clear and the only things you can pick up are the sounds of whistles being blown, dozens of people doing call and response, and one voice, louder than all the others screaming for people to ‘Run faster! Get those knees up!’

You pop the door and step out of the car before Mr. Seo can open it for you and head around to the nose of the car, taking in the compound. 

“This facility produces some of the highest caliber bodyguards in the country,” He says, coming to stand beside you. The attorney rebuttons his suit jacket and flicks his sleeves up before settling his arms over his chest. “Politicians, celebrities, even a few former presidents all have hybrids from this training center.”

“It looks more like a prison,” You remark, nodding toward the barbed wire. “First big cat hybrids, now this...Why didn’t Oliver just get regular pets if he was lonely? Was he worried someone was after him?” 

“Anything I can tell you would be pure speculation,” He replies, walking away from you and heading for the callbox. “Your uncle very rarely confided in me.”

“But you were his attorney.” 

For just a second, the tight grip Mr. Seo has on his composure slips. His lips press together and his shoulders sag- but just as quickly as it’d lapsed, his mask is in place again. “Yes,” he says after a beat. “I was.” And he presses the button on the call box before you can pester him with any more questions about the dead men he’d known.

The call box crackles to life, speakers squealing with feedback. You flinch and slap your hands over your ears to protect them from the splitting sound. Mr. Seo doesn’t react at all and you’re stunned, wondering how he can stand it.

“Seo Seunghan and Y/N L/N for Lim Hangyeol.” 

The person on the other end doesn’t respond. The speaker cuts and a second later, the metal gate before you starts rolling to the side, pushed by invisible hands. It’s like a curtain going up at the theater. 

Before you lies a wide, dusty yard, devoid of any plant life. The thick-trunked trees and lush grasses of the surrounding mountainside had been stripped down to the roots here. All that remains are a few weeds poking out around the base of the long metal buildings that ring the fence, and even those seem like an intrusion. People are making use of the space in whatever way they can. A group of people with matching cropped black ears and docked tails run past you in four straight lines, all perfectly in step with each other. Over to your right, there’s a pack of teenagers working in pairs to scale a ten-foot tall sheer wooden wall and in the center of the field, twenty kids are running through taekwondo forms, supervised by a widely smiling instructor.

You’re in awe of it all. Every single person is like a cog in a well-oiled machine, all in the same black tactical pants and compression shirt. You’d never seen so many hybrids in one place before and certainly not all of the same breed.

Mr. Seo places a hand in the center of your back, steering you away from staring and toward a squat cement building.You let him lead you.

“When we get inside,” the lawyer begins, his voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “Let me speak first. If we can get him to admit to breaching the contract right away, it’ll be much easier to get him to agree to a settlement.”

You frown at that. “Why would we settle?” You ask him. “It’s not like I need the money.”

“It’s a matter of principle, Ms. L/N.” He sighs, pulling open the heavy metal door and ushering you into the building. “He did something wrong, and it’s most easy for him to bear the brunt of atonement financially. Without requiring damages be paid for breaches, contract law would collapse.” 

“Can’t you just have him apologize?”

Mr. Seo’s mouth twists up like he’s just tasted something unpleasant. “As you attorney, it is my duty to advise you against accepting restitution in the form of an apology. You’ll get a reputation for being a pushover.” 

You wanted to be anything but. “Alright, alright,” you concede, “Do whatever you think is best.”

The building you’ve ducked into seems to be an office. Along one wall are a set of metal folding chairs doing their best impression of a waiting room. Along the other is a metal door covered in peeling paint and one suspicious dent bearing a plaque that reads ‘DIRECTOR LIM’. Set between you and it is a desk covered in a mess of paperwork. An old desktop stands among it like an island in the ocean and middle aged hybrid woman in coke bottle glasses is hunched before it, tapping away at the keyboard at a mind-boggling speed. One of her ears twitches as the pair of you approach. 

“Take a seat,” she orders in a reedy voice, not bothering to look up from her work. “The Director will be with you shortly.”

“Send them in, Eunjung!” Someone shouts from behind the metal door  just as she’s finished. She doesn’t look up or stop typing or even acknowledge you two again. Mr. Seo takes it upon himself to breeze past her desk and open the door for you. 

The office is militaristically organized, all right angles and bare metal surfaces. There’s a black leather couch that’d seen better days to your left as you enter, a half empty water cooler to your right. Bookshelves lined with trophies and textbooks dominate the western wall. You scan the titles as you pass: Predatory Instinct: The Teaching and Training Canines, The Utility of Force, On Raising Hybrids, The Art of War, all dangerous and daunting as the man they belonged to.

Lim Hangyeol is the most grizzled man you’ve ever seen and the only other human besides yourself and Mr. Seo in the compound, it seems. He looks like a drill sergeant from an old action movie, his salt and pepper hair buzzed short and his face craggy with frown lines. There’s a semicircle of pockmark scars marring the skin of his right cheek and as you get closer, you realize they’re teeth marks. You shoot a concerned look to Mr. Seo, but he’s more focused on giving the director a shallow bow than allaying any of your fears. 

“Director,” He says, straightening back up. “Thank you for having us-”

“Spare me the bullshit,” The older man orders, kicking back his office chair and sinking back into it. “Take a seat. Let’s talk business.” 

A cold smile settles on your attorney’s lips and you see a cord twitching in his jaw, but he merely nods and replies in a breezy voice, “Of course.” 

The two of you do as you told, settling into two metal chairs in front of his desk. These ones are nicer than the folding ones in the waiting room, but no more comfortable. You try to slide yours forward only to find that it’s bolted to the floor. 

“Stops the dogs from throwin’ em when they get bad news,” Director Lim tells you as you uselessly tug at the legs. “Got tired of replacing windows.”

You grimace. If the awards on the bookshelf, what Mr. Seo had told you and the dozens of hybrids running boot camp drills outside were any indication, the man before you must’ve had some idea what he was doing. You didn’t end up providing security for high profile public figures without a smidge of credibility, you knew, but the bite marks on his cheek, the little crack about people throwing chairs at him and the way he’d referred to them as ‘dogs’ didn’t inspire confidence in you. 

This was your first time visiting a place that produced hybrids, you realized. You’d never even been into a shelter before and certainly not a breeding center. Were they all like this? Devoid of anything soft or comforting, rigid with rules and regulations? Had Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung come from a place like this? You don’t know and you’re not sure you’d like the answer if you did. 

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us on such short notice,” Mr. Seo starts, popping open the hinges on his briefcase and pulling out a few sheaves of paper. “After the sudden cancellation of your company’s contract with Ms. L/N, I was concerned for the state of our business relationship.” He slides one of the packets across the desk to the director. 

“If I remember correctly,” Director Lim says, scanning the lines of ink and unintelligible legalese, “Me and your boss signed for delivery, not me and whoever this little girl is you brought.” 

Your eyes narrow and your lips curl, but before you can give voice to the nasty thing crawling up your throat, Mr. Seo gives a subtle shake of his head and taps you twice on the knee, out of eyeshot of the director. You grumble, but cage it behind your teeth. 

“See?” The man jabs one gnarled finger at the page, right over your late uncle’s flourishing signature. “It says it right there: L/N Oliver. Last I checked, he was dead. I’m not holding on to a dead man’s dogs. ”

That same muscle tenses in Mr. Seo’s jaw. “The contract states that Black Mountain Canines would deliver the hybrids my client purchased to his residence on December the eighteenth and that they would be received by a proxy if he was unavailable. You were made aware of the fact that he was unavailable, as well as the fact that he now has a proxy-

“I’ll pay the goddamn fine!” The Director barks, throwing his hands up in the air. “Christ above, I don’t know why he wanted those two fuck-ups in the first place, but I don’t want them on my property a second longer.” 

You shoot Mr. Seo a look of confusion, but he just watches, blasé, as the Director rifles through his desk drawers. The man finds what he’s looking for and drops two manila folders on top of the contract. “The pair of them are useless. If it weren’t for my reputation, I’d’ve had them both sent to shelters years ago. Or put down, but you know how touchy the law is about that.”

“I don’t.” You say, your voice edging dangerously close to a snarl. It slips out before you can stop it. Mr. Seo shoots you a warning look and you ball your fists up in your sweater sleeves, fingernails biting crescent moons into your palms with the effort of keeping your mouth shut. 

You can’t stand this man, you decide. He’s awful. You should’ve known that from the moment you saw elementary school aged hybrids stumbling through taekwondo drills with their ears taped and bandages on their tails. You’re going to take whatever hybrids Oliver bought, get them the fuck out of there and never look back. 

If Director Lim had heard you growl at him, he gives no sign of it, just flips open the folders. “To be honest, I should be paying you to take them off my hands. They’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass since they aged out of training. I told your uncle he could have his pick of the litter for what he was paying, but he wanted a wide-eyed buffoon and a mutt who’d rip your hand off soon as look at you.” Clipped to the insides are photos of two men, staring back at you in black and white. 

One has the same black and tan cropped ears as every other hybrid you’ve seen thus far. Unlike them, he’s smiling. His eyes are little upturned crescent moons and he beams at you through the photo paper. There’s so much light in his face it’s nearly blinding. 

The other is not nearly as inviting. The photo is taken at an odd angle and it’s blurry at the edges, like whoever took it was much shorter than the subject and had to zoom in to even get the shot. His ears, larger than any of the other hybrids and longer furred, are pinned back against his head. His jaw is clenched and he glowers down into the lens, one eye soot black and the other piercing blue. 

There are stats listed on the pages behind their photos: height, weight, shot records and the like. Among them, you see their call signs, highlighted in yellow: Hope and Monster. 

“I don’t know where I went wrong with him,” the director says, tapping Hope’s photo. “He went through all the training, passed all the tests, but when it comes down to it, he just doesn’t have the instinct.” He gives a single shake of his head, clicks the tip of his tongue against his teeth. “No one wants a guard dog that’d sooner talk an intruder’s ear off than actually guard what he’s supposed to. He’s not good for much but nannying the pups, but he’s too soft on them too.”

A light bulb clicks on and you realize the hybrid in question had been the one instructing the kids outside in the center of the yard, his tail wagging a mile a minute as they completed another form correctly.

“Now this bastard…” the director continues, jamming a finger onto the second photo with so much force, it rattled the cup of pens on his desk. “Is my biggest failure.” He crosses his arms and kicks back in his chair, his dislike of the hybrid in question obvious. “His mother was the cornerstone of this facility for nearly a decade. I sold her pups to assemblymen and actors alike. Centers around the country wanted pups with her genetics. If it weren’t for her, we’d never have grown to this size.” He sounds wistful as he spreads his hands out, gesturing around himself like a king taking in his holdings. “But all good things come to an end,” He sighs. “A pack of wild hybrids settled a little higher up on the mountain.” His face darkens and his lips twist. “Wolves,” he snarls with all the disdain he can muster. 

“All that about them being noble and self-sacrificing? Complete and utter bullshit,” He scoffs. “They’re transient lowlifes who’d slit your throat as soon as look at you. At first I didn’t care. They stayed on their side of the mountain and I stayed on mine, but then they started sneaking down here at night to steal my food and fuck my dogs. By the time I managed to get the cops out here, they’d cleared out and my top breeder had gone with them.”

He let out a low chuckle and shook his head. “I tell you, I thought I was ruined. But wouldn’t you know it, she came stumbling back here six months later, barefoot and howling to be let in and heavy with some wild thing’s pup.” Director Lim snaps both the folders shut and slides them to you across the desk. “The thing about breeding hybrids is, the money’s all in the bloodlines. No one wants a dog with mystery genetics. The only way to solve that problem is to cut it off at the root- but it was already too late by the time she got here.” 

You feel sick to your stomach. You hope he isn’t implying what you think he is- that hybrid children he hadn’t planned out himself were mistakes in need of correction- but you know he is. Deep in your gut you know.

“And she spoiled him. She let him run roughshod over everyone and everybody in this compound. I tried telling her wild hybrids need a firmer hand- he certainly did if we were gonna break that wolf he’s got inside him, but she wouldn’t hear it. I tried to crop him with the other pups his age, he gave me these,” he said, gesturing to the teeth marks in his cheeks. “We keep him shut up away from the others, now, in the back when he can’t bother anyone. He gets his meals delivered but we don’t ever let him out.” The grizzled man shakes his head. “A drain on resources is what he is.”

“And his mother?” You ask, quietly. 

“Eunjung?” he questions. “You met her on the way in.” The director stands and unclips a ring of keys from his belt buckle, making his way around the desk and gesturing for you and Mr. Seo to follow. “I’ve got her doing desk work now. Gotta keep her close so she doesn’t cause any more trouble.” He pushes open the door to his office, barks something at his secretary and steps outside, not looking back to see if you two are following. 

You shoot Mr. Seo a look before you stand and he meets it, evenly. “We’ll discuss this in the car,” he says, stuffing papers back into his briefcase and flicking the clasps shut. Oh, you most certainly will discuss ‘it’ in the car. 

You don’t really know what it is or where to even begin. The kids with bandaged ears? The fact that Director Lim seemingly decided who was allowed to see the sun and who wasn’t? You think back to the conversation you’d had with Jimin, Taehyung and Yoongi last night. Right now, it seems years away, in some unreachable, idyllic past before you knew how breeding centers worked and how security hybrids were made. You feel foolish. Who were you to try to get them to let go of their pain and their hurt? If what they’d been through was even a little like what was going on here, they wouldn’t be able to for a long time. You’re angry. You’re disgusted. You are unquantifiably fucking sad. 

You pass Eunjung on your way out. In your time in the director’s office, she’s pulled her ash brown hair into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck. Peeking out of the collar of her sweatshirt you can see a faded scar in the shape of a ring, little puncture marks pale and glossy. It looked similar to the one on the director’s cheek, but this one was a complete circle and not ragged at all, like she’d stayed completely still while it was given. Teeth marks. 

You swallow. You want to do something, to give her some words of encouragement, but you have no idea what to say. You still don’t as you slow to a stop beside her desk, but you open your mouth to speak anyway. “I’m sorry,” You tell her, with all the sincerity in your heart. 

She doesn’t answer, but one cropped ear flicks toward you and her fingers slow in their incessant race across her keyboard. 

You turn to go. Mr. Seo was holding the door open for you and you can hear the director barking orders at a group of trainees to run an obstacle course faster. Just as you set foot over the threshold, she speaks. Her voice is so quiet, you have to strain to hear her over the steady clack-click-clack of her nails on the keys. 

“He likes green things,” she says, not looking up from her work. “And old books.” 

You look over your shoulder at her. Her face is a mask of neutrality, her eyes clear and her mouth set in a relaxed line. She looks fine, but there’s an ocean of meaning behind her words. You see her, just for a moment, as she’d been all those years ago, barefoot in the snow and begging for shelter, her stomach full with one of the moon’s own children. You commit the sight of her to memory. Then you turn and you go.

The director is waiting outside, shielding his eyes from the sun and regaling Mr. Seo with some long-winded explanation on the best way to treat hip dysplasia in Doberman hybrids. “Where to?” you ask, effectively cutting him off mid-sentence. 

The man gives you a disgruntled look but despite the anxiety you feel spiking in your belly, you meet it evenly. Once upon a time, anyone in a position of authority looking at you the way he was would’ve sent you into a tailspin of self-doubt and nerves, leaving you shivering as your heartbeat thrummed in your ears, warning you of non-existent danger. If you were honest, it still did- but you didn’t have the luxury of running away and hiding anymore, not when there were people who needed you. 

“Hope’s bags are in the barracks. He just needs to grab them, and he can be on his merry way,” The direction grunts. “Monster’s still locked up, so I’ll-”

“I’ll go.” You can feel Mr. Seo stiffen beside you. 

“Ms. Y/N-”

“If he’s really that aggressive,” you start, your eyes not leaving the director’s for a moment. “Wouldn’t it be better for me to meet him now instead of when we’re packed into a car on a two hour car ride?” Director Lim narrows his eyes at you, but you don’t falter. You hold your hand out for the key. Your boldness surprises you. He drops the key ring into your open palm and you wrap your fingers around it, stuffing it in your pocket before he can snatch them back. You turn on your heels and march off in the direction he tilts his head in, nothing but a hiss of your name from Mr. Seo’s lips to accompany you. 

You walk quickly, eyes straight and willing your legs to go faster with every stride. It’s a long way across the compound but the less time you spend walking, the less time you have to stew in anxiety. None of the hybrids training in little packs spread across the yard pay you any mind- except for Hope. 

Your path takes you directly behind the group of kids he’s working with. You give them a wide berth, not wanting to disturb them, but you get a little distracted. Your steps slow for just a moment as you drink him in. He’s tall- the same height as Taehyung, if you’re judging it right, but there’s an ease about him the tiger hybrid hasn’t yet mastered. Everything about Taehyung is pulled in. He’s always coiled tight, like he’s preparing to spring forward at any moment, all his energy drawn into the center of his being. Even last night, when you’d been cuddled up with him on the couch, he’d pulled you tight against his side, shifting and rearranging himself til you both fit on one cushion. He’d held you tight through both films, his tail curled around the both of you and his spine tight, like if he let himself relax for a moment, you’d both turn to dust on the wind. 

Hope has no such fear. Everything about him is spread wide open, from the heart-shaped smile on his lips to his arms as he demonstrates a series of punches to his little pack of students. They all watch him with rapt attention, ears perked up and bandaged tails wagging. One of them asks him a question and he laughs, ruffles their hair. He laughs in a way you’ve never seen before, shoulders shaking like he can’t contain the force of it alone. It makes your heart flip. 

His ears twitch, picking up the change in the cadence of your footsteps. He looks up and your eyes meet for the first time. He looks surprised to see you, for a moment, face blank- but then it melts into a soft smile, brimming with affection you’ve done nothing to earn. You snatch your gaze away and fix it to the dirt in front of you, embarrassed at being caught. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him cock his head to the side in confusion, but he doesn’t go after you. All the better, you’re all but running away from him now. 

You shuffle across the compound in a blur of scuffed sneakers and frayed nerves. You barely give yourself time to look up at the small cinder block building before you, shoving the key in the padlock before you can lose what unearned confidence you have left. You twist it, yank the rusted thing open, take a deep breath and enter.

You don’t know what you’d been expecting, but it’s certainly not what you find. The way Director Lim had spoken about him and this place, you’d been expecting cobwebs on the ceiling, blood spatters on the wall and rusty nails on the floor. What’s before you is almost entirely the opposite.

The room is a veritable Eden. 

There are vines climbing every available wall, wrapping around structural posts and digging their way between concrete blocks. Every surface is crammed full of flowering plants in makeshift pots: lilies in old water jugs, violets in a worn out boot, black-eyed susans dripping orange petals from an upturned helmet. The floor is in a similar state, ferns and foxgloves turning what little space around his bed there is into a meadow. It’s beautiful. 

“He likes green things,” you marvel, stepping into the room and pushing the door shut behind you. It seemed every living thing that’d been uprooted to expand the compound had found a second life here, sheltered from the Director’s violence. Maybe the hybrid who lived here had too. 

A plant different from all the others catches your eye. It’s set up on the cardboard box serving as his bedside table and it’s the only one in a real pot from what you can tell. It looks just like a miniature tree, complete with knobs on it’s trunk and tiny leaves. You let out a little sound of wonder and crouch in front of it, your fingers reaching out on their own to trail across the delicate branches-

A massive hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you cold. “Don’t touch that.” 

You hadn’t heard him approach, but now you knew he was there. You could feel his presence behind you, heavy and warm. He’s looming over you. You swallow and make your arm go limp in his grip. No need to give him a reason. “I won’t,” You tell him. “Will you please let go of my wrist?”

He drops your arm without protest and relief floods your body. You weren’t sure if there was a hybrid version of lockjaw and you certainly weren’t itching to find out. You sit back on your heels and struggle to your feet, still hyper aware of the person behind you, his eyes boring holes into the back of your head. By the time you turn around, he’s back where he came from, standing in the entrance for a bathroom you hadn’t seen, half hidden behind a curtain of vines. 

He looks different than the others. You’d been expecting that, but the full-length fluffy tail held stiffly behind his back and the long-furred ears pointed away from you are still a surprise. His fur, instead of being in rigid black and tan points, is marked by whorls of black, brown and gray. Instead of the lean musculature all the other hybrids had -all trim waists and narrow ankles- he’s sturdier, his shoulders broad and the veins in his forearms popping as he clenches his fists. He’s looking at you with that mismatched glare, his chin tilted toward his chest and his eyes shining aquamarine and obsidian. 

“If you’re new,” he starts, voice raspy. “They should’ve told you: you’re supposed to knock before you come in.”

“No, I’m not-”

“You can leave the food over there.” He nods toward a little plastic folding table jammed into one corner. It’s the one surface in his room that’s devoid of plants and there’s nothing on it besides a metal cafeteria tray, licked clean. “I won’t move when your back is turned.”

“I’m not here to deliver your food.”

He frowns, brows drawing together as his shoulders tense. “Then why are you…?”

You ball your hands up in your sweater sleeves and turn to face him full on. “I’m here to take you home with me.” You tell him. “They didn’t tell you?”

He laughs, but it’s a cold sound, devoid of joy. “Nobody tells me anything.”

Based on the short conversation you’d had with Director Lim, his sudden cancellation of contracts and the way he seemed ready to bulldoze over anything and everyone that didn’t fit his agenda, he didn’t seem the sharing type. Still it was hard to believe he hadn’t told him he’d be leaving the compound that’s been his home for over twenty years. 

“You don’t have to come with me,” you add, softly. “If you don’t want to. I know I’m a stranger. But you can leave-”

“I can’t go anywhere.” He taps the collar around his neck. At first, you’d thought it was the same as the ones every other hybrid had been wearing. You can see now that it isn’t. Theirs had all been leather with thin silver buckles holding them in place. His was leather too, but the band was broader and double-layered. There’s a little box on the side with hinges and a small drawing of a lighting bolt. A shock collar. 

Your stomach turns. 

You take a slow step toward him, but the second you do, his ears go flat against his head and he pulls his lips back, revealing sharp teeth. You freeze, hands held up and the keys dangling from your thumb. “I have the keys,” you say, extending them toward him. 

His eyes flick from your face, to the keys in your hand and back again, like he doesn’t believe what’s happening, like he can’t believe you’d actually want him free. The silence drags out into a little eternity before he speaks again. “If I try to unlock it, it’ll shock me.”

You blink up at him and risk another slow step forward, hoping you’ve caught his meaning correctly. This time, he doesn’t growl but his ears stay pinned back as he watches you through narrowed eyes. You close the distance between the two of you. 

When you were six, your mom scraped together enough money to take you to Busan for your birthday. You’d spent the day down at the beach, building sand castles with sea shell windows and wading through tide pools. After the sun had set, someone had set off fireworks and you’d watched them cuddled up in your mom’s arms, eyes wide and filled with a riot of colors you had no name for. It’s strange, you know. The ocean is miles away, but that’s what he smells like: the sea and the sand, and the last curls of smoke from homemade bottle rockets. He smells like that day. 

You lift your hands to the clasp on his neck and slide the key home. You twist it and the collar falls to the ground, a monster that can’t hurt him anymore. His skin is warm under your fingers, but puckered with scar tissue. There’s a ring of it around his neck, branching with whatever current had run through him in different directions. There’s no way this was legal, no way anyone with half a heart could treat another person like this. Your fingers trail one of the splits over his adam’s apple and he swallows beneath your touch, snatching your wrist again. 

“Dont.” His voice is cold. You blink, shaking off whatever spell you’d been under and shuffle back quickly, eager to give him space. He cradles his throat with one long-fingered hand, massaging the skin. He rolls his neck and you look away. You shouldn’t stare; the last thing you want is to make him uncomfortable. “I’ll go with you,” he rasps, answering the question before you can ask it again.

You gape for a second. You really hadn’t expected it to be that easy. “Really?” You can’t stop a note of relief from creeping into your voice.

“Anywhere’s better than here.” He answers back. So, you were a means to an end. It doesn’t bother you. You’ll be whatever you need to be to get him away from this place and that man who seemed to only want to drive him down. 

“Do you need time to pack, or-?”

He gives a firm shake of his head. “There’s nothing from this place I want to keep.” And that’s the end of it. You push open the door and stride back out into the cold mountain air, trying your best to exude the confidence you know you lack. The hybrid slinks behind you, head hunched between his shoulders and every step stiff. He hesitates at the threshold and looks up at you, uncertainty written in the rigid line of his spine. He’s nervous. He has every right to be. 

How long had he spent in that little cinderblock room, shut away from every living thing? How long had he spent being told that he was a monster? You didn’t believe it, not for one second. No one who was as violent as the director had painted him out to be could’ve raised that garden. 

He leans out of the door frame, sniffs the air and lurches forward, out of the shadow of his room, His shoulders bunch up even higher around his head and he goes stiff like he’s waiting for a shock or a shot or a shout- but none comes. The sun is still shining and he’s barefoot in the sand, standing for the first time in years under the open sky. He exhales in a short puff and it looks like he’s going to walk beside you- but he turns on his heels on goes back inside. 

You make a little noise of distress in the back of your throat. Had he changed his mind? Did he not want to come with you anymore? You go to call his name out of concern- but realize you don’t know it. All you have is the call sign he’d been given and you sure as fuck aren’t calling him ‘Monster’. You don’t have to flounder for long. He comes back out two seconds later, cradling the bonsai that’d caught your attention to his chest. 

“I’ll take this,” he mutters, shuffling into place behind you. You can’t smother the smile that starts tugging at your lips. Yeah, no one hateful would hold a little tree with as much tenderness as an infant. 

You give him a little nod. “There’s a terrace where I live,” you tell him, starting your trek across the yard once again. “It’s got a garden and a little greenhouse on it. It’s not very big, and it’s not as pretty as your’s, but you could grow new things there, if you wanted.”

His ears twitch in response, but he keeps his glower firmly focused on the plant in his arms as he shuffles along beside you. It’s then you notice he’s barefoot. “Do you wanna go back and get your shoes?” You ask, trying to make the question sound as innocuous as possible.

“Don’t have any,” he grumbles back. “Don’t need them; I never go outside.” 

Alright, that was understandable. Your first stop when you got back into the city would be a shoe store to get him a pair to wear- or maybe not with the way he kept flinching every time a whistle blew and his ears were swivelling like satellites at each new sound that reached them. You chew the inside of your lip. You don’t want to ask, but you know you should. Better to rip the bandaid off now, than get surprised later. “How long were you shut in for?”

“Fourteen.” He bites out. 

“...weeks?” You venture. There's a hopeful uptick at the end of your words. Even that would’ve been horrible, even that would be worthy of the litany of profanity you’re mentally lobbing at Director Lim- but it’s still better than the truth. 

The hybrid cuts a flat look at you out of the corner of his eyes. “Years.” 

A wall of your scent hits him like a freight train, vacillating between the thick, cloying odor of sadness and the burn of anger. His nose wrinkles at it, brows drawing together in confusion. 

However little you might’ve known about hybrids, however limited your view of them was, you knew they weren’t supposed to be locked up. Domesticated hybrids like hamsters and cats might’ve been fine inside a house all day, assuming they still had regular interaction with people- but dogs weren’t. And he was half wolf. Wild, he’d have had dozens of square miles to roam over, and he’d been limited to a four-by-four yard room for fourteen years. Your goshiwon was a similar size, but it hadn’t been your whole world. All he’d had was one tiny window and what narrow view he’d managed to glimpse in the doorway when his meals were delivered. 

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but you’re cut off by a scream of delight and a snarl keying up in the hybrid next to you’s chest. Your jaw snaps shut with a click. 

A few yards ahead, there’s a group of kids wrestling in a massive pile. They’re all giggling and rolling over each other, tails wagging a mile a minute as they play bite and make grabs for the person at the center of their puppy pile. A head of black hair and a pair of cropped ears pop up and you see that it’s Hope, smiling bright as the sun as his students try to pin him. 

“You can’t leave!” One particularly determined kid yips, adamantly pushing his shoulder back to the sand. “Who’s gonna teach us?”

Hope just laughs.”Lisa is gonna teach you with the older kids-“

A chorus of disappointed barks and howls breaks out. “Ms. Lisa’s classes are too hard!” A little girl complains.

“Yeah!” Someone else chimes in. “And she’s strict!” 

The hybrid ruffles both kid’s hair affectionately, careful of their bandaged ears. “Just because she won’t let you get away with skipping night practice doesn’t mean she’s strict,” he laughs. He’s only met with more grumbles and complaints. 

It warms your heart to see. Even if these kids were at the mercy of their director -for now, at least- it was good that they had him to rely on. Your eyes meet and the sheer force of light in his face makes your own heat up. You look away, but he’s spotted you. He disentangles himself from the mess of kids and draws himself up to his full height. He’s in the same uniform he was in before, albeit with a black tactical bag now strapped to his back. He takes a step toward you and the wolfdog hybrid's ears go flat against his skull. He’s not deterred. “Joonie?”  It takes you a second to realize he’s talking to the hybrid next to you. “Kim Namjoon, is that you?” Hope takes one step forward and the hybrid - Namjoon - takes a step back to counter him. Hope looks like he’s going to advance again, but a small pair of hands wrapped around one of his own stops him. 

A little girl is holding on to him. She can’t be more than six years old. Her tail is still long and her ears are still floppy and she looks so small in her child-sized boots and cargo pants. “Mr. Hobi,” she whines, her head craned back to look up at him. “Please don’t go.”

He falters. His eyes flick from the pair of you back down to her, then he crouches, holds both of her hands in his. “I have to, Sowon-ah,” he says softly. 

She sniffles pitifully and juts out her lower lip.”But why?” 

It’s a fair question. You’re about to tell him that he doesn’t have to come with you if he  doesn’t want to, but he beats you to the punch. “Because it’s my job, sweetheart,” he tells her, smiling softly.

“Y-your job is to teach us,” she hiccups back, face growing blotchy as tears well up in her eyes. Hope swipes one of them away with his thumbs. 

“I teach you so you can grow up well and protect your person, right?” She nods, little hands balling the fabric of her cargo pants up in her fists. “Right. Well this,” he continues, turning and looking at you with a soft smile. “Is my person. And I’ve gotta go make sure she stays safe.” 

You feel your heart jump into your throat. He’s looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky and you don’t deserve it. You’ve done nothing to warrant that much unearned loyalty. Sowon rubs at her eyes with the back of her hands and Hope pulls her into a tight hug. 

“Ah, don’t cry, Sowon! You’ve gotta make sure you get stronger so someone takes you home, okay? You don’t wanna get old and still be here like me, right?” He squeezes her and goes to stand, but gets mobbed by his students again, all wanting their own hugs and making him swear to write them letters. It takes another five minutes of tearful goodbyes and Director Lim approaching for them to turn him loose.

“Get back to your training, all of you!” He barks, stomping out of the office and slamming the door, Mr. Seo on his heels. The kids scatter to the four winds almost instantly, not wanting to be underfoot for whatever scolding the director was about to deal out. Hope’s face remains the same but you catch his ears droop just a little as his students leave him. The wolfdog hybrid- Namjoon, you remind yourself- on the other hand has his ears flat against his skull. A growl bubbles up in his chest and rips past his lips. It’s a dark, full bodied thing that has you taking a step back and Hope shrinking with a whine. 

“Joonie-” he pleads. 

“Don’t fucking call me that.” All the fur on Namjoon’s body is standing on end, from the points of his ears to the tip of his tail. Even his hair has fluffed out. His mismatched eyes are narrowed, lips pulled back in a snarl that reveals his incisors and all that fury, all that rage, is leveled on Director Lim. 

To his credit, the grizzled man doesn’t shrink back an inch before the enraged hybrid. His lips twist and he yanks a little remote out of his pocket, mashing a red button in the center. Namjoon flinches, his hands fly to his neck- but nothing happens. The shock collar is gone and the director has no power over him anymore. 

The man in question’s eyes widen, flicking between the remote to the column of Namjoon’s throat, now devoid of his one element of control. “Where’s his collar?” He demands. “How the hell did you get your collar off?” He advances on the tall hybrid, his hand in the air and though he doesn’t stop snarling, Namjoon ducks his head, anticipating the blow. 

You don’t know what moves you. Maybe it’s Hope pleading for it all to ‘stop, just stop!’. Maybit’s how Namjoon knows exactly how to move when he’s about to get hit. Maybe it’s your own lack of self-preservation. Whatever it is, you blink and you’re in front of Namjoon, your hand up and clutching the director’s forearm, stopping him from striking the hybrid behind you. You’re not strong enough to stop him, not fully. Your elbow buckles in and you stumble back, your back pressing into the wolfdog hybrid’s chest.

The director yells something at you, red flooding his face. You can’t hear him over the rushing of blood in your ears, the pounding of your heart. You force a dry swallow down your throat, put on your bravest face and glare up at him. “Don’t hurt him anymore.”

He reaches out with his free hand to tug you out of the way, but before he can touch you, Hope is there. He presses close to your side and holds the director’s wrist firm, his eyes on the sand and his shoulders hunched up by his ears.

Director Lim looks angry enough to spit. “Hell of a time for you to grow a backbone,” he snarls at Hope, making the doberman hybrid flinch. “I want all four of you off my property now.” He snatched his arms free and you don’t miss the nasty glare he casts at Namjoon. “And if this mutt ever shows his face around here again, I’ll-”

“Director Lim,” Mr. Seo cuts in, his voice cool. “You’ve made yourself clear; we’ll leave. You needn’t make threats.” There’s an underlying warning in the attorney’s voice. The director locks his jaw.

“Get out.” He breathes. Hope ducks around him, his head low and his docked tail pressed close to his back. If he could tuck it, you think he would. You follow after him, eyes fixed straight ahead and your back ramrod straight. He might’ve scared the shit out of you, but you weren’t going to let him see that. Mr. Seo fixes you with a hard look and the second you’re within arms reach, he presses a hand to your back and ushers you toward the gate. The only one who remains is Namjoon.

He looks like his anger has rooted him to the spot. His ears are still flat against his head, his lip still curled. 

“Do it, boy,” the director taunts. “Give me a reason-”

“Namjoon.” At the sound of his name, his ears prick up and you turn around. It’d come not from Hope- which you’d expected, seeing as he seemed to be the only one who actually knew his fellow hybrid’s name- but from the open door of the office building where Eunjung stood. She looks at him, her expression unreadable and he stares back. All the tension in his body has shifted and for a moment, you think he’s going to spring toward her and fall into her arms- but she gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head and his face hardens. His arms tighten around his bonsai. You think you know, now, why it was the only plant in his room that had a pot. 

“Go,” she says and all the tension leaves him. His shoulders curve in and he drags himself past the director, out from the fence and toward Mr. Seo’s car. There’s something final about the way the gate rolls shut after him. If you hadn’t known better, you’d’ve sworn you heard him whine as it locked. 

The car ride down the mountain is...interesting to say the least. Hope insists that the seating arrangements inside the Buick be done to his specifications,( “You’ve gotta sit in the middle,” he tells you, pointing to the narrow center seat. “And Joonie and I will sit on either side of you to protect you in case we crash!” His tail is wagging a mile a minute behind him. You’re surprised it can move that much, given how short it is. Mr. Seo looks affronted at the unintentional jab at his driving and Namjoon just looks irritated. “I told you to stop calling me that.”) and he keeps throwing an arm across your middle everytime the car hits a bump. You’re going down the side of a mountain. There are a lot of bumps. He also keeps pressing his nose against the glass of his window, ears pricked up and trying to take in every tree that passes by. Namjoon, on the other hand, slouches back in his seat, his body curved around his plant and ever so slightly away from you. He still watches the world pass by, but he doesn’t acknowledge any of you or speak- which would be fine if anyone else would. Hope seems to be doing his best to appear stoic and alert every time you look at him and Mr. Seo seems comfortable with the quiet. So, you’re left to ride the two hours back to Seoul in silence. 

You almost cry with relief when your phone buzzes with an incoming text. You fish the device out of your pocket, thumb it to life and scan your notifications.

Unknown Sender [7:13 PM] where are you

You frown. Very few people had your number or any reason to text you. You’re about to chalk it up to a wrong number when the second text rolls in.

Unknown Sender [7:14 PM] it’s yoongi

Now that’s a surprise. When you’d hurriedly told the boys to text you, you’d been expecting Jimin to urge you to hurry or for Taehyung to ask for updates, not for their hyung to check your progress. A little smile pricks at your lips as you rush to reply

You [7:14 PM] We’re on the way back now!

Unknown Sender has been changed to Yoongi 

Yoongi [7:14 PM] can i call

You bite the inside of your lip, suddenly nervous. You know there’s no reason to be. After all, you tell yourself, what’s scary about a pair of roommates talking on the phone? You give him the go ahead and not three seconds after the delivered notification pops up, you get a call. You answer it on speaker.

“...Hello?”

“Did you just start driving?” Yoongi’s voice is thick with sleep, like he’s just woken up. It’s different than normal, his usual smooth drawl gone gravelly. 

“Y-yeah,” you reply, trying to ignore the way Hope is watching you out of the corner of his eyes and Namjoon’s ears have swiveled back toward you. “It’s gonna be awhile, still. Are Taehyung and Jimin-”

“They’re fine; They ate dinner earlier and they’ll be asleep til you get back.” He yawns and you picture him slouched on the couch, his hair mashed up on one side and his face puffy.  “Why do you sound nervous?”

“I’m not,” you counter. It’s a blatant lie and he knows it. He hums in doubt, but doesn’t press you.

“I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Do you want me to text you when we’re close?” It’s an innocuous question. There’s no reason you can see for him to pause as long as he does. For a second you think you’ve lost him- after all, mountains aren’t known for having great reception- but then you hear his breath fan over the receiver. 

“...Yeah.” 

You give a little nod you know he can’t see. “Okay.” He makes a little noise of assent and then his line clicks off. You hang up. Just as you do, another text comes through. 

Yoongi [7:16 PM] don’t let them scent you

“Who was that?” Hope asks in a small voice, pulling you away from your phone screen and Yoongi’s insistence that you remain scent-free. His tone is open, but you can tell by the way his knee is bouncing that he really, really wants to know. “Is that your husband?”

The bark of laughter that rips past your lips is out before you can think to stop it. Namjoon flinches and you wince at him in apology, your hand flying up to cover your mouth. Hope is frowning at you in confusion, his head cocked slightly to the side. You force yourself to calm and answer him. “No, Yoongi is not my husband.” You weren’t sure if you even really qualified as friends at this point. “He’s another hybrid that lives with me.”

Hope perks up in his seat. “You have another hybrid? Director Lim always told us that once we left the center, we’d be alone.” Your expression sours at the mention of the ill-tempered man and you shake your head. 

“No, there’s a lot of hybrids in Seoul,” you tell him, eager to dispel some of his misconceptions. “The three that live with me are named Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung. Yoongi’s around your age, I think. Jimin and Taehyung are younger.” The doberman hybrid sits at rapt attention, soaking up every bit of information you give him and waiting eagerly for more. What else could you tell him about them? You remember the boys’ reaction that morning when you told them you’d be bringing dog hybrids home. “...They’re all felines,” you say, slowly, trying to gauge their reactions. 

“So that’s why you smell like that.” It’s the first words Namjoon’s spoken since you all piled into the car. You turn to him, but he’s not looking at you.

“What do you-?”

“You smell like other hybrids,” Hope says, covering for him. “But I’ve never smelled any that weren’t other dogs before.” He leans closer, his seatbelt stretching. You tense and lean away from him, but he’s not deterred. The tip of his nose brushes your neck and you have to fight off a shiver as he breathes you in. “They smell the same…” he starts, his breath fanning over your throat. “...but different? And one of them isn’t as strong as the others-” He presses closer, trying to catch the scent that’s eluding him. You make a noise of mild distress and lean further back, pressing into the solid wall that is Namjoon. 

“Hoseok, let it go .” Hoseok. That was his real name then. To your surprise, the dog hybrid pulls back as instructed, settling back into his seat without so much as a whine.

“I’ve never met a cat before,” he muses, turning his attention back to the window. “I hope they’re nice.”

You think about the chorus of hisses you’d been met with when you told the boys they’d have to share their space. You hope so too.

It’s 9:30 by the time Mr. Seo drops you off back in front of your building. He wishes you a good night and promises to call later in the week to discuss Black Mountain Canines. You’re not sure if there’s anyone to report him to or anything you can do, but you want to try. What you’d seen at the compound was wrong any way you looked at it. It made you sick to leave anyone there knowing how the director treated Namjoon and Hoseok. No one was useless. No one deserved to be locked away for years at a time for the sheer crime of existing. You’d make them see that. 

The moment you step out of the car, Hoseok is all wide smiles and exclamations. “Woah, you live here?” he asks, tilting his head back to take in all fifty-one floors of Haneul Tower in their sparkling, glass-paned glory.

“Yeah,” you tell him, handing him his bag. In his excitement to get out of the car, he’d abandoned it and Mr. Seo had nearly driven away with it. “But I just moved in a couple days ago, so it’s still pretty empty.”

Hoseok nods, scanning the windows like he’ll be able to pick out which one’s your’s. Behind you, Namjoon is lingering on the sidewalk.

He’s still got his bonsai clutched close to his chest and he’s hunched down around it like he’s trying to stop unseen hands from picking at it. His shoulders are bunched up by his ears, and he flinches with every car horn, every siren that comes to you on the wind. He’d grown up in the mountains and spent the better part of his life indoors. It only made sense that he’d be sensitive to the sounds of the city. 

“Is there a security system?” Hoseok asks, still enamored with the building. “How many entrances does your apartment have?”

“Just one second,” you tell him, forehead wrinkling as you take in Namjoon. You slide slowly toward the wolfdog, not wanting to startle him. “Namjoon?” He flinches when you call his name, head whipping toward you. “Do you wanna go inside? I know it’s new, but it’ll be quieter, I think.”

His mismatched eyes flick from you, to Hoseok, to the building and back to you before settling firmly on the concrete at his feet. He seems different than he had in the mountains. He’s smaller, quieter, less sure of himself. Was it because this is all new territory for him? Or had the snarling hybrid in the mountains just been a roll he was forced to play, the mythic monster to the director’s tyrant king. 

“You don’t have to go inside if you don’t want to,” you tell him, in a voice you hope is reassuring. “We can wait, if you need to.”

“I’ll wait with you, Joonie,” Hope chimes in, giving the larger hybrid the same soft smile he’d given his students earlier. 

He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “It...it’s fine,” he mutters, “We can go in, I just…” He takes a few hesitant steps forward and huddles closer to you. There’s still an inch between you, but it’s closer than you’d thought he’d come. 

You peer up at him. “Okay?” You ask. He gives a single nod and your little group moves through the double doors and into the lobby. 

It’s quieter at this time of night. You don’t recognize the woman standing behind the reception desk. There’s no one really around except one man, pacing the width of the lobby looking thoroughly put out. You can’t really see his face, but there’s something familiar about the slant of his body. He whirls around as the glass doors click shut and you catch sight of a fringe of gray hair, pointed ears, narrowed yellow eyes and an all too familiar pout. 

Yoongi. 

“Fuck.” You’d completely forgotten to text him. Judging by the look on his face as he stalks toward you, he wasn’t happy about it. To his credit, Hoseok does his best to guard you, sliding in front of you and pushing you behind him. You can’t see Yoongi’s ears beneath the hat he’s wearing but if his curled lip and narrowed eyes are any indicator, they’re pinned straight back. 

“Move.” He snarls at the doberman hybrid. Hoseok is taller than he is, but the closer Yoongi gets to him, the smaller he seems to shrink. There’s fire in the bobcat hybrid’s eyes. Hope whimpers and slinks out of his way, ears low. 

You wince. “Heeeeey, Yoongi. I’m sorry I forg-“ before you can even finish the sentence, he tugs you toward him by the shoulders. His face roves your neck, sniffing in earnest as he tries to pick up the scent of the other hybrids on you. All is well until he reaches the right side of your throat and grazes over the exact spot Hoseok had nosed earlier. He pulls away slowly, his shoulders tight. His head turns slowly to the doberman hybrid, mechanical. 

“You.” He hisses at the other hybrid with so much virulence it makes your blood run cold. He takes one step toward him, teeth bared in a snarl, but Namjoon slides in front of him bumping him back. A growl bubbles in the bobcat hybrid’s chest and the wolfdog matches it, both their ears pinned flat against their skulls. 

“Hey-” If either of them hear you, they don’t react. They’re too focused on having a staring contest. “Hey!” You push between them, a hand on either of their chests. Namjoon snarls as you touch him and Yoongi looks ready to skin him alive for that alone. He pushes against your hand, trying to get closer to the taller hybrid. You ball your hand up in the fabric of his shirt. “Stop it!” The receptionist already has the lobby phone in her hand. She’s whispering earnestly into it and you’re sure security will be on the way any second. You exhale and squeeze your eyes shut. “Everybody, elevator.” 

Yoongi hurls an accusatory finger in Hoseok’s direction. “These fucking-”

“Yoongi, please,” you plead. That gets him to stop. His arm falls to his side and he glowers down at you for a few seconds before stalking over to the elevators and slamming the up button. “I’m sorry,” you murmur to Hoseok and Namjoon. The smaller of the two hybrids is still hunched in on himself and the taller has Yoongi fixed in his mismatched gaze, his lips curled in anger. 

This was not the way you wanted this to go. You’d wanted them to have time to settle before you discussed next steps and gave them the same talk you’d given the felines, but it didn’t look like that was in the cards. You don’t know what’s gotten into Yoongi. You’d thought the bobcat hybrid was calm, cool and collected, completely unflappable in the face of anything. Apparently not. He seemed upset that some of Hoseok’s scent had gotten on you, but there’d been no way to help that. You’d been packed in a car with him and Namjoon for two hours. It was inevitable, wasn’t it?

“It’s not okay,” you tell them, wanting them to know you didn’t condone the way Yoongi had acted. “I don’t...I don’t know why he’s acting like this; he doesn’t normally. Do you wanna go up separately?”

It’s Hoseok who answers. “No, we’ll go up together,” he assures you with a small nod. “If...maybe if we get used to each other, it’ll be okay?” 

You’re not optimistic, but you give him a pained smile you hope is reassuring. “Yeah, maybe?” You cast a look back over your shoulders. Yoongi is waiting by the elevators, his arms crossed over his chest and his tail flicking in irritation. The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Well, there was no avoiding it. “Come on,” you tell them. “Just...keep to the other side, for now. I’ll stand between you and him.” 

The four of you pile into the elevator, all tucked into your own corners. It’s strange, you think. It’s never seemed small until now. Hoseok keeps casting worried looks over at you, Namjoon keeps subtly shifting closer and Yoongi is still glowering at the both of them, angry for a reason you can’t quantify. 

“If it helps,” Hoseok starts softly, his voice an intrusion in the awkward silence. “I really didn’t mean to, honestly-”

“Don’t apologize.” Namjoon counters. “If it bothers him that much, he can speak up” 

You don’t know what they’re talking about. It’s too late that you realize the canines aren’t addressing you. Suddenly, Yoongi’s fingers are hooked through one of your belt loops. He yanks you backwards and you stumble, falling against the length of his body. “My bad,” You shoot out, before the hybrid can hiss at you. “I just lost my bala-” The words die on your tongue as Yoongi fixes his mouth to the soft skin of your throat. The elevator goes quiet.

The canine hybrids avert their eyes almost instantaneously, instinct telling them they’re witnessing something they shouldn’t be. Yoongi keeps them fixed firmly in his sights, a dark growl bubbling in his throat. 

Your fingers flex uselessly at your sides, hands clenching unclenching as the hybrid works over the sensitive skin of your neck with his teeth and tongue. ‘Don’t make a noise,’ you plead with yourself. ‘This isn’t what it feels like. Don’t make a noise, don’t make a noise, don’t make a noise-’ Yoongi’s incisors graze over a vein and a little whimper slips past your lips before you can stop it. The grip he has on your hips becomes bruising. You feel your legs turning to jelly beneath you. Any more of what he was doing, and they’d have to mop you up off the elevator floor. You force your throat to swallow. “Y-Yoongi, I think that’s enough-” You don’t know if he hears you over the noise he’s making, so you lace your fingers through his and untangle them from your hips. He releases you with a wet pop and you slap a hand over the skin he’d marked. Heat floods your face and a smirk spreads across Yoongi’s, his teeth flashing at the canines. He leans in again to rub his nose against the mark he’d made- but a hand on his chest stops him. 

“Can you stop?” You ask in a small voice. Honestly, you’re embarrassed. Regardless of what the articles said about mark-making being platonic, it doesn’t feel friendly. It feels possessive and mean and you don’t like it. “I’m sorry I didn’t text you like you asked, but what is with you today?” Yoongi’s expression changes from smug satisfaction to confusion and then surprise, like he hadn’t expected you to protest. “I know what I said about you being ready but…” You rub a hand over the mark, wiping away saliva and your sweat. The bobcat hybrid visibly deflates. The elevator chimes for the fiftieth floor and the doors roll open slowly. You rush out before any of them can and start punching the code in your door with shaky fingers. You don’t know what to say. You’re tired and stressed and you don’t know what’s going on. Was this about the apartment? You knew the felines wouldn’t be happy about sharing their space, but why had Yoongi gone this far?

“Y/N…” He trails after you, his ears drooping. You shake your head, You can’t talk to him right now. 

“In the morning,” you tell him as the door swings open. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.” You can’t deal with everything that’s happened today, and Yoongi flipping out and getting the canines settled. You weren’t that good at juggling. 

By the grace of all that’s merciful, Taehyung and Jimin are still asleep when you walk in. You’d need to have an extended meet and greet tomorrow, you decide. Maybe do some icebreakers or team building exercises. If they reacted anything like their hyung did, you were in for one hell of an adjustment period. 

Hoseok and Namjoon trail you into the penthouse warily, sniffing the air. You want to give them time to explore and get their bearings, they deserve that, but with the way Yoongi still seems agitated when they venture anywhere but exactly in your steps, that’ll need to be saved until tomorrow morning too. You give them the most spartan tour you can muster up and show them each to a guest room, promising to order them furniture and get them the things they need tomorrow. 

By the time you collapse into your own bed, it’s damn near 11. You groan and drag a pillow over your face as you ask the universe for the thousandth time why it had decided to continuously kick your ass. Having three hybrids had been hard enough. Having five of all different species was likely to prove impossible and having seven was going to be a sisyphean task you’d had no training for. You groan and kick your feet in the air, allowing yourself the brief respite of a temper tantrum before crawling under your covers and flicking the lamp off. Maybe in your dreams there’d be no stress and no snarling hybrids with behavior you couldn’t explain.

#thebtswritersclub #hybridbtsnetwork #bts fic #bts x reader #bts x y/n #hybrid!bts #ot7 x reader #seokjin x reader #namjoon x reader #jhope x reader #yoongi x reader #jungkook x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader

[samwisethewitch]

Cults? In my life? It’s more likely than you think.

In my last post, I talked about how the Law of Attraction and Christian prosperity gospel both use the same thought control techniques as cults. I’ve received several public and private replies to that post: some expressing contempt for “sheeple” who can be lead astray by cults, and others who say my post made them scared that they might be part of a cult without knowing it.

I want to address both of those types of replies in this post. I want to talk about what a cult really looks like, and how you can know if you’re dealing with one.

If you type the word “cult” into Google Images, it will bring up lots of photos of people with long hair, wearing all white, with their hands raised in an expression of ecstasy.

Most modern cults do not look anything like this.

Modern cultists look a lot like everyone else. One of the primary goals of most cults is recruitment, and it’s hard to get people to join your cause if they think you and your group are all Kool-Aid-drinking weirdos. The cults that last are the ones that manage to convince people that they’re just like everyone else — a little weird maybe, but certainly not dangerous.

In the book The Road to Jonestown: Jim Jones and Peoples Temple, author Jeff Guinn says, “In years to come, Jim Jones would frequently be compared to murderous demagogues such as Adolf Hitler and Charles Manson. These comparisons completely misinterpret, and historically misrepresent, the initial appeal of Jim Jones to members of Peoples Temple. Jones attracted followers by appealing to their better instincts.”

You might not know Jim Jones and the Peoples Temple by name, but you’ve probably heard their story. They’re the Kool-Aid drinkers I mentioned earlier. Jones and over 900 of his followers, including children, committed mass suicide by drinking Flavor Aid mixed with cyanide.

In a way, the cartoonish image of cults in popular media has helped real-life cults to stay under the radar and slip through people’s defenses.

In her book Recovering Agency: Lifting the Veil of Mormon Mind Control, Luna Lindsey says: “These groups use a legion of persuasive techniques in unison, techniques that strip away the personality to build up a new group pseudopersonality. New members know very little about the group’s purpose, and most expectations remain unrevealed. People become deeply involved, sacrificing vast amounts of time and money, and investing emotionally, spiritually, psychologically, and socially.”

Let’s address some more common myths about cults:

Myth #1: All cults are Satanic or occult in nature. This mostly comes from conservative Christians, who may believe that all non-Christian religions are inherently cultish in nature and are in league with the Devil. This is not the case — most non-Christians don’t even believe in the Devil, much less want to sign away their souls to him. Many cults use Christian theology to recruit members, and some of these groups (Mormons, Jehovah’s Witnesses, etc.) have become popular enough to be recognized as legitimate religions. Most cults have nothing to do with magic or the occult.

Myth #2: All cults are religious. This is also false. While some cults do use religion to recruit members or push an agenda, many cults have no religious or spiritual element. Political cults are those founded around a specific political ideology. Author and cult researcher Janja Lalich is a former member of an American political cult founded on the principles of Marxism. There are also “cults of personality” built around political figures and celebrities, such as Adolf Hitler, Chairman Mao, and Donald Trump. In these cases, the cult is built around hero worship of the leader — it doesn’t really matter what the leader believes or does.

Myth #3: All cults are small fringe groups. Cults can be any size. Some cults have only a handful of members — it’s even possible for parents to use thought control techniques on their children, essentially creating a cult that consists of a single family.  There are some cults that have millions of members (see previous note about Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses).

Myth #4: All cults live on isolated compounds away from mainstream society. While it is true that all cults isolate their members from the outside world, very few modern cults use physical isolation. Many cults employ social isolation, which makes members feel separate from mainstream society. Some cults do this by encouraging their followers to be “In the world but not of the world,” or encouraging them to keep themselves “pure.”

Myth #5: Only stupid, gullible, and/or mentally ill people join cults. Actually, according to Luna Lindsey, the average cult member is of above-average intelligence. As cult expert Steven Hassan points out, “Cults intentionally recruit ‘valuable’ people—they go after those who are intelligent, caring, and motivated. Most cults do not want to be burdened by unintelligent people with serious emotional or physical problems.” The idea that only stupid or gullible people fall for thought control is very dangerous, because it reinforces the idea that “it could never happen to me.” This actually prevents intelligent people from thinking critically about the information they’re consuming and the groups they’re associating with, which makes them easier targets for cult recruitment.

So, now that we have a better idea of what a cult actually looks like, how do you know if you or someone you know is in one?

A good rule of thumb is to compare the group’s actions and teachings to Steven Hassan’s BITE Model. Steven Hassan is an expert on cult psychology, and most cult researchers stand by this model. From Hassan’s website, freedomofmind.com: “Based on research and theory by Robert Jay Lifton, Margaret Singer, Edgar Schein, Louis Jolyon West, and others who studied brainwashing in Maoist China as well as cognitive dissonance theory by Leon Festinger, Steven Hassan developed the BITE Model to describe the specific methods that cults use to recruit and maintain control over people. ‘BITE’ stands for Behavior, Information, Thought, and Emotional control.”

Behavior Control may include…

Telling you how to behave, and enforcing behavior with rewards and punishments. (Rewards may be nonphysical concepts like “salvation” or “enlightenment,” or social rewards like group acceptance or an elevated status within the group. Punishments may also be nonphysical, like “damnation,” or may be social punishments like judgement from peers or removal from the group.)

Dictating where and with whom you live. (This includes pressure to move closer to other group members, even if you will be living separately.)

Controlling or restricting your sexuality. (Includes enforcing chastity or abstinence and/or coercion into non-consensual sex acts.)

Controlling your clothing or hairstyle. (Even if no one explicitly tells you, you may feel subtle pressure to look like the rest of the group.)

Restricting leisure time and activities. (This includes both demanding participation in frequent group activities and telling you how you should spend your free time.)

Requiring you to seek permission for major decisions. (Again, even if you don’t “need” permission, you may feel pressure to make decisions that will be accepted by the group.)

And more.

Information Control may include…

Withholding or distorting information. (This may manifest as levels of initiation, with only the “inner circle” or upper initiates being taught certain information.)

Forbidding members from speaking with ex-members or other critics.

Discouraging members from trusting any source of information that isn’t approved by the group’s leadership.

Forbidding members from sharing certain details of the group’s beliefs or practice with outsiders.

Using propaganda. (This includes “feel good” media that exists only to enforce the group’s message.)

Using information gained in confession or private conversation against you.

Gaslighting to make members doubt their own memory. (“I never said that,” “You’re remembering that wrong,” “You’re confused,” etc.)

Requiring you to report your thoughts, feelings, and activities to group leaders or superiors.

Encouraging you to spy on other group members and report their “misconduct.”

And more.

Thought Control may include…

Black and White, Us vs. Them, or Good vs. Evil thinking.

Requiring you to change part of your identity or take on a new name. (This includes only using last names, as well as titles like “Brother,” “Sister,” and “Elder.”)

Using loaded languages and cliches to stop complex thought. (This is the difference between calling someone a “former member” and calling the same person an “apostate” or “covenant breaker.”)

Inducing hypnotic or trance states including prayer, meditation, singing hymns, etc.

Using thought-stopping techniques to prevent critical thinking. (“If you ever find yourself doubting, say a prayer to distract yourself!”)

Allowing only positive thoughts or speech.

Rejecting rational analysis and criticism both from members and from those outside the group.

And more.

Emotional Control may include…

Inducing irrational fears and phobias, especially in connection with leaving the group. (This includes fear of damnation, fear of losing personal value, fear of persecution, etc.)

Labeling some emotions as evil, worldly, sinful, low-vibrational, or wrong.

Teaching techniques to keep yourself from feeling certain emotions like anger or sadness.

Promoting feelings of guilt, shame, and unworthiness. (This is often done by holding group members to impossible standards, such as being spiritually “pure” or being 100% happy all the time.)

Showering members and new recruits with positive attention — this is called “love bombing.” (This can be anything from expensive gifts to sexual favors to simply being really nice to newcomers.)

Shunning members who disobey orders or disbelieve the group’s teachings.

Teaching members that there is no happiness, peace, comfort, etc. outside of the group.

And more.

If a group ticks most or all of the boxes in any one of these categories, you need to do some serious thinking about whether or not that group is good for your mental health. If a group is doing all four of these, you’re definitely dealing with a cult and need to get out as soon as possible.

These techniques can also be used by individual people in one-on-one relationships. A relationship or friendship where someone tries to control your behavior, thoughts, or emotions is not healthy and, again, you need to get out as soon as possible.

Obviously, not all of these things are inherently bad. Meditation and prayer can be helpful on their own, and being nice to new people is common courtesy. The problem is when these acts become part of a bigger pattern, which enforces someone else’s control over your life.

A group that tries to tell you how to think or who to be is bad for your mental health, your personal relationships, and your sense of self. When in doubt, do what you think is best for you — and always be suspicious of people or groups who refuse to be criticized.

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