#i didn't mean for this to be so long

[ineedtorantaboutjiangcheng]

Fuck, I'm here again. Goddammit. I've been doing well. I've been keeping Jiang Cheng off my mind (and my computer screen). Things have been peaceful.

And then today happened.

Again, a fic. Again, not naming names, both because that's rude and also because this issue is hardly specific to one fic alone. I've seen it many times.

But I've been pacing for half an hour, too agitated to keep reading, so I'm just gonna get this off my chest, and then skim through the fic 'til it stops talking about it.

I need to talk about the golden core reveal.

Specifically, I need to talk about an attitude I've seen cropping up recently in a lot of fics. (By recently, I don't mean it's only recent fics that do it, just that I've only noticed it recently.)

So it'll be a fic, usually canon divergent, but prior to the golden core reveal. Wen Ning or Wen Qing will often be involved (though I can think of a few times it was Lan Wangji). And the character, who knows the truth about the golden core transfer, will urge Wei Wuxian to tell Jiang Cheng.

They'll say "you have to tell him". They'll say "he'll find out eventually". They'll say "he deserves to know".

And... the fic will support this.

Will frame Wei Wuxian as irrational, paranoid even, to keep it secret.

Will sometimes even punish him, narratively, for his "failure" to disclose such a thing.

And I am... completely baffled.

Where the fuck is this coming from?

I suppose, if I'm being generous, I can kind of see why an individual sympathising with Jiang Cheng might have a knee-jerk reaction to this. If you see them as being essentially family, the idea that a family member that you love deeply, keeping what amounts to both a huge sacrifice and a massive disability from you would be extremely painful. You might feel hurt, that they didn't tell you. Angry, at the implied lack of trust.

I get it, as an emotional response you might have in the moment. I don't find it particularly relatable, but I can follow the thought process.

But like... that's an emotional response. Surely, at some point, logic has to kick in, right?

Because the thing is. Okay, there's two aspects to the secret, right? One, is that a medical procedure was done to Jiang Cheng, sort of like an organ transplant, I suppose, but he wasn't told that the organ was donated by Wei Wuxian. And the other is that Wei Wuxian made this huge sacrifice for Jiang Cheng, and didn't tell him.

But thinking about this for even five minutes should tell you that... neither of those things are actually Wei Wuxian's responsibility to deal with?

The first one is the by far the more common argument I've seen. I've read fics where Wen Ning and Wen Qing are tortured with guilt over having performed the procedure without telling Jiang Cheng all the details. I've even seen people have them blame Wei Wuxian, for demanding they keep it secret, had them secretly resent him for it. He's portrayed as deeply selfish, for keeping the truth of Jiang Cheng's operation from him.

But the thing is... if you're going to apply modern medical ethics to the situation... Wei Wuxian was in the right? They all were?

Under modern medical ethics, you have no right to know the identity of your organ donor. That can feel a little weird (it's probably why people often have a knee-jerk reaction that demands the opposite); after all, it's my body, shouldn't I have a right to know where the organ that goes in it comes from? What if it has cooties?

But according to medical ethics, the donor's right to medical privacy is more protected that the recipient's right to that information. Right to medical privacy is pretty highly valued; it kind of ties into body autonomy, which is kind of the keystone of... most modern ethics. You have a right to control what happens to your body, and that includes controlling whether or not people know about any medical conditions/procedures. So you might have an emotional response, thinking Jiang Cheng is valid for being upset that his golden core came from Wei Wuxian without him knowing, but... ethically, Wei Wuxian has the right to withhold that information.

But! some scarecrow says, If a person has the right to control what procedures happen to their body, surely that means Jiang Cheng has a right to control what happens to his own body! Therefore, the procedure was still unethical, because he didn't know everything!

And I say, well... not really. The reality is, we don't actually know how much Jiang Cheng was told. He was told to walk up a mountain, lie to the person he encountered about his identity, and ask for a golden core. And he left that mountain with said golden core... but we don't know how much Wen Qing told him when he reached the top. We know he believed Wen Qing was the Baoshan Sanren. We know he received a fully developed core, not just the ability to form a new one. Was he told that the core was from someone else? Were there signs of the transfer? Did he know the chance of success/failure? Did he not find any of the situation dubious?

(Did he really spend two and a half years fighting a war alongside, and then running a sect for a year with, someone and not realise they didn't use orthodox cultivation even once?)

The truth is, a doctor is required to inform a patient of risks, and answer any questions they ask. Wen Qing may well have disclosed the risk (if there was any to Jiang Cheng, other than potentially the transfer failing) prior to the surgery, we just don't know. We don't have any evidence that Jiang Cheng asked any questions, and from what we see in the novel, it seems likely that he simply didn't want to know. He got a core, his life was somewhat back on track; we never see any evidence of curiosity or confusion in him as to the specifics of how that happened.

The only lie we are sure that he was told was the identity of the person who he met on the mountain, who "gave" him the core. I could be petty and point out that as he was also lying about his identity, it kind of cancels out, but that would be a bit ridiculous, and unnecessary besides. The truth is, ethically, Wen Qing could have knocked him out and performed the surgery from the comfort of her own office. Because one of, if not the main reason you can ethically violate someone's body autonomy... is to save a life. And Jiang Cheng, after losing first his family and sect, and then his golden core, displayed clear suicidal ideation. He indicated, repeatedly, that he wanted to die. He refused food. Wei Wuxian even doubled checked, before giving him hope of getting a new core, that he was serious! (Rereading that scene is horrible; Wei Wuxian's dread, and eventual resignation/resolve becomes very apparent once you know what's happening).

The characters around him, including a trained doctor, believed that if he didn't get a new core, he would give up and die. Under those circumstances, a doctor has authority to make medical decisions, without a patients consent, if they believe it is a medical emergency. Wen Qing was an unquestionably brilliant doctor; if she believed doing the surgery was the right/necessary decision, who the hell are we to dispute her?

So, to be clear, under modern medical ethics (which seems to be what is being applied in these claims), Wen Qing has the right to do whatever surgery she feels necessary to save the life of her patient, no consent needed, and Wei Wuxian has the right to keep his identity as the donor a secret, since that's his own private medical history. Modern medical ethics (a bit ridiculous, when talking about magic powers, but I've seen the argument) supports our protagonist.

Now, onto the other thing. This is a lot less... ethics discussion and a lot more feels-bad-so-wrong type thing. Wei Wuxian kept the loss of his golden core a secret.

Jiang Cheng being upset by this is understandable. Like I said, I can follow the emotion/logic. Someone keeping a big secret from you can be hurtful.

But just because it's hurtful to you, doesn't mean they're in the wrong to do it!

If someone I cared about kept a massive secret from me, and I found out, I'd be upset! But my first thought would be 'Why did they feel they couldn't tell me?' And the answer here is obvious; Wei Wuxian didn't think he could tell Jiang Cheng because he knew he'd be horrible about it! Wei Wuxian admits, after the reveal, that the process of losing his core was distressing, and that he wasn't as okay with it as he pretended to be. If something like that happens to you (not... that it can, but, you know, equivalent), and you're struggling to hold it together, the last thing you want is someone you care about yelling at you about it, insulting you, making you feel bad for what happened!

Wei Wuxian didn't tell Jiang Cheng because he knew Jiang Cheng would be awful to him because of it. Jiang Cheng's jealousy when they were young was something Wei Wuxian felt he had to manage*, and he knew Jiang Cheng would feel inadequate if he realised his accomplishments were made with Wei Wuxian's core. And he would then lash out at Wei Wuxian for it, at a time when Wei Wuxian was already feeling emotionally fragile. Hell, nearly twenty years later, Jiang Cheng getting up in his face was enough to cause a Qi deviation; I can't imagine it would have been better any sooner!

No one wants to think of the people they love keeping secrets from them. And sometimes, people who keep secrets are doing it for their own sake, because they're scared, or unsure, or guilty, or whatever. But sometimes, when a person keeps a secret, the reason is not internal. If someone acts horribly to you when you tell them things, you're going to stop telling them things. And the person responsible for that gap in communication is them; all you're doing is protecting yourself.

And before anyone thinks that I'm assigning reasoning to Wei Wuxian that he doesn't have; he essentially admits it. After the reveal, Wei Wuxian states that he knew Jiang Cheng would react badly (though he didn't expect it to be quite so bad). Wei Wuxian is shown to have been managing Jiang Cheng's moods since they were young**, it's probably not the first secret he's kept. But that's kind of just... how that works; if a king kills every person who brings him bad news, eventually, all his advisors will only ever bring him good news. And he has no one to blame when his kingdom falls but himself.

SO. tl;dr. Modern medical ethics supports Wen Qing performing the golden core transfer, and Wei Wuxian keeping his identity as the donor a secret. Jiang Cheng can be upset at Wei Wuxian for not telling him that he no longer has a core, but it's not unethical, or selfish, and the nature of their relationship, with Jiang Cheng lashing out with impunity and Wei Wuxian trying to manage his moods, meant that secrets like that were pretty much inevitable. Unhealthy relationships are unhealthy. Truly, newsworthy take.

And one final note, on Wei Wuxian keeping secrets from Jiang Cheng and being portrayed as selfish for doing so; I have yet to see a. single. fic. that says Wei Wuxian keeping his sacrifice secret is wrong, but then goes on hold Jiang Cheng equally accountable for keeping his sacrifice secret. Not. One. Jiang Cheng often tells Wei Wuxian afterwards, that he deliberately got the Wens attention, but he's never framed as selfish for keeping that secret. Not. Once.

* see post-Xuanwu argument, when Wei Wuxian drags himself out of his sick bed, having just woken up from a coma, to reassure Jiang Cheng that he's no threat to his birthright. Because Jiang Cheng was jealous that his father acknowledged Wei Wuxian's skill in surviving, under horrendous circumstances. -_-

** childhood flashback; after arriving in a new place, having a massive change in lifestyle and meeting many new people (and, it seems, trying to make a good impression), Wei Wuxian took the blame for his broken leg, despite it being because Jiang Cheng locked him out of his room and threatened to sic dogs on him. Entirely because he knew one of them would get blamed, and he wanted to keep Jiang Cheng happy. People who grow up with aggressive/abusive family/people around often end up learning to juggle mood changes.

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

List 72, prompt 5, and list 74, prompt 2. Pairing: hyunlix x reader, please!

Prompts: "Are those...bite marks?"

"You have to do your part, sweetheart. This goes both ways."

Members: Hwang Hyunjin, Lee Felix

Relationship: Fae Healer!FemReader x Hunter!Hyunlix

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Suggestive

Warnings: Injuries, Gore, Blood, General Predicaments of Various Unwellness (all the important people survive, don't panic),

You should be used to wounded fae stumbling through your door at all odd hours of the night, dripping blackening blood onto your floor, urgently seeking your profession's skills.

But there's still something about the pair of fae that crash through your front door tonight, one of them supporting the other, both covered from head to toe in some sort of gore and damp with rain, that catches you completely off guard.

The storm howls outside the open door, and still, you stand, staring at them like a new fawn, entirely shocked and shaken to your core, watching them drip a mixture of blood and rainwater onto your perfectly clean floor.

The blonde one-well, the blonder one-the one not currently being held up by the other, but the one doing the holding, moves into motion first, staring at you with something akin to almost open amusement in his gaze as he heaves the other man toward the nearest available surface, which just so happens to be your kitchen table.

He lays the other man down, who groans long and low at the jostlement, and turns to you, hands on his slender hips.

Gods, have you ever seen a waist so tiny? You don't think so.

Your mouth suddenly waters.

"You're a healer, correct?"

You pull yourself from your weirdly distracted thoughts and realize the man has been addressing you this entire time. You shake your head and instantly snap your gaze to his.

"Yes." You nod, and hurry to the table where the injured man still lies in a crumpled heap, suddenly transitioning into business mode as you bustle about, gathering basic supplies. "What happened?"

The standing man leans against the edge of the table, seemingly entirely unphased by both his companion's pained groaning, and your frantic flurry.

"Little run in with the wrong crowd." The man supplies vaguely with a slight shrug, and your fingers pause in their search of the dozens of bottles on your shelves as you glance over your shoulder at him incredulously.

He shrugs again.

"We've both seen worse."

You seriously doubt that, considering his friend is currently bleeding out on your kitchen table, but you bite back your retort and gather the rest of your supplies in tense silence.

Your mother had always warned you your sharp tongue and rash nature would get you into trouble some day, and you didn't doubt it, but at the time, her beatings had seemed like trouble enough.

You dump the armful of salves, herbs, and relics onto the table beside the other man and reach for another basket full of wound bandages, carefully curated earlier that morning.

You glance to the man standing beside the table, the frighteningly unbothered one, and then down to the other man lying on the table.

They're both wearing dark, black clothing, laced with straps and vests. You catch the hint of a dagger peeking from beneath the standing man's shirt, and you don't doubt that they're both absolutely covered in hidden weapons, though that fact doesn't seemed to have done the wounded fae much good.

You almost snort in amusement at the thought, but clear your throat instead and glance down once more to the injured fae in front of you.

There is dark blood still seeping from somewere you can't quite track because of his black clothing worn head to toe, and as you watch it puddle on the floor at your feet, you suddenly have a terrifying thought.

You don't know where to begin.

The lighter blonde leans onto the table, watching you with a sharp gaze. When he speaks, his words are slightly taunting in a way that make you itch with irritation.

"Aren't you going to, you know-" He shrugs and gestures to his friend with an arched, cocky brow. "-heal or whatever?"

"Yes, just give me a minute." You snap back testily before you can stop yourself, clamping your teeth down on your lips immediately when you realize your tone.

You don't know who these mysterious men are. They're clearly higher station than you are, dressed to the nines and touting expensive weapons, and you don't know what they could have done to you if you mouth off.

They could have you tortured. Or exiled. Or-worse.

You shudder at the thought, but the fae standing across from you doesn't seem angry, or even perturbed, by your sharp, out of line retort. In fact, if anything, he looks-amused?

He crosses his arms over his chest with a slight smirk. "Okay, you're the healer here. Just thought we might want to help him before he bleeds out all over your kitchen floor you know?"

You ignore his clear jibe and hold out a hand without looking up at him, your gaze scanning the fae lying still now on the table, assessing him how you've been trained to do.

His pulse and breathing are erratic, but that's normal, he's probably in shock. If you can find and stop the bleeding-

You glance up as your open hand remains empty and the man across the table continues to stare at you blankly.

You force down your irritation and motion with a jerk of your chin to the small table next to the kitchen sink, and coincidently to his left.

"Hand me a knife please."

A slight smile ticks the corner of his mouth at your obvious distaste in the polite word, but he reaches over and hands you a knife without so much as a word.

You thank the gods for that at least.

Turning back to the wounded fae, who you're fairly certain is unconscious by this point, you carefully begin to cut down the line of his fine tunic, tearing the fabric with nimble fingers to reveal his chest.

It's a shame to ruin such a pretty frock, but you're sure they have dozens more just like it.

Your eyes beg to get stuck on the defined ridges of the male fae's abdomen, the v of his lean, toned muscles where they disappear into the waistband of his breeches, but you focus, grounding yourself with running through a list of herbs that might be helpful, no matter what the wound, as you continue to shear through his tunic.

Marigold. Fane's Bane. Tempter's Snare. Lilac of Sumac.

Your thoughts come to a brief halt as your hand stills, your lips parting on a sharp inhale of breath at the sight of the man's torn lower ribcage.

You're absolutely gob smacked at the extent of the wound bared before you, entirely caught off guard that it hadn't torn the side of his fine tunic to tatters just like his skin.

The reddened gleam of muscle stares back at you, the blood sluggishly still sliding down the table and to the floor, and a hint of white bone flashes where it sticks through the tattered skin.

Or what's left of it.

The man across the table takes notice of your sudden freeze, and he leans over to get a better sight of what you're looking at.

A low whistle escapes his plush lips.

"Fuck. That's a nasty one." He exhales in a mutter, and you glance up at him, appalled at his obvious lack of concern and the blatant almost impressed lilt to his words.

You grab the mortle and pestle from where you placed it earlier, and begin to shred herbs into the bowl, working so quickly your hands are a blur, the motions almost automatic.

You have to stop that bleeding. And fast.

You pound the mixture into a pulp, then reach for a small decanter full of sparkling, shimmering liquid, and carefully pouring a tiny amount of the Moon Water into the bottom of the bowl with the rest of the herbs, you stir diligently until it resembles a thick, blue tinged paste.

Breathing out a harsh breath, you set aside the pestle and scoop the salve into the palm of one hand.

You're aware the fae across from you is watching your every move carefully, but there's no room in your mind for him right now.

Not when you're fairly certain his friend's life hangs in the balance.

Carefully, you pinch the ripped skin together as best you can, covering the gleaming bone and slick muscle, and smooth the paste slowly and thoroughly over the gaping hole in the male fae's side.

He gives a pained groan in response, and you know he's still unconscious, but you also know that this particular treatment stings like a bitch.

Pressing the palm of your hand down harder, so the salve seeps between your spread fingers and into all facets of the wound, you start to mutter the incantation beneath your breath that will stitch the skin back together.

The words flow over your tongue like water, familiar and sure, and beneath your palm, you feel his ribs begin to shift back into position, his muscle kneading itself right again, the skin pulling closed under your fingers.

You can feel the drain on your reserves with each word whispered, but you don't stop, not until the wound has all but closed, leaving nothing but a fresh, angry, red scar against his tan skin.

Pulling back with a sigh, you reach up with the back of your hand and swat aside a stray, irritant hair, before you glance at the other fae.

He's watching you with an odd look on his face, that disappears as soon as your eyes meet his.

You ignore the weird, low burn in your gut and wiping your messy hand on a nearby rag, lean low over the table, putting your ear close to the wounded-now healed-fae's lips.

You listen, taking stock of his rhythmic, even breathing, the slowing of his pounding heart, and feel instant relief soothe over your tired, stretched body.

He's okay.

"You know, if you wanted to kiss me, love, all you had to do was ask." A low, guttural voice rumbles hoarsely, and you start in surprise, your eyes snapping up to the once unconscious man's dark gaze, now staring right at you with a slight smirk on his full lips.

You realize then that you're incredibly too close to his face still, and instantly shove back from him, creating space between the two of you.

He chuckles, wincing slightly as the sound pulls at his newly healed ribs, and the blonder man steps forward then, slapping his hand into the other's with familiar camaraderie and slowly pulling him into a sitting position on the table, ignoring his slight groan of pained protest.

"Glad to have you back." The irritatingly cocky one says, and the one on the table gives him half a grin.

"Can't get rid of me that easily."

Both their gazes flit to you and you realize you're staring, trying to puzzle them out.

You quickly look away and move to start cleaning up your supplies, placing everything in it's acquired place, studiously avoiding their curious gazes, following your every move.

Finally, you've had enough of their silent perusal, and you turn, placing your hands stubbornly on your waist as you glare them both down.

"Well? Are you going to sit there or are you going to clean up the absolute mess you've made of my kitchen?"

You motion to the blood still dripping slowly and surely from the lip of the table, but all the standing man is chuckle, pulling up the other with a heave of effort so they're both on their feet.

Your glare doesn't waver, though you suddenly realize with a jolt that the previously wounded fae is still shirtless.

You resist the urge to let your eyes drop down the length of his hardened body, but only barely, and curse yourself as he gives you an arched brow and knowing smirk in return.

"Actually-" The annoying pain in the ass with the lighter hair says, reaching for his discarded bag and stepping toward the door. "-we have to be on our way."

You scoff, outrage filling your belly like a fire, and leap forward to slam the door shut once more as he pulls it open a mite to reveal the still howling storm outside.

"Really?" You growl out, staring up at him, trying to ignore how much taller he is then you, staring down, watching you like some predator assessing a future prey. You ignore the heat that thought lights in your belly. "I saved your friend's life and not even a thank you? Don't they teach you upper classes manners or some other useless shit for a situation like this?"

The man's eyebrow tics up at your words, but you don't think it's in surprise, and when he laughs, you realize you were right.

He's amused by you.

Like you're some sort of pet meant to entertain him with tricks.

The thought makes your insides sear with rage, and before you know what you're doing, you've balled your hand into a fist and moved to swing it right into the middle of his gut.

There's that impulsive side of you again.

Your mother is probably rolling in her grave right now.

As quick as lightning, the man catches your fist so easily it's pathetic, and you struggle against his hold, his long fingers on your wrist, as the other man gathers his own gear and watches on curiously.

He doesn't make a move to intervene.

"Let me go." You spit out on a hiss like an angry, cornered cat, and something akin to challenge flashes in the man's dark eyes as he leans toward you.

"No, I don't think I will." He practically purrs, and you want to rip his throat out with your teeth, wipe the lazy, confident smirk right off his perfect face.

He crowds into your space, and your back hits the wall beside the door.

"As for a 'thank you-'" He muses, reaching up to twirl a strand of your messy hair around his finger, and it takes everything in you not to bite said digit off. His gaze flicks down to your mouth and back up again, as if he knows what you're thinking. "-I don't know if you're quite ready to receive all that our gratitude entails just yet, little bird."

"Don't call me that." You spit out, but he merely laughs, releasing you and moving to the now open door beside the other waiting man.

He cocks his head and gives you a slight smirk, and you don't know if it's luck or fate, but in that moment, the lightning flashes, illuminating his handsome face and the dark, swirl of his eyes.

Something inside of you shudders at the sight.

"We'll be seeing you around, little bird. I'll make sure of that."

And then, another blink of lightning, and they're gone.

************************************************************************

The second time they come through your door in the middle of the night, there's less blood than the time before, but definitely a more generous plethora of colorful words that weren't used before, heating your ears and turning them red.

The one who was hurt last time closes the door behind him, and you scan him quickly, assessing silently, as the cocky one from before continues to swear low and steadily, settling into a chair in front of your small fire without so much as a lick of invitation.

You heave a sigh, biting back the irritation itching beneath your skin, and put your hands on your hips, bouncing your gaze between them.

"You know, you can't just barge in here whenever you please-"

The blonder one swears, more harshly this time, and shoots you a glare that doesn't quite hit when his features contort with a grimace of pain halfway through, his fingers flinching where they rest against the side of his throat.

"Save the lecture, birdie. I'm fucking on fire here."

You stare at him, shooting him a glare of your own in response, another retort on your lips, but the sharp words die on your tongue as soon as you see the dark tinged blood trickling from between his fingers.

You instantly jump into healer mode, hurrying to him and prying his fingers away from his neck in one smooth movement.

He hisses in pain, flinching as you tear his fingers away from the wound, and you gasp, eyes going wide as you glance at the injury once more, and then to the other man, standing nervously beside the fire, playing agitatedly with a dagger between his small fingers.

"Are those...bite marks?" You manage to get out, your gaze falling once more to the slowly oozing holes on the side of the sitting fae's neck, and he manages a laugh that ends in a groan as he winces with pain at the movement.

He takes in a deep, shuddering breath, and the only show of his discomfort is the whitening clench of his fingers on the arms of the chair as he smooths out his features, one by one, before looking up at you.

He gives you half a smirk. "If it looks like a mule, and sounds like a mule-"

You resist the urge to slap him, and instead, hurry to your herb cabinet, calling over your shoulder as bustle about, "What happened?"

You're not sure they'll answer, but you're surprised when he answers back between gritted teeth and on the end of an irritated sound, "Vampires."

The fae beside the fire sighs. "A hunt gone wrong. And vampires a ruthless fuckers at the best of times, but especially when they're cornered and wounded with no where to go."

"Bloody bastards." The sitting man growls in agreement, and you can hear the murderous rage simmering just beneath his words.

Your fingers still in shock, but you quickly shake yourself, melding together a poultice and wrapping it in a warm, wet linen bandage before you return to the fire and the fae waiting there.

You kneel down beside him and look up at him, and a dangerous, fire comes into his eyes as he stares down at you from his sitting position.

"I like you on your knees for me, little bird."

Fuck decorum, fuck being careful. You immediately slap the prepared poultice a little bit too roughly down on the wound on his neck and he visibly winces, which gives you some sort of sick, twisted satisfaction.

"Fuck." He grits out, and you shoot him a triumphant look as you hold the medicine in place.

"Don't antagonize your healer. That's rule number one on a long list of rules."

He matches you stare for heated stare.

"What else is on the list?"

"None of your concern."

His brow tics upward, and a muscle in his jaw feathers at the challenge in your voice.

"Everything about you is my concern, little bird." He growls warningly, sitting forward toward you, even as the poultice runs with the movement and stains the fine black collar of his shirt.

"Hm. I must have missed that announcement." You sniff, refusing to be cowed, staring him down right back. "Maybe when I missed you introducing yourselves, or saying 'thank you' like civilized human beings instead of barging in here like savages and treating me like your own personal play thing."

He glares at you, hissing when you adjust the poultice rather harshly once more, but you match him step for step.

He's no match for you. You're not afraid.

You can feel the fae beside the fireplace watching the two of you with something akin to amusement as you bicker, and you're surprised when he suddenly announces into the tense, stiff silence, "I'm Felix."

The man in front of you flicks his gaze quickly to the other, and something he sees there must cement something in him, because with a defeated sigh, he sits back, away from you, and says with slight irritation, "Hyunjin."

You pretend you're not disappointed by the sudden space between you, and take in a long, deep breath before looking to the two of them.

Hyunjin arches a brow, staring at you sharply as you remain silent, studying them.

"Aren't you going to return the favor?" He asks with slight bite to his tone that makes you bristle.

You glance beneath the poultice, and satisfied the bleeding has stopped and the poison has been pulled from the bite, you remove your hand, shoving to your feet without a backward glance and heading toward the door.

You tug it open and turn to them expectantly, the cool air wafting in from the dark night and brushing your skirt against your ankles.

"No. You owed me, not the other way around. I owe you nothing. Now-" You motion with a jerk of your head and try to bite back a satisfied smirk at the annoyance that flickers across Hyunjin's features at your clear dismissal. "-please leave so I can go to bed."

Something akin to interest alights in Hyunjin's swirling eyes at your words and you already know what he's going to say before the worlds drip suggestively from his full lips.

"If you want to go to bed, little bird-" He starts with an arch of a brow, pushing to his feet in a predatory sort of way that makes you want to shiver, and not entirely in a bad way.

"-then she should." Felix finishes for him firmly, tugging him toward the open door and past you with a pointed stare, one which Hyunjin returns with irritation.

You bite back a grin and give them a flippant little wave.

"Please don't come back." You call out pleasantly, though you mean every word, and then you slam the door shut right on Hyunjin's fierce glare.

Locking up, you can't help the grin that creeps across your lips at his ire.

*****************************************************************************

They do come back.

Again.

And again.

And again.

And soon, it becomes routine-the door crashing in in the middle of some random night, one of them dripping blood onto your floor, as you assess the wounds and hurry to gather supplies.

It becomes routine to gather herbs that might help their specific ailments when you're out in the meadows during the day, or hunting through the village market in the early morning before the crowds descend.

Routine to keep things on hand that you know they like-the sweet buns Felix loves, the recipe passed down from your grandmother, held in a little basket beside the stove-the bitter tree bark from the aspens that grow all around the clearing of your cottage that Hyunjin likes to chew to paste between his teeth, especially when he's irritated or hurting, just to take the edge off, stuffed into a jar on the fireplace mantle.

You hate yourself for thinking of them often, knowing them so well, but another, smaller, more hidden part of you hopes they think of you as well.

Tonight, they've brought you a nasty arm slash, courtesy of a Changeling's wickedly sharp claws, and Hyunjin flinches slightly as you smooth a purple, foul smelling paste over the edges of the wound.

"You really are a big baby." You tease, as you reach for a vial of golden Sun Glow, tipping carefully measured drops onto the jagged edges of the largest gash that mars his forearm.

Hyunjin levels you with a glare and a protest that holds little heat, his gaze darting wildly to his counterpart who is lounged beside the roaring fire. "Not true! Felix was wailing last month over that banshee curse like a welp screaming for its mother's breast!"

Felix flips Hyunjin off lackadaisically, his feet propped on the opposite chair as he practically suns himself in the fire's flickering flames.

"Hold still." You chastise under your breath off handedly, concentration on the words you chant beneath your breath and the liquid you're now smearing across Hyunjin's torn skin.

He goes still as a rock beneath your fingers and something inside of you goes warm at the thought that he listens to you when he really needs to.

You finish smoothing the skin back over the torn muscle and sit back with a sigh, wiping your dirty fingers on your skirt as you take in your handiwork with a satisfied nod.

"There. Good as new."

Hyunjin flexes his fingers, the muscles in his forearms rippling, testing the movement, and you can't stop yourself from staring at the ropes of corded muscle as they shift beneath his tan skin.

You wonder briefly what they'd feel like beneath your tongue, or wrapped around your bare waist, or how they'd flex differently if he was using his fingers inside of your-

You glance up, and he's watching you with a knowing smirk on his plush lips, like he knows what you were just thinking.

Gods, you hope not.

Blushing, you duck your head and begin to gather up the mess of supplies, standing up so quickly that you nearly upend the basket in your arms, hurrying to put space between the two of you.

You feel hot all over, and it has nothing to do with the fire and everything to do with the still smirking fae currently sitting in your rickety kitchen chair.

You clear your throat, washing your hands in the bucket of water in the sink, and call to Felix over your shoulder, "Felix, do you think you could hand me the rest of those supplies that need washing?"

Maybe if you just stay in this dark little corner of the kitchen, dousing your skin in frigid water, the blush will leave your cheeks faster, and the heat lingering between your legs from your impure thoughts about the two men currently sitting in your cottage will dissipate like a banshee in the wind.

"You look like you need help, little bird." A low, lilting voice murmurs darkly in your ear, and everything inside of you instantly melts into a molten puddle that settles between your upper thighs as strong, corded arms slink around your waist.

Okay, so maybe not, damn them. You should've know they wouldn't make this easy on you. They're hunters after all, their entire profession deals around smelling out a prey's weakness and using it against them.

Only now, you're the prey in question, and the weakness they can smell all over you is the sinful, heated need slowly growing wetter by the second between your legs.

"I don't." You reply back, a little delayed and a lot more breathless than you had hoped.

Hyunjin chuckles against your skin, his breath warm, pricking goosebumps all up and down your arms as the delicious sound finds a home in your chest, sending your heart skittering like a frightened deer.

"What do you think, Lix?" Hyunjin asks smoothly, casually, as if he's simply discussing the time of day, not your current predicament, wedged between the warm, hard lines of his body and the stiff lip of the counter.

He glances sidelong, and you follow his gaze to see Felix there, watching the two of you with something sharp and delicious and promising in his eyes that has your knees instantly feeling weak.

You're glad Hyunjin is currently holding you up.

You watch as Felix's tongue darts out to slowly wet his lips, his pupils swallowing up the golden glint of his irises as he stares at you like you're his next meal.

You can't seem to bring yourself to care.

"I think-" He takes a step toward the two of you, eyes never leaving your own, and you can't help the whimper that escapes your lips as he comes closer, crowding you in like a predator cornering his prey. He licks his lips once more, as if tasting the sound on the air, and his pupils blow. "-she wants our help, Jin, craves it even, but she's too prideful and stubborn to ask for it."

Behind you, Hyunjin shifts, and you bite down hard on your bottom lip as you feel him press into you from behind, hard and eager.

"Is that true, little bird?" Hyunjin purrs, his fingers going up to curl around your chin, directing your gaze back to his, fiery and filled with promise. "Do you want our help-"

His gaze drops down your body, trapped between his and the unyielding sink, and something flashes in his eyes as a smirk crosses his lips, and then you feel it, the press of his thigh between your own, and you know, know by the way you shiver and the way he takes in a sharp breath, that he can feel your wet silent, plea through the thin material of your dress.

Something smug comes into his dark gaze at this realization, and he finishes his previous goading statement in a low, satisfied growl, his fingers tightening around your chin, "-with this?"

You find a tiny shred of will in yourself to be infuriatingly stubborn on the matter for just a bit longer, to hold out, even though you really want to give in to everything they're suggesting, everything they're offering, without a second thought.

"Aren't you the ones usually asking me for help?" You goad back, and something flashes in Hyunjin's eyes at your taunting tone, something that makes the heat between your legs flare with urgency. You tsk, relishing the way his heated gaze flares in response to your challenge. "My, how the tables have turned, hm?"

"Enough playing." Hyunjin growls, and instantly slings you over his shoulder easily, as if you weigh less than a sack of potatoes, toting you toward the hallway that leads to your small, modest bedroom.

You shriek and kick helplessly, succeeding in little other than hiking your dress up around your hips, and when you glance back at Felix, following closely, his gaze has moved boldly and unabashedly to the bare skin of your legs, and his expression has morphed into something akin to open hunger.

Heat curls low in your belly at the look on his pretty, delicate features, and the thought that you, and you alone, put it there.

Hyunjin tosses you onto the mattress that takes up the majority of the small room, and you breathlessly try to right yourself, not even thinking to ask how he knew where your bedroom was.

It probably wasn't that hard to put two and two together when it comes to your small woodland cottage honestly, especially for a man trained in the ways of observation.

"Who gave you the right-" You start to protest angrily, but Hyunjin is already moving to place himself between your thighs, unlacing his tunic in one smooth movement as he does so.

"You did." He pushes right back, his eyes trailing hungrily down the lines of your body, till they rest between your thighs where you currently ache, and you're not even sure for what.

He leans forward, his breath hot as it washes across your skin, and you resist the urge to tremble beneath him as he snakes a hand up to cup your jaw.

"You did-" He repeats in a growl, his eyes holding yours with fiery triumph. "-when your body reacted so perfectly to ours, little bird, like you were made for us."

You can't help the gasp that falls from your lips at his words, heady and almost dizzying like wine as they drip over your body and mind, finding a solid place in your chest beside the flare of something else that's been slowly building every time they've come to you in the night.

You can't deny it now, worming its way between your ribs, cementing itself into the crevices of your heart like the vines of WurstWood that trail the trellises of your small home, sealing every crack.

But you want to, because that's what you are, who you are-all sharp retorts and biting remarks and cracked, barely healed wounds.

Something determined cements in Hyunjin's gaze at the open war happening on your face, and then he pulls his tunic over his head fluidly, baring himself from the waist up.

All words of protest immediately die on your lips at the sight of him, bare chested, before you.

You trace the mounds of his firm pecs, then down the ridges of his perfectly sculpted abs, the deep v of his muscles where they disappear into the cinched waist of his breeches, and without thinking, down the hard, ready outline of where he strains against the expensive fabric, ready to spring free.

You swallow hard, and your gaze drifts back up to his face-the sharp slope of his nose, the full pink bow of his lips, the scar that marks the dark line of his elegant eyebrow.

You take in the scars that litter his bronze skin-the pale, silvery lines of old wounds, the jagged, angry, pink puckers of new injuries-and as you catalogue them silently, one by one, the realization that you've been there for most of them, run your fingers over each one of them, that you've healed most of them, steals your breath.

"Hyunjin-" You breathe out, not sure where you're going, but you don't have to find out, because his lips crash into yours then, silencing any further useless words.

His tongue slips between the part of your lips that was left behind by your surprised gasp as he devours you, and when he groans into the open seam of your mouth, you react without thinking, tangling your fingers into the long, platinum strands of his hair, tugging him impossibly closer to you, covering your body with the lithe, lean lines of his own.

You mold together like you were made for each other as he ravishes your mouth, and when he pulls back suddenly, leaving you gasping for breath, your breasts brush his chest with each panted inhale and exhale, and you can feel him pressed hard between your thighs as you groan with barely concealed frustration at the distance he's put between the two of you.

"I know, little bird." He chuckles, the sound hoarse, and leans forward to nip at your lips once more, and when you buck your hips up into his in retaliation, making him growl, long and deep in his throat with barely restrained desire, his hand goes to your throat to hold you still, pinning you to the bed, and he glares at you with a thinly veiled threat in his eyes.

"Careful, little one. I'll make you pay for that."

"Do it." You challenge back, your own voice hoarse and thin from kissing, your teeth tacky as you run your tongue over them, not missing the way his eyes track the movement, smugness flaring to life in your belly at the restrained heat you see in his gaze.

"As much as I would like to-" He warns, voice low and dangerous, sending heat right back between your thighs, as he leans forward once more, his teeth scraping across your throat in a biting, rough promise that has you whining and arching into him. "-I'm sure you understand, little bird, that I need to share."

His words send molten confusion through you, but when he sits back on his heels above you, smirking down at you, and Felix appears in your peripheral, still fully clothed, but just as worked up as the other hunter, suddenly, things slot deliciously into place.

"We share everything." Hyunjin says, voice like liquid heat, as his attention slides to the other hunter, the burning flame in his gaze not wavering as he leans forward, running a thumb along Felix's full bottom lip slowly, sensually, in such an intimate way that it has you rubbing your thighs together to get some much needed friction, hoping it will give you relief, just a bit, to the burning need that's flaring anew just from watching the two of them.

"Hunts. Quarries." Hyunjin continues easily, voice dropping to a sensual purr in his chest as he flits his gaze down Felix's body, the way his chest heaves beneath his tunic, the hard muscles of his chest beneath the thin fabric, the obviousness of the other man's breeches straining to contain him. "Kills."

"Each other." His gaze flickers back to you, and you resist the urge to whimper as he tugs Felix down on the bed beside the two of you, reaching for the laces of the other hunter's tunic, before he slowly begins to undo the closure at Felix's collarbone, the other fae's throat bobbing with a hard swallow as Hyunjin closes the distance between them, swiping his tongue up Felix's exposed throat, leaving a long, wet stripe on the bronze of his skin.

Hyunjin's gaze stays firmly on you-the way you writhe between his legs, looking for some sort of friction, for some sort of relief to the heat gathering in your core-even as his fingers continue to steadily unlace Felix's shirt, revealing the tan, scarred planes of his chest, before he finally tugs it off of the other man's frame with one easy, fluid motion, leaving Felix bare to the two of you from the waist up, just like the fae currently straddling you.

You resist the urge to drool as you hungrily take in first one of them, then the other, like a peasant eagerly taking in the sight of a splendid feast set before them after months on the street.

Just like Hyunjin, you recognize more of Felix's scars than not, the familiar marks on his rippling skin telling the story of your time together.

"And now-" Hyunjin leans forward once more, his eyes flashing dangerously, his lips close to your own.

You fist your hands into the sheets to stop yourself from closing the gap to meet him, and lie still.

He smirks, watching the internal battle in your eyes, and you growl in response, as he tics an eyebrow upward at your unspoken, unfounded threat, the smirk only growing wider at your obvious agitation.

"-you, little bird."

He admires you for a moment, staring down at you as you hold his gaze, not willing to back down even an inch, and then he slides his molten gaze to Felix, slowly, casually, as if he has all the time in the world.

The ache between your thighs would like to argue that point immediately.

"What do you say, Lix? Wanna make our little bird sing?"

Felix must read the open invitation on Hyunjin's face because he turns his dark gaze on you, and there's something predatory on his features that wasn't there before, something that makes a pleasant and entirely anticipatory shiver roll down your spine.

He smiles, teeth flashing, and it does nothing to calm the sudden excited patter of your heart against your ribs.

"I dunno, Jin." He muses thoughtfully, staring you down, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, making you clench up, and his eyes flash at your response, dark, warning, the gaze of a hunter. "Does the little bird's song sound like our names being screamed from her lips?"

Your throat goes dry at his obvious implication, and you want to say something along the lines of fuck you, and gods, yes, please all at the same time, so instead, you just let out a strangled sort of whimper from between your lips that has both hunters grinning in tandem dangerously.

"I think that's a yes from our little bird, hm, Lix?" Hyunjin queries as he arches a brow at Felix, and when he looks at you once more, his expression is all predator, and the pulse between your legs in response has you thinking that you'll enjoy being prey for the first time ever in your life.

********************************************************************************

You don't know what woke you from your sleep, until you hear the sound of something scratch against the front door, and everything inside of you instantly goes on high alert, all the fuzziness of remaining slumber washed from your limbs as you silently creep from the bed and down the hall on cautious steps.

It's not Hyunjin and Felix, here for one of their routine, middle of the night healing sessions.

They would have simply kicked the front door in with no pretense or any hint of stealth and demanded you help them.

Besides, they're away on a hunt, and told you not to expect them back till closer to the end of the week.

No, this is something far more sinister, you can feel it in your bones.

Holding your breath, trying to figure out the culprit of the noise, you crouch when you reach the front room and stealthily sneak behind the table in the kitchen.

The noise sounds again, louder this time, like some sort of claw being dragged down the wood of the front door.

You silently glance around the room for anything that you could use as a weapon, trying to remember what Felix and Hyunjin had taught you, and settle on a broom you find tucked near you between the sink and counter.

It's crude, and probably won't be much help, like your limited fighting skills, but it's better than nothing.

The lock on the front door jiggles, as if someone is trying to see how solid it is, and then it drops to the floor with a crash, skittering you into better hiding beneath the sink before whoever just broke the sturdy lock on your front door comes crashing into the front room and catches sight of you.

You quiet your breathing, making yourself as small as possible beneath the safety of the sink among the bottles you use for various healing methods, holding the broom out in front of you, and wait.

There is silence for a brief moment, and then the sound of the doorknob turning, and the front door creaks inward.

A heavy footstep.

And then another.

You hold your breath as the steps grow closer, and a stench washes over you that has you choking not to cough, biting back the urge to gag as you try slide further beneath the sink.

A large, clawed foot covered in coarse, dark hair comes into your limited line of view, and everything inside of you goes cold.

Werewolf.

There is a lone, far away howl from outside, and the beast in the room with you pauses and then answers back with a piercing howl of its own that threatens to burst your ear drums.

Your fingers tremble on the broomstick you still hold, and you fight your hardest not to cry out in fear as the beast quiets, snuffling loudly as it works its way farther into the room.

You whimper, and before you can stop it, the sound leaves your mouth quietly, audibly, and the werewolf freezes in its tracks.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You immediately slap a hand over your mouth and freeze, but it's sniffing the air now, long snout and yellowed fangs cocked, and it takes a halting step toward you, before it growls, long and low in its throat.

You have approximately ninety seconds before that thing finds you and rips you to shreds.

It takes another step in your direction, and shifts down to all fours, teeth bared and beady eyes scanning the room sharply, nose still quivering.

It can smell your fear.

Taking in a deep, shuddering breath, you make a decision, and move.

Dropping the useless broomstick with a clatter, you duck out from beneath your hiding place and dart around to the opposite side of the kitchen, hoping to make a run around the wooden table and escape out the open front door before the beast can get its barings.

Your feet slide on the rug underneath the table in your scurry, and with a sharp cry, you go down hard, just as the beast rises to its feet with an angry roar and swipes at you with razor sharp claws at least ten inches long.

Glasses of herbs and salves go shattering as it down around you, and you scream as you cover your head from the brunt of the chaos, pushing yourself on hands and knees beneath the safety of the table, in between the legs of the chairs.

The werewolf bellows and comes down hard on it's front paws, putting it's weight on the table, cracking the old wood right down the middle.

You scuttle out and away from its angry rampage, and make another desperate sprint to get to the door, your lungs burning, your knee and arm aching where you went down on the floor only moments before.

You hear the beast turn and follow, barreling down on you, its paws slapping the floor, a growl in its throat, and you push yourself even harder.

You don't know if there's more of them out there, but your best bet is to get out of the house and try to lose them in the trees.

Just as your searing lungs get a taste of cold night hair, the werewolf swipes a large clawed paw out as it lunges with a roar, and your feet are swept violently out from underneath you, sending you tumbling to the floor once more with an exhausted scream of frustration and fear.

You lie there, seeing stars, willing yourself to get up, even as your body doesn't respond.

You can feel hot, warm liquid running down one of your calves, and you know the muscle is shredded from the hit from the werewolve's giant claws.

The werewolf chuffs approvingly, as if triumphant it caught you, and stands over you, your body feeling absolutely dwarfed and defeated between it's giant tree stump legs.

It leans over, snarling low, its teeth snapping in your face, and as hot drool drips from between its bloodstained lips down the arch of your cheek, you screw your eyes shut and take a deep breath.

This is it.

This is how you go.

Taken out by a werewolf? How stupid. How asinine.

The beast sniffs along your face, as if scenting you before it mauls you, and you do your best to remain as good as frozen under it's massive body.

Maybe if you stay still, it'll kill you quickly and not play with you before it decides to eat you.

I'm sorry, Felix, Hyunjin, you think helplessly, as the beast leans over, it's teeth going to your throat. I didn't want it to end like this, I didn't get to tell you-

Suddenly, there is a pained whine from the werewolf standing over you, and bright light floods behind your eyelids once more, as if its shadow has disappeared from on top of you entirely.

There is the agonized sound of another werewolf howling, somewhere far off, and then you hear another cry, closer, and much more familiar.

The wolf in the room with you snarls, and you crack open an eye in time to see Hyunjin leap over your fallen body and stand protectively in front of you, bow drawn and another arrow, matching the one already protruding from the werewolf's muzzle, already knocked and waiting.

"Fucking mutt." He growls, eyes flashing with hot fury as he circles the werewolf, waiting for its next move, his hunting leathers still cinched tightly around his legs and waist. "You won't live to regret this."

Suddenly, hands are on you, and you're dragged to a corner of the room, away from the werewolf and the hunting Hyunjin.

Your body feels like lead, but when you look up, Felix is crouched in front of you, shielding you from the danger and the werewolf with his body, his arms caging you in, his eyes full of open concern.

You want to cry, you're so relieved to see them.

"Are you hurt?" Felix is asking, scanning down your body, as if looking for a reason to join the fight right alongside the enraged Hyunjin.

You laugh, a watery, panicked sort of sound and shake your head as you draw in a shuddering breath. "I should be asking you that."

"Fuck." Felix swears, having caught sight of your leg, and he rushes to press his hand to the still oozing wound, applying pressure, even as you hiss in protest. "You're bleeding."

You want to tell him that he's stating the obvious, but your head feels fuzzy and your mouth is full of cotton, and the sound of the werewolf snarling as it battles Hyunjin seems to be growing farther away by the second.

You reach up a finger, swiping away the streak of fresh red blood that adorns Felix's high cheekbone.

He holds your gaze seriously. "It's not mine."

You stare at him, everything relaxing inside you slightly at the knowledge, and then without thinking, you blurt out, "I think I'm in love with you."

Okay. This is a more stupid way to go than the werewolf.

Felix stares at you with his mouth slightly agape, and you don't know if it's the blood loss or the sudden bravery etching through your veins, but you hold his gaze, unwavering, until a small smile finally lifts the corner of his pretty mouth.

"You think?" He repeats back, as if he can't quite believe it, or maybe he's berating your word choice.

"I don't know!" You throw out your hands, and wince when the movement jostles your injured leg, your voice rising with irritation. "I don't know what love feels like, but I would assume this is it? I don't want either of you to get hurt and I miss you when you're gone and I really never felt lonely living here alone but now I do, and I know all your favorite things and could trace every scar I've ever healed with my eyes closed, and when I thought I was going to get eaten tonight, I realized that I never got to tell you any of that."

Felix is still staring at you, expression unreadable, and you huff and fold your arms over your chest, glancing away from him at his lack of response.

Gods, you really hope he just lets you bleed out.

Hyunjin appears then behind Felix's crouch, wiping a bloodied blade on his tunic before he sheaths it and glances down at both of you. His face is splattered with dark red blood, and you blame it on the blood loss for thinking he looks even more attractive covered in gore.

"What's going on here?" He asks with a curious look between Felix's frozen state and your petulant pouting.

Felix shifts, the movement making you hiss between your teeth, and glances up at Hyunjin with something akin to amusement on his features.

"She 'thinks' she loves us." He says without any preamble, and you almost choke on your own spit.

You'd get up right now and kick his ass if it weren't for your bum leg.

Hyunjin snorts, glancing down at your shocked face and then he sighs, crouching down beside Felix, his eyes searching your expression for something you're not sure he finds.

His lips lift into half a smile as he studies you, but his dark eyes are nothing but intent, serious, truthful.

"The night I brought Felix to you. The first night we met." He starts, and you nod, acknowledging you remember. He cocks his head and his eyes brighten slightly. "You didn't take one ounce of shit I gave you, and I respected the hell out of that."

You scoff, moving to roll your eyes and look away, but his fingers capture your chin and keep you in place.

Your feel your breath stutter in your chest at the look that washes across his face as he glances down at the blood slowly oozing from your leg between Felix's fingers.

"And then tonight, I came in here, and I saw you on the ground and I thought-" He pauses, taking in a deep breath, and you're fairly certain it's the first time you've seen him even look remotely vulnerable.

He shakes his head and clears his throat. "Anyway." The hint of a smile is back and he reaches up with his thumb to wipe a splatter of blood from your own cheek.

"I guess what I'm trying to say, little bird, is that I've been in love with you since the first time you gave my shit right back to me from across that table."

Your chest collapses, and tears fill your eyes.

Felix reaches up to carefully wipe away the moisture, his own lips pulled into the hint of a soft smile now.

"And I was a goner as soon as I woke up and saw those perfect, plush lips so close to my own, love."

You laugh a little, swiping at your eyes, and bite back a grin that wants to tear your face in half.

“Now say it back. Without the ‘think.’ Hyunjin commands, but his eyes are teasing and warm. “You have to do your part, sweetheart. This goes both ways.”

"All right, fine." You admit teasingly. "I guess you're all right. You did save me from a werewolf after all."

Hyunjin growls playfully and swipes at you, and you manage to evade him, even with your useless leg.

Felix glances down at the wound and you sigh, glancing around at your wrecked home, the dead, bloodied body of the werewolf slowly dissolving to ash in the corner, the pile of broken bottles on the ground by the cracked table.

Hyunjin leans over and swipes one last stray tear from your eye, and when your gazes meet, he gives you a smile that sends warmth all the way through your body.

"C'mon. We'll help you clean up." He wags a finger in your face as Felix helps you stand. "But only because we love you, and only this once."

[elliedafish]

How about you

what are you top five Taylor swift songs and albums

you can do go in to depth if u want as well :)

Thanks for the ask! This also answers @cherryswift13's question.

Top five songs:

cowboy like me - This song just drew me in from the beginning. The instrumentals and Marcus's backing vocals are so perfect with Taylor's main vocals. I love the story in it as well.

gold rush - The message is perfect and I love the "gleaming, twinkling" part. As well as how it changes from being like yeah this happens to it's just a fantasy.

Death By a Thousand Cuts - This is the best Lover song. I don't really know how to explain it, but it's wonderful. I just love it and love it and love it.

illicit affairs - Everything below top 3 can change at any point, but for this long illicit affairs has practically been in the top 5. I really like her "angrier" version during The Eras Tour. It's so personal but it's written in a vagueish (I think that's the word) way where you can apply it to your life well.

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus - I say this is Taylor's most personal song. Listening to it is so sad; it's like illicit affairs where you can apply it to your life because of the way she words it; the different variations of the "always wondered" line makes me go feral!

Top five albums:

Evermore - Folklore also has great story telling lyrics, but Evermore has sonic variety that makes each song give you the same nice feel and gives your ears something a little different and less repetitive. It has awesome 3 track runs (what I think is one of the most important features an album should have) and only one real skip (coney island).

Speak Now - My favorite era. It's so relatable to anyone, whether you're a teen or a young adult or a middle aged person or a senior. Everyone has been through and is still going through life changes and this album really shows that.

Midnights - I love the introspection and retrospection. It does have similar base sounds but the songs all sound different enough where your ears don't get tired easily. She writes about thoughts that other people definitely have at night too and the way she words it makes it easy to insert them into your own life.

Lover - I don't think this one really has an explanation. You've heard the album so it's understandable. No skips (other than The Archer) and always a vibe whenever it comes up.

Reputation - I love how dark it is on the outside but lovely when you take the time to actually listen. I love her persona (or whatever it's called) that she has in this album and I wasn't a big fan before I became a Swiftie but I can now recite all of the songs (except for So It Goes) on the spot. It's truly enchanting.

[36beetles]

People hating Mike just because he's done typical teenage boy shit is soooo. ripping my hair out and screaming. Not even mentioning that he is I think he is struggling with internalized homophobia and his love for Will, what all has he done that is actually worthy of hate?

He ditched his friends to make out, but really he’s a 13 year old boy who’s desperately overcompensating in order to ignore/hide his gay little feelings for Will, what can you expect? Sure, Lucas and Max didn't act like that, but them being good friends doesn't mean that Mike and El are horrible terrible people. It's not like he forgot about them entirely, he still went to the movies and welcomed Dustin home. Definitely annoying, but I wouldn't say that's hate worthy.

He was an asshole to Will over dnd, but guess what? Lucas was too, and no one hates him this much. Not even mentioning that when they saw how upset Will really was, Mike immediately initiated an apology and tried to keep playing.

"It’s not my fault you don't like girls," ignoring the projection as shitty as that was to say, he's kind of right! I’m not on his side in this fight, he was a dick, but you can't deny that. It isn't his fault that Will isn't ready to be dating girls and giving up dnd. Lucas is, Dustin is, why isn’t Will? It’s not like the line is inherently homophobic, I would get that! Poor choice of words sure, but really, if he were homophobic do you think he’d still be friends with Will at all? Plus, afterwards he and Lucas biked in the storm to apologize. Again, not really hate worthy.

Being uncomfortable/stand-offish in California. Again, disregarding his queerness He and Will had a big fight that they never really got the chance to talk about before Will moved, and then they didn’t talk much. It’s stated in the text that Mike tried to reach out, that he was “always complaining” that the phone line was busy. And again, Mike makes a good point, “Why’s this all on me?” Will could’ve reached out too. Sure, we as an audience know that Will is trying to suppress his feelings for Mike, but Mike doesn’t! If my best friend moved roughly 2,000 miles away and then never called me, I’d be a little weird too. And then, in the end? Mike is the one to reach out and apologize after their argument. Please give me a good reason why you hate this kid, I cannot find one.

[inkskinned]

please i love you i'm begging you bring back suspension of disbelief bring back trusting the audience like. i cannot handle any more dialogue that sounds like a legal document. "hello, i am here to talk to you about the incident from a few minutes ago, because i feel you might be unwell, and i am invested in your personal wellbeing." "thank you, i am unwell because the incident was hurtful to me due to my childhood, which was bad." I CANT!!!!

do you know how many people are mad that authors use "growled" as a word for "said"? it's just poetics! they do not literally mean "growled," it's just a common replacement for "said with force but in a low tone." it's normal! do you hear me!! help me i love you please let me out of here!!!

[endusviolence]

Rowling isn't denying holocaust. She just pointed out that burning of transgender health books is a lie as that form of cosmetic surgery didn't exist. But of course you knew that already, didn't you?

I was thinking I'd probably see one of you! You're wrong :) Let's review the history a bit, shall we?

In this case, what we're talking about is the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, or in English, The Institute of Sexology. This Institute was founded and headed by a gay Jewish sexologist named Magnus Hirschfeld. It was founded in July of 1919 as the first sexology research clinic in the world, and was run as a private, non-profit clinic. Hirschfeld and the researchers who worked there would give out consultations, medical advice, and even treatments for free to their poorer clientele, as well as give thousands of lectures and build a unique library full of books on gender, sexuality, and eroticism. Of course, being a gay man, Hirschfeld focused a lot on the gay community and proving that homosexuality was natural and could not be "cured".

Hirschfeld was unique in his time because he believed that nobody's gender was either one or the other. Rather, he contended that everyone is a mixture of both male and female, with every individual having their own unique mix of traits.

This leads into the Institute's work with transgender patients. Hirschfeld was actually the one to coin the term "transsexual" in 1923, though this word didn't become popular phrasing until 30 years later when Harry Benjamin began expanding his research (I'll just be shortening it to trans for this brief overview.) For the Institute, their revolutionary work with gay men eventually began to attract other members of the LGBTA+, including of course trans people.

Contrary to what Anon says, sex reassignment surgery was first tested in 1912. It'd already being used on humans throughout Europe during the 1920's by the time a doctor at the Institute named Ludwig Levy-Lenz began performing it on patients in 1931. Hirschfeld was at first opposed, but he came around quickly because it lowered the rate of suicide among their trans patients. Not only was reassignment performed at the Institute, but both facial feminization and facial masculization surgery were also done.

The Institute employed some of these patients, gave them therapy to help with other issues, even gave some of the mentioned surgeries for free to this who could not afford it! They spoke out on their behalf to the public, even getting Berlin police to help them create "transvestite passes" to allow people to dress however they wanted without the threat of being arrested. They worked together to fight the law, including trying to strike down Paragraph 175, which made it illegal to be homosexual. The picture below is from their holiday party, Magnus Hirschfeld being the gentleman on the right with the fabulous mustache. Many of the other people in this photo are transgender.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of a group of people. Some are smiling at the camera, others have serious expressions. Either way, they all seem to be happy. On the right side, an older gentleman in glasses- Magnus Hirschfeld- is sitting. He has short hair and a bushy mustache. He is resting one hand on the shoulder of the person in front of him. His other hand is being held by a person to his left. Another person to his right is holding his shoulder.]

There was always push back against the Institute, especially from conservatives who saw all of this as a bad thing. But conservatism can't stop progress without destroying it. They weren't willing to go that far for a good while. It all ended in March of 1933, when a new Chancellor was elected. The Nazis did not like homosexuals for several reasons. Chief among them, we break the boundaries of "normal" society. Shortly after the election, on May 6th, the book burnings began. The Jewish, gay, and obviously liberal Magnus Hirschfeld and his library of boundary-breaking literature was one of the very first targets. Thankfully, Hirschfeld was spared by virtue of being in Paris at the time (he would die in 1935, before the Nazis were able to invade France). His library wasn't so lucky.

This famous picture of the book burnings was taken after the Institute of Sexology had been raided. That's their books. Literature on so much about sexuality, eroticism, and gender, yes including their new work on trans people. This is the trans community's Alexandria. We're incredibly lucky that enough of it survived for Harry Benjamin and everyone who came after him was able to build on the Institute's work.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of the May Nazi book burning of the Institute of Sexology's library. A soldier, back facing the camera, is throwing a stack of books into the fire. In the background of the right side, a crowd is watching.]

As the Holocaust went on, the homosexuals of Germany became a targeted group. This did include transgender people, no matter what you say. To deny this reality is Holocaust denial. JK Rowling and everyone else who tries to pretend like this isn't reality is participating in that evil. You're agreeing with the Nazis.

But of course, you knew that already, didn't you?

Edit: Added image IDs. I apologize to those using screen readers for forgetting them. Please reblog this version instead.

[pacificwaternymph]

Did you guys know that Duke's tag on Ao3 only has 7,000 fics? Because I didn't.

[mythicalcoolkid]

You don't wish your disability was worse or more visible, you wish your disability was taken seriously. Please stop confusing the two, I guarantee you would not get the support you need JUST by being more severe or more visible. Please listen to visibly disabled people when we tell you it isn't better on our side

[cherriontop]

Here are my personal thoughts on this matter: 

Bucky, ever since he has lost who he is, has had this metal arm. It’s strong and powerful, and clearly it’s very highly valued by Hydra. They build and maintain it, after all. He’s likely been told to lead with this arm in fights, which you can see in other fight scenes. His right hand tends to handle the weapons (as he’s naturally right handed), but his left arm is used for brute force and when he gets to be more desperate as he senses he’s losing. He’s also not afraid to use his left arm for things that would hurt his right arm, such as when he’s thrown off Sam’s car, when he tries to punch Steve’s face into the pavement, or when he’s going to be met with a solid obstacle like the shield. He knows the best times to use which arms. 

Everyone takes one look at Bucky and his metal arm, and they immediately know which of the two is more dangerous to them. If you were to fight him, you would not want to get hit by that metal arm, and so when Bucky is involved in hand to hand combat, weapons discarded, he tends to swing with his left arm. (It might also hurt less for him, depending on how they hooked it up to his body)

The other winter soldiers all know for a fact that Bucky’s metal arm is dangerous. They’ve trained with it, seen it in action. They’re not stupid. And Bucky lashes out at them during practice with his right arm, and then his left in the top gif. His right arm is ignored easily, sidestepped, but Josef grabs Bucky’s left arm immediately. You could say that perhaps he wasn’t prepared for the first swing, but still. He grabs the left arm because he knows its the biggest threat for him. 

Bucky isn’t used to that. He’s used to people cowering in fear and avoiding this arm at all costs because of the damage it can cause. He pushes and he pulls on his arm in Josef’s grip, and in the second gif, at least to me, there’s an angry sort of surprise. Like he wasn’t expecting this. Because most people can’t handle that left arm of his. 

After Josef immobilizes his left arm, Bucky does not attempt to free himself with his right arm at all. The third gif he looks frustrated and worried. Hydra has likely put this left arm of his on a pedestal and he thinks it’s indestructible. No one has proved him wrong this far, anyway. 

My point being, Josef saw this left arm as another weapon and his biggest threat and takes it out first thing. He doesn’t go for that right arm, he knows that pain is not going to stop Bucky, but taking out the metal arm will stop him, and he’s right. 

Steve, however, does not have the same feelings and reactions. He does not know the extent of torture Bucky has endured. He doesn’t know that pain will not stop Bucky from completing his mission. Yes, this metal arm is a threat, and not one that Steve takes lightly, but when he goes to stop Bucky on the helicarrier, he doesn’t attack the left arm. He goes for the right. 

I like to think this is because he isn’t sure how Bucky feels through the arm, if he feels anything at all. He doesn’t know how this works. But Bucky can definitely feel through the right arm, and by dislocating it or breaking it, he feels as though the pain will be enough to stop Bucky. He goes for the quickest way to take Bucky out, whereas Josef went to eliminate the threat first. 

Clearly, Josef’s way is much more effective, but Steve thinks of Bucky as a human and not a weapon. Pain is enough to stop most people, and so that’s what he goes for. Josef knows pain will not be enough, but immobilizing the only weapon Bucky has in that room is enough for him to get the upper hand. The two very different ways of tackling fights with Bucky is shown so distinctly in how Bucky was treated under the hands of Hydra and the way different characters see and react to him and I think that’s just so interesting. 

Sebastian Stan as Bucky Barnes in

Captain America: Civil War (2016)

[pineapple-frenzy]

Book 2 au doodles

It's just a bunch of random moments with Zuko looking grumpy for most of them,,, he can be happy for at least one drawing tho

[egophiliac]

Hello ! I positively adore the running joke of Idia unknowingly finding Lilia to be the coolest guy ever whenever he doesn't know it's him, like when Silver described his father, or obviously with muscle red. I can't say what'd be funnier, Idia finding out his online best friend is actually Lilia, resident spooky hyper fairy; or them both never finding out, and it'd become even more ridiculous as time goes on. How do you think it'll play out ? You're always so on point

(Also, though it makes sense, I'm still devastated bat boy didn't get a ticket for the Halloween skeleton train : ( does anyone mentions him at some point ? Like how he'd have fit right in with all those Halloween town little freaks, and how he'd have impressed them with his spooks and scared techniques; after all he's been every Briar Valley's children worst fear on Halloween for centuries. I'm on the eng server and I didn't wanna spoil myself by watching the whole thing on youtube)

Have a nice day !

you and me both, Idia and Lilia being oblivious online BFFs (+ Idia being incredibly intimidated any time Silver brings up his jock gamer dad) is my favorite running joke/subplot. 🤝 it's SO good, to the point where I also am unsure if I actually want it to ever be resolved or not...maybe, like, as a post-canon stinger or something? everyone's standing around covered in overblot ink, and Idia and Lilia's phones go off at the same time...

(legit I do think this is part of why Idia couldn't be present for Lilia's dream, because for some reason Lilia decided he was going to just. embody his past self online. he probably quotes his own battle strategies or whatever in the middle of boss fights. Idia didn't pick up on the whole "oh how weird that we both live on a super remote island" thing, but he would spend thirty seconds listening to General Lilia describing siege warfare and be like "w-wait")

all that aside, however it does end up happening, I do see Lilia being very blasé and all "oh! cool!" about it. y'know, taking it very much in stride! and Idia...very much not.

(can't tell if tumblr is going to chew this into illegibility or not, this will be a fun surprise ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ)

as for Lilia sadly missing out on Halloweentown shenanigans...he does get one little mention as part of an offhand reference to the light music club, but so far no one has brought up how this basically is just Lost In the Book of Liliatown (Sebek's been too busy yelling about not getting to be in the same group as Malleus). 😔 honestly though, it's probably for the best that he got left out, because he would just settle right in and refuse to ever leave. canon would shatter. we would miss out on all the delightful angst of episode 7 because Lilia is too busy eating poisonous shrubbery inbetween practicing his very best screams, and no one can pull him away from it.

(I can hope for a sequel next year though...)

[forgettable-au]

FORGETTABLE-AU (Page 61-64)

* I-I don't think we were talking about the same thing...

[BEGINNING] [PREVIOUS] [CONTINUE]

[snaggletoothedbastard]

I've already reblogged this but I wanted to add some of my Thoughts.

A couple of weeks ago, I got really sick. I had to be sent home from school. When I got home I couldn't do much more than lie in bed shivering because I had a fever. I threw up about four times and I'd barely eaten anything that day so there was nothing to bring back up, just bile. My mum called the doctor to see if there was anything she could do that she wasn't doing already, and the doctor said there were "too many red flags" regarding my symptoms, so they sent two paramedics to our house.

And for some reason I thought about Frodo, and how similar his condition was to mine during the last sections of his journey. In fact he was almost definitely feeling worse than I was. And that made me feel even more impressed, because even though he was obviously struggling, he still did his damn best to keep going. Whereas I could barely stand up, and literally just walking the short distance to the bathroom was enough to make me nauseous.

I mentioned this to my mum when I was feeling better, and she said, "Yeah. Frodo's hard as nails."

I can apply this to other things too. I once went a whole night without sleeping. I don't sleep particularly well anyway and I'm always pretty tired, but that day I was significantly worse. At about midday I just went back to bed because I didn't have the energy to do anything else. Sound familiar?

I can keep going. Why don't I tell you about school? I'm lucky enough to attend a pretty good school that is at least trying to accommodate me properly. I still have to deal with the crowded hallways. The bright lights. The uncomfortable uniform. up at seven fifteen every morning and getting half the amount of sleep I should be getting. The constant fear that something is going to trigger a meltdown and I won't be able to stop it. The mean teachers. The mean students. Oh my god, the students. They're fucking brutal. Did I tell you about the gang of boys in my year that noticed my noise-cancelling headphones and decided it would be funny to clap loudly whenever they saw me? Did I tell you that one time they literally cornered me and just clapped and clapped until I managed to get away from them, and after that I was so stressed I couldn't speak? I still can't stand the sound of people clapping because I've learnt to associate it with my bullies and it automatically makes me panic. Remind you of anyone?

What's my point? People who take the piss out of Frodo simply for struggling (because of, may I add, something that is so dangerous even Gandalf avoids it like the plague) should really think about why they have this attitude, and how it might be affecting real people. Because despite what they say, fiction can affect reality, and if people are happy to say awful things about a fictional character, I wouldn't put it past them to say similar things about real-life people who are in similar conditions.

And even if they don't say these things about real people, we can still be affected by what they're saying about the character.

I relate to Frodo in so many ways. I often wonder if people see me the way some people see him. I know I'm not whiny and annoying, and I know my struggles are as valid as anyone else's, but I do worry sometimes. I worry that I might be overreacting when I have an intense reaction to something that stresses me out, or that I'm oversharing and being irritating when I complain about school. And y'know what's not fucking helping me, or anyone else, with that? People who bitch about disabled-coded characters for acting disabled.

If any of those people are reading this, here's something I want you to read very carefully and make sure you understand. The reality is: there are parts of life that you can't glorify or romanticise. Sometimes life is ugly and painful and difficult. Sometimes it's more difficult for certain people than it is for other people. Those people that find life more difficult than you do are just as worthy of respect as you are. Whether their struggles are obvious or not. I should not have to spell this out.

In conclusion, Frodo Baggins is hard as nails :)

the lack of compassion that a good portion of lotr fans show for frodo ("why can't he fight or do simple tasks" "why is he so weak" "why does he always need help / to be rescued") mirrors the lack of compassion of people for those who bear the burden of invisible disabilities. he's struggling against an immense weight at every step! something that actively tries to destroy him, worsening at every moment! his heroism is in just continuing to walk his path, step by step. his bravery is in just existing as himself under the debilitating weight of the ring. but because the influence of the ring is invisible, it is forgotten, and frodo is written off as a weak, cowardly, and/or useless character, much like disabled people irl. in this household we do not stand for frodo slander!!!

[sassaffrassa]

It was a kiss between a man and his wife, and when it was over, the king closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the hollow of the queen’s shoulder, like a man seeking respite, like a man reaching home at the end of the day.

hi, i'm very cool and normal about these books, don't worry about me

on ao3 here

[tzarrz]

i listen to fog lake too much

[fruity-phrog]

Okay, I saw someone say that Nimona, while being good representation, “didn’t take the big step forward in queer rep that everyone says it did”.

That is wrong. So wrong, my dude.

Yes, an explicit and open queer relationship in children’s cartoons is not new, per ce. Hell, just this year, two popular kids’ cartoons had the main character in an open, adorable, plot-based queer romance. But this is different for a few reasons.

Reason number one, it isn’t left in suspense. Yes, they had that split for three odd weeks, but they started the film as a couple. One of the very first scenes is them together as a couple, Ambrosius saying he loves Ballister, them holding hands, Ballister leaning on Ambrosius’ shoulder. Ambrosius says he loves Ballister three times during the film, and none of them are any more than halfway in. It’s very clear, from their very first interaction, that they are an established relationship, which isn’t something I’ve seen...at all in other animation.

Secondly, they are the plot. Ambrosius not believing Ballister, Ambrosius cutting off Ballister’s arm, Ballister trying to get the video to Ambrosius - this is what drives the plot. In any other children’s animation with queer relationships, the relationship is not the main focus. Even The Owl House, which is so amazing with its constant representation, would still make sense if Luz and Amity never happened. But Nimona’s plot wouldn’t make sense without Ballister and Ambrosius’ relationship. It, quite simply, can’t be erased. It could work as a friendship, yes, but that’s the point. They could have just been two close friends that fell on opposite sides of a fight, but they weren’t. They were two lovers that fell on opposite sides of a fight. 

Thirdly, they aren’t sanitized for “family viewing”. An emerging trend in children’s animation is to only have mlm relationships as fathers to make them seem more “family friendly”. With the exception of Kipo, there really isn’t many tv shows or films that places light upon an mlm relationship. And if it does, it'll be a teen relationship because teenagers being queer tends to come across as less “dirty” and more “innocent”. But Goldenheart is none of these things. They are adults without the mollifying aspect of having a family. And on top of that, they fight. They wield swords and they get bloody and they shoot at things and get angry and yell. They aren’t “clean” and “innocent”.

As well as this, they are in a film. Films are far more accessible than tv shows. You have to watch twenty seven episodes before Lumity in toh is canon. Troy kisses Benson on the eleventh episode of Kipo. And there are two hundred and eighty three episodes of Adventure Time before Marceline and Bonnie kiss. But with a film, the queerness is much more forward - especially in Nimona, where it’s literally the second scene. Animated films hardly ever display queer relationships, but Nimona did.

Finally - they aren’t perfect. I don’t know about you, but three weeks of thinking your boyfriend/maybe ex is a murderer? Doesn’t sound like a healthy few weeks to me. I have only seen big relationship arguments portrayed in straight relationships in cartoons - think Star Vs The Forces Of Evil - whereas queer relationships either have the massive fight prior to being canonically gay - She Ra - or have conflict, not arguments, that are dealt with quickly - Dead End/The Owl House. But Goldenheart? Goldenheart suffers. Their relationship is pushed to such extreme boundaries as for them to be pretty much exes throughout most of the movie. And yet, they are clearly healthy, happy and very much in love at the end. 

TL;DR - Nimona is amazing with the queer representation, and it is a milestone for LGBTQ+ cartoons. Not only is the relationship romantic for the entire movie, the plot is driven by Ambrosius and Ballister’s sort-of-break-up. In short, they are treated the same way straight people are. They have flaws, they have massive arguments, they have plot importance, they have backstory. They are in love. And that’s what matters more than anything else.