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#possibility to begin with because he exchanged his death for your life but he doesn’t understand he wrote the eulogy you will roam the wide

mockerycrow · 6 months

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CONGRATS ON YOUR 4K POOKIE I’M SO GLAD FOR YOU, YOU DESERVE THE WORLD 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛

can i pretty please request roach x gn!reader with a fluff prompt “god, i’m so glad you’re alright”, after him and ghost survive “loose ends”, because they were warned in time that they cannot trust shepherd. THANK YOU AND CONGRATS AGAIN, MWAHHH

- 🐇

STILL STANDING (Roach x GN!Reader) — 4K CELEBRATION

[WARNINGS; talks about death, life affirming kisses, roach is selectively mute, fluff.]

IT WAS THE last second. It was the very last second when Roach and Ghost had heard Price’s panicked shouts through the radio, to not trust Shepherd, to go somewhere else, that they will meet again. Ghost and Roach had exchanged panicked glances the DSM in Roach’s hands when at the last second, they turned around in went deep into the woods, a completely different direction than where the chopper with Shepherd was—anything to survive that.

All Roach could think about was you and others. Ghost and Roach had cut all contact, knowing Shepherd’s men would canvas the surrounding areas for a couple of days, weeks at most; they managed to find an extremely rundown medium sized shed, one that was hidden by brush and trees. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to shelter the two from the natural elements.

Combining Ghost and Roach’s wilderness survival skills, they were able to scrounge up food when they ran out of MREs. It has to be day six when he begins to think about you again—wondering, hoping you were good they got away.

That leads him to dread another possibility; would Shepherd go after you next? Would he be found, only to be let know you’re rotting in a pool of your own blood somewhere? There’s too much that would be left unsaid between you two, not enough fucking time.

When Roach approached Ghost with his predicament, rapidly signing his thoughts—way too fast for Ghost to understand. “I— wha— alright, slow down, will ya? Can barely understand you.” Ghost says, putting his hands up as if to calm him.

Like anything could calm him; not when he had a nightmare about finding you cold and dead.

Roach takes in a slow breath as he forces his hands to slow down into more concise sentences so the other masked man can understand him. “When will we be out of here, Lieutenant?” Roach signs, watching how Ghost’s eyes track the movements of his hands and fingers. Ghost crosses his arms, his eyes flickering up to Roach’s. “I’m not too sure, I don’t think too much longer. Why?”

Roach signs your name and that’s all it takes for it to register in Ghost’s head, his eyebrows raising above the sunglasses he’s wearing. “Oh, you’re worried about them, are ya?” Ghost hums. “I’m sure they’re fine, we’ll try to contact ‘em tomorrow.” Roach let’s out a huff of relief and lazily signs thank you before he sits down on the wooden floor of the shed next to some of his gear.

Roach doesn’t sleep much that night, ranging from the fact they’re going to attempt to make contact again and the gnawing worry in his stomach; as well as the fact they’re still sleeping in shifts just in case. Roach is awoken by Ghost grabbing his shoulder and shaking him awake, his voice urging for him to wake up. Roach groggily sits up whilst Ghost stupidly tries to tell him what he has to say right off the bat, causing Roach to just stare at him with exhausted eyes.

Ghost lets out a sigh. “Roach.” He utters, waiting for Roach to give him a sign he is processing things. Roach takes a second before nodding, running his fingers through his hair. His helmet and goggles are by his side which Roach grabs before adjusting the tan mask on his face. “I made contact, they’re fine.” Ghost murmurs, making Roach light up, his eyebrows raising. He begins to rapidly sign, making Ghost chuckle. “Calm down, will ya? We’re meeting them 2 klicks north from here, so we can regroup.”

Roach wastes no time, quickly putting on his helmet and goggles, clicking the strap. He adjusts the goggles and the man stands up so quickly, he’s dizzy. “Woah there—“ Ghost grabs his shoulder to steady the man, but Roach quickly begins to gather his things, reorganizing what’s needed in his bag. The excitement and nervousness beneath his skin threatened to burst with every moment, his fingers trembling. Roach knows he needs to feel you under his fingers to properly process you’re genuinely okay.

Ghost packs his stuff as well, and they work together to make it look like no one was in the shed in the first place. They leave the shed with their guns in hand, slowly making their way through the thick forest towards the location. Roach is deep in thought as they begin their journey; are you as relieved as he is? He hopes so, but on the other hand, he doesn’t want you to be so worried over him. Roach keeps reminding himself to sign slowly for you, because he knows the second he sees you, he won’t be able to properly sign.

His heart is pounding in his chest as Ghost utters that they’re close, that they should be able to spot a vehicle soon. A few more minutes of walking and they hear shuffling of leaves. Roach quickly turns and aims his rifle—it’s you. He nearly drops his rifle, a smile widening under his mask. You’re running towards him which does actually prompt him to drop his rifle—his bootcamp instructors are screaming at him in his head—but he starts running towards you as well. You run right into him, nearly toppling him over with your hug, your arms wrapping tightly around him. Roach’s hands scramble to grab onto your gear, stumbling around as you sniffle, holding onto him.

Roach lets out a shuddery breath, relief rolling off of him in waves. His tense shoulders relax once he finally has you in his arms. You pull your head away enough to look at him in the eyes, tears in your own. “God, I’m so glad you’re alright.” Your voice cracks as you express your relief. Roach’s breath hitches in his throat and he lets go of you, shakily ripping his helmet off, dropping it in the sticks and leaves to the side. He raises his goggles to sit on his forehead and he rips his mask down before he cups your cheeks and presses a desperate kiss against your lips which you return. You both know you’ll equally be embarrassed about this, kissing so needily in front of the others, but it’s needed—you both needed it.

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whatacaitastrophe · 3 months

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Is It Over Now - Chapter 5

Previous Chapter

Chapter Song Inspiration: "Vertigo" - Griff

Chapter Warnings: none!

Spotify Playlist: Here

Chapter Notes: if you have read this fic, liked it, reblogged it, or left comments THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart. keep the comments coming bc i love hearing your feedback (and like tinkerbell, i need applause to live).

Chapter 5: You're Scared of Love, Well Aren't We All?

After well over two hundred years of living (so to speak), Astarion didn’t think it was possible for him to be surprised by anything anymore. He felt as though he’d seen it, done it, heard it, read it, written the book, and adapted the stage play. Perhaps his attitude towards the world makes him jaded, but who wouldn’t be after what Astarion has been through?

Though nothing, truly nothing, could have prepared him for the feeling of Fallon’s soft lips pressed against his. Once his shock subsides, Astarion gives into the kiss and presses his mouth back on hers with only a little bit of urgency. Like if he pushes her too far she might break. His hands move from Fallon’s shoulders to her hips, and Astarion pulls her body closer to his. Fallon’s fingers move into his curls, and the feeling of someone running their hands through his hair again sends a shiver down his spine. Gods, Astarion cannot even begin to remember how many times he’s imagined a moment like this with her.

Astarion isn’t the only person in this room who couldn’t help but flirt with everyone he encountered. Their friendship has always been a touch flirty, because that’s just how they both were. It was a game they’ve played since they met. They’d flirt, exchange playful smirks, and then Fallon would repeatedly deny her physical attraction to him. Of course, Astarion could tell from her body language and the way her heart picked up every time he bit her that it was a lie, but a physical attraction did not mean he ever had her heart.

No, her heart always belonged to Gale; and prior to the wizard’s shocking display of selfishness that day on the docks, Astarion always assumed that in order for Fallon to give someone her body, they had to lay claim to her heart as well. That theory was sufficiently debunked as soon as Fallon began drinking herself to death, fucking anyone and everyone she deemed the slightest bit worthy.

It’s this little reminder in his brain that brings the moment to a screeching halt, and any desire he feels for the woman in front of him is suppressed by Astarion’s own insecurities. “Fallon,” He pulls away from her, pushing Fallon back gently to put some space between them. “We can’t. I– I can’t.”

Astarion hates the look on her face when he denies her; the mixture of hurt and confusion only confirms his decision to put a stop to it before they go too far. “Why not?”

“Because you just nearly had a panic attack after hearing the name of another man.” he tries to explain it to her gently, but saying the words out loud also sends a surge of hurt and anger of his own through his body; both with Fallon for trying to use him in this way, and with himself for falling for it. “I know what you’re doing, because I’ve done it, and I have enough self-respect to not be reduced to the level of a nameless drow you’ll let take you in a damned alleyway.”

Self-respect that Astarion has now, largely in part to having met Fallon two years ago. She had been the one who showed him he was worth more than what Cazador forced him to do, who Cazador turned him into. Fallon was the one who single-handedly convinced Astarion not to complete the Black Mass, because she believed Astarion was stronger than that. That he deserved a better life, and he could be a better person. The words fall off of his tongue, and they’re much more bitter than he wanted them to be. How easy it still was for people to forget he does have a heart, even if it doesn’t beat anymore, and Astarion can’t help but resent Fallon a little bit in this moment for that, too.

Thankfully, he does not need to explain himself further, and Fallon takes another step away from him. She bites her lip, and Astarion hates that he’s the reason there are now tears forming in the corners of her eyes. It’s almost enough for him to give in and kiss her again, just to make those go away; but if he’s learned anything since meeting the elf in front of him, it’s that giving in won’t do either of them any good. Not when Astarion is pretty sure that sex with Fallon will mean much more to him than it will to her.

“You’re right. I’m– I’m sorry, Astarion. You don’t deserve that, especially after everything you’ve done for me.” Fallon breathes and her eyes begin desperately looking around the sitting room, eyes flitting to a new spot every few seconds as she tries to avoid looking at Astarion altogether. “I think I’m going to take a walk. Maybe I’ll go find Shadowheart and let her apologize.” Fallon brushes past Astarion, and guilt settles in his chest. “What? No, you don’t have to go. I’ll go. You’re the one who actually lives here.”

Fallon turns around as she walks and she finally looks Astarion in the eyes again. “It’s the middle of the day, Astarion. Where are you going to go?” She points out sadly, because he is indeed trapped here until the sun sets. Fallon turns back around, but when she gets to the door, she pauses again. Fallon looks over her shoulder at Astarion. “I hope you know that you do mean more to me than some nameless drow I fucked in an alleyway. As a person, as a friend, as anything else. I’m sorry if my actions made you think otherwise.

With that, she exits the suite and Astarion lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He goes over to the couch, sinking down onto it with a heavy sigh. He runs his hands over his face and through his hair. “Shit.”

~*~

The streets of Baldur’s Gate are bustling with people finishing their shopping for the Winter Solstice. In another lifetime, the Winter Solstice used to be Fallon’s favorite holiday. The decorations, the way mages and clerics across the city used their combined powers to make it seem as though the trees and buildings twinkled. Even during the years she spent Winter Solstice on her own, the general atmosphere was enough to lift her spirits. The last Winter Solstice hadn’t gone as she expected, having assumed she would be spending it in Waterdeep– not getting outrageously drunk with Rolan, Lia, and Cal at The Elfsong and then crying herself to sleep. She supposes this year won’t be much different other than the fact that she now has to attend a damn ball; and instead of getting outrageously drunk with the tieflings, it will be with Astarion.

Assuming Astarion doesn’t abandon her after the way she treated him just now. If he does, or if he decides that he no longer wants Fallon to join him on his journey to Asha, Fallon wouldn’t blame him at all.

Finding Shadowheart is rather easy, because if there is one thing Fallon knows about her friend, it’s that they both have a ball to attend in the coming days, and the silver-haired cleric likes to shop. The Facemaker’s Boutique is as busy as expected for this time of year, and Fallon is certain that Figaro and his staff are working overtime to fill all of the orders they’re receiving. Fallon offers the clerk at the main desk a small wave before walking deeper into the shop, where she finds Shadowheart being doted on by none other than Figaro himself. Presently, he has Shadowheart in a green, floor-length gown with long sleeves and an open back. The sleeves are sheer lace, and Fallon takes notice of the intricate details of moons and stars woven into the lace. The color compliments her hair and eyes, and Fallon doesn’t think there’s another word to describe her friend other than “radiant."

“Lae’zel is going to lose her mind when she sees you in that dress.” Fallon comments, announcing her presence to the room. Shadowheart looks up at her through the mirror’s reflection, and she looks incredibly relieved. Figaro turns to face her and makes an enthusiastic noise.

“Lady Fallon, dearest! It has been far too long since I’ve seen your face in my shop. You look malnourished. Are you eating? Lady Shadowheart, are you feeding her?” Hearing someone use the titles they all inherited after The Netherbrain was defeated is still strange to Fallon, mostly because the people she’s surrounded herself with as of late always forgo the formalities. The first time a staff member at The Elfsong called her “Lady Fallon,” she’d laughed and demanded they never use the title again.

“Malnourished is a bit dramatic, don’t you think, Figaro?” Fallon laughs lightly. The dwarf only rolls his eyes.

“Unfortunately, I’ve been out of the city for quite some time, so the responsibility of keeping Fallon fed and watered has fallen to other people.” Shadowheart’s eyes don’t leave Fallon’s, shining apologetically. Likely both for being gone, and for what she’d said earlier. “Figaro, sweetheart, could you give the two of us a moment? Fallon is also in need of a dress for this ball. Perhaps you already have something that’s gone unused that can be easily tailored? She’s been quite busy as of late, so I expect placing an advance order likely slipped her mind.”

“Yes, yes of course, Lady Shadowheart! In fact, I do. I started working on something a month or so ago at the request of Lord Astarion. I assumed you’d be in at some point this week to retrieve it. I’ll be back shortly.”

Fallon tries to push down the emotions that fill her at Figaro’s confession, but her reflection in the mirror suggests she’s doing a terrible job. The dwarf is barely out of the fitting room before Shadowheart is picking up her skirts and dashing towards Fallon and embracing her tightly. “I’m so sorry.” she apologies into Fallon’s hair before pulling back to look at her. “I’m so stupid, I shouldn’t have assumed you were doing well. You just seemed to be in such good spirits, so I thought– I’m so sorry. Did I say I’m sorry?”

“Yes, you said sorry,” Fallon chuckles and releases herself from Shadowheart’s embrace. “Besides, I forgave you the moment you were kicked out.”

Shadowheart rolls her eyes as she disappears behind the privacy wall in the room to change back into her regular clothes. “Yes, I’d planned to ask you what the hells that was about? Since when has Astarionion become so… protective?”

“Probably the moment he found me drunker than a kobold in a wine barrel, bent over a stack of crates in The Elfsong’s alleyway, being fucked by someone whom I couldn’t tell you what he looked like, even if he were stood in this room.”

Her friend snorts with laughter. “Well I suppose that’s one way to cope. Maybe not the recommended way, but…to each their own,” To each their own, indeed. “Is that the real reason he’s moved in with you as well?”

“Probably, even if he’d never admit it,” Fallon sighs. “Though, now that I’ve gone and done the most idiotic thing I could have possibly done, I imagine he’ll be moving out this evening.”

Shadowheart emerges from behind the divider with a puzzled expression. “What on earth did you do? Agree with me and tell him that he’s acting like your guard dog?”

Before Fallon can answer, Figaro returns with a gown of deep burgundy gown shimmering on his arm. She doesn’t need to try it on to know it’s beautiful. She exchanges looks with Shadowheart. There’s a softness in her friend’s eyes she usually reserves for Lae’zel, but a gesture that one could only describe as “romantic” was apparently an exception. All it does is make Fallon feel worse.

Fallon thanks Figaro as she takes the gown from him to try on. Once behind the divider Fallon truly takes a moment to observe the dress before taking it off the hanger, and she finds herself a little speechless. Beautiful seems too dull of a word to describe it and she sighs. “Oh, Astarion.” she mutters. Gods, what a mess she’s made. Carefully she removes the dress from the hanger and slips it on, grateful that Figaro handed it to her with the clasps already unfastened. When she emerges from behind the divider, Figaro and Shadowheart gasp. “A lot of things can be said about Astarion, but not one person can ever say he doesn’t have taste.” Shadowheart muses, awestruck.

Fallon steps onto the pedestal in front of the mirror, and a small gasp leaves her mouth once she properly observes herself in the mirror. The gown is entirely chiffon, and the skirts ripple down the floor with movement that one could only describe as liquid. Intricate lace flowers cover the bodice with a plunging v-neck that apexes just beneath her sternum, accentuating her full breasts. The sleeves are not actually sleeves at all, but a willowy cape that flows to the ground, wrapping Fallon in gossamer fabric. Figaro allows Shadowheart to fasten the back on his behalf, and when Fallon does a small turn to see it in the mirror, it just might be her favorite feature. The fabric is sheer, giving the illusion of an open back, but fastenings are covered by brilliant gemstones (Diamonds? They look like diamonds. Gods, she’s going to kill Astarion if they’re real diamonds) that run down her spine until just above her tailbone.

Fallon turns to fully face the mirror again and even she can’t help but stare in awe. Fallon doesn’t just look beautiful, she looks regal. Astarion doesn’t do anything unintentionally, and the statement this gown makes is loud enough that Fallon is certain everyone at the ball will hear it. Figaro moves past Shadowheart with pins in his hand and begins to scrutinize the dress more closely, looking for errors and pinning the places that need to be taken in and hemmed. “Well, I must say, I’m quite impressed. Lord Astarion mentioned he didn’t know your measurements so it was likely adjustments would be needed, but he managed to get pretty damned close,” Figaro muses. “I didn’t realize the two of you were involved.”

Fallon’s eyes fill with sadness and she looks at Shadowheart via the mirror. “We’re not.” Fallon knows it’s not enough of an explanation for her friend to figure out the “idiotic thing” Fallon had done, but Fallon hopes it gives her an idea. “My deepest apologies, Lady Fallon. In that case, you have a very good friend…and forgive me for saying so because it’s certainly not my place, but perhaps you should be romantically involved,” Figaro finishes pinning the bottom of the gown and stands up. “Alright, dearest, go ahead and change. I’ll have both of your dresses ready for you in two day’s time.”

Figaro bows deeply and exits the fitting room, and Shadowheart moves to unfasten the back of Fallon’s gown. “It really is gorgeous,'' she muses. “I’m honestly a little nervous touching these fastenings out of fear of ripping something…I think they might actually be diamonds.” Fallon shakes her head, she really might kill the vampire.

Fallon steps off the pedestal and walks carefully to the divider, not wanting to trip or accidentally unpin Figaro’s alterations. “Now, are you going to tell me what idiotic thing you’ve done or shall I be left to guess?” Shadowheart calls from the other side. Once she’s out of the gown, Fallon dresses again quickly.

“I kissed him.”

The silence in the fitting room is palpable, and when she emerges again to face Shadowheart, her friend is completely stunned. “I’m sorry, you did what?” Fallon shoots her a pleading look, silently begging her friend to not repeat her folly.

Shadowheart blows out a breath. “You know, Wyll told me he thought something might be going on, and after witnessing the two of you banter this morning I was inclined to agree…but now you’re telling me you kissed him, and you think he’s going to leave?”

“He rejected me, Shadowheart. He rejected me, and accused me of trying to use him for sex as a coping mechanism, because all I’ve done lately is use other people for just that.”

Shadowheart stares at her thoughtfully for a moment. “Well, were you?”

“Of course not. I don’t think so, anyway. He told me he was saying no because right before I kissed him I was fighting off a panic attack after hearing an ex’s name…but I wanted him.”

“Okay, well, as reasons go that’s actually pretty logical,” Shadowheart concedes. “But if you want him, then maybe you should just tell him so.”

Fallon gaze falls to the floor. “What if he doesn’t believe me?”

“Then he’s as stupid as your ex-boyfriend,” Shadowheart laughs. She’s never been one to mince words, and being with Lae’zel seems to have only made her more brutally honest. “I know what you’re going through isn’t exactly the same as what I experienced on our adventures, but it is possible to feel multiple feelings at once. You can have feelings for Astarion while also healing from what happened to you. You forget that Lae’zel and I didn’t bond until after we’d both been betrayed by people we loved. Sure, ours were goddesses, but yours left you to chase godhood. Having her by my side while I worked through it…well, it expedited my healing quite immensely.”

Logically these were all things Fallon knew, but her fears and anxieties tended to overrule her logic lately. Hearing someone else say it to her out loud, well, it made a difference. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re incredibly wise? You should be a cleric,” Fallon jokes, a smile blooming on her face. She pulls Shadowheart into a tight hug. “Thank you.”

Shadowheart kisses her on the cheek and pushes her towards the door. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Now go home and tell that silly vampire how you feel.”

Fallon bids Figaro goodbye, thanks him for her gown, and exits the shop, desperately hoping that Astarion hasn’t left her yet.

~*~

When Gale enters his study, he does not expect to see Mystra sitting at his desk, nor does he expect to see a projection of Shadowheart and Fallon in an orb atop it. His heart skips a beat when he sees Fallon’s face. She looks weary, and there’s a dullness in her eyes he’s never seen before. Concern sparks through him immediately. “Mystra, what is this?”

“Just because you are a god now does not mean you can hide things from me so easily. After all, I gave you that power. I know you pine for her, your mortal ex-lover. I know you dream of her. That you often think of her when we make love,” Mystra muses darkly, her eyes daring Gale to disagree with her. “I have something I need to show you, Gale of Waterdeep. Something you must see.”

Gale watches in stunned silence as the orb in front of him plays back. Shadowheart and Fallon are discussing someone. Someone Fallon has romantic feelings for, and Shadowheart reassures her that she can have feelings for someone else and still be hurt by what Gale did to her. Gale frowns at that part. It’s not that he didn’t expect his choice to hurt Fallon in the moment, but he’d thought she would understand and come to accept it. Gale watches as Fallon embraces Shadowheart, and his entire body goes rigid when the cleric speaks again.

”Now go home and tell that silly vampire how you feel.”

Astarion.

“You see, Gale of Waterdeep? Your mortal lover has moved on. She is in the arms of another now, and there is no reason for you to pine for her any longer.” Mystra declares.

Gale’s blood boils. Gale hadn’t expected Fallon to wait for him, but he’d certainly hoped…but of all of the people Fallon could have moved on with, she chose fucking Astarion?

“You’re angry. Explain.” Mystra demands.

“Forgive me, Mystra, but I need to go to her. The vampire in question…he’s not who he claims. Fallon is yet another means to an end for him, and while I don’t relish in the fact that I broke her heart, I cannot sit idly by while he does the same.”

Mystra considers his request. “Part of being a god is letting the mortals make mistakes, Gale of Waterdeep. We cannot intervene at every turn. However…your happiness means a great deal to me. If intervening here will bring you happiness, and will bring your heart and devotion back to me, then so be it.”

He breathes a sigh of relief, and rushes forward to kiss his goddess deeply. It’s the most sincere kiss he’s given her since he ascended to godhood. “Thank you, Mystra, thank you.”

Gale swiftly departs from his study and returns to their bedroom. There’s an invitation he hadn’t noticed before, sitting on his bedside table. It’s an invitation to a ball, dated for two days from now. Tara must have delivered it last time she came to visit, and Gale scowls as he realizes Mystra must have withheld this from him. No matter. He had it now, and for the first time in six months, he’s allowed to leave Elysium.

“I’m coming for you, my love.” He whispers quietly.

Chapter List

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale #astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfic #female tav #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #astarion fanfiction

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bullet-prooflove · 11 months

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Choices!Series Part 12: Home- Nestor Oceteva x Reader (Final Piece)

Tagging: @lyly00 @annetje @anime-weeb-4-life @danzer8705 @drabbles-mc @alwaysachorusgirl @witches-unruly-heart @mysoulisasunflower @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @the-wandering-lunatic @vannabanana1995 @camelia35 @multifandomloversworld @est1887 @lilvampirina @creativitybeware @genius2050 @gracerosaleigh @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @nessamc

Choices!Series:

Part One: First Date (NSFW) - Nester and you have an unusual first date.

Part Two: Familia - (Feat: Marcus Alvarez) - Marcus discovers your relationship.

Part Three: Fair Trade (Feat: Miguel Galindo) - Miguel puts you in a tough position.

Part Four: Slaughterhouse Rules - Miguel feeds you to the wolves.

Part Five: Stay With Me - Nestor deals with the aftermath.

Part 6: Run - Nestor can’t give you what you need.

Part Seven: Partners in Crime (Feat: Coco Cruz & Marcus Alvarez) - Marcus asks Coco to reach out.

Part Eight: What Happens In Reno - What you got up to in Reno.

Part Nine: Don’t Give Up - Nestor refuses to give up on you.

Part Ten: Bleeding Out - Coco finds you bleeding out.

Part Eleven: One Day At A Time - Nestor and you lay your cards out on the table.

You won’t work for Miguel after what happened with Christopher Howard, and it drives him fucking crazy. Both Marcus and Nestor get to hear about it on a regular basis. It’s been three months you returned and you’re still recovering from your trip to Reno.

“Why won’t she pick up the fucking phone?” He snarls at Marcus.

“You burned that bridge mijo.” Marcus sighs with his hands clasped in front of him.

You’ve never told Marcus what forced you into making the choice to become bait in the exchange, but he suspects. You are unrelenting when it comes to your decisions but there’s one thing that can cause you to bend and he hates that him and his family are it. He knows that Miguel used them as a tool to leverage you, that he probably threatened Izzy and Tessa, that you believed him enough to put yourself in a position that has irrevocably damaged you. Nestor’s told him as much.

They can both feel the wind shifting. Miguel has always been ruthless, but he’s always valued loyalty. He’d been unhinged when he’d killed Paco, and it only seems to be getting worse. Marcus thinks that Dita’s death is causing Miguel to spiral, that Potter’s involvement in the cartel is amplifying his paranoia. He’s glad you cut ties.

“There are others…” Marcus begins, although he knows its pointless. Miguel isn’t used to not getting what he wants, he doesn’t like other people playing with his things.

“Not with her skillset.” Miguel interrupts with the slash of his hand. “I need her to get out there and start doing the work she’s supposed to.”

What Miguel means is, he needs you to bolster his reputation. He needs you to get out there and desiccate his enemies, to show everyone that’s ever doubted him what it means to turns on the cartel. He needs you to put the fear of God in those people, to show them that he’s still as ferocious now as he has ever been. There’s a reputation that comes with having someone as brutal as El Cuchillo on his pay roll and without you he feels his grip starting to slip.

“I can’t help you.” Marcus tells him openly.

“Can’t or won’t?”

There’s a fire in those dark eyes of his, a rage that blazes. A muscle in his cheek twitches as he clenches his jaw and meets Marcus’s gaze. That question, it’s a loaded gun, a wrong answer leaves him dead in a ditch and if Miguel sniffs out a lie… The consequences don’t bear thinking about.

“Can’t.” Marcus informs him, straightening his spine and pulling himself up to his full height. “She’s not taking my calls either.”

It isn’t a lie because the truth is he doesn’t call you, he actually sees you. You and Nestor come over once a week for dinner, have been since the swelling died down on your face. Izzy likes to make sure you’re eating right, that you’re recovery is going as smoothly as possible, while Nestor plays Hungry Hippos and Pop Up Pirate on the floor with the kids.

“So you have no idea where she is, or what she’s doing?”

Marcus shakes his head. He doesn’t have a clue what you get up to in the time he doesn’t see you, Nestor would have more of an idea, but he knows the other man will never offer up that information.

“It looks like we’re both in the doghouse.” Miguel says, dropping down onto the couch and rubbing his hands together, his dark brows furrowed, and Marcus knows he is trying to contemplate his next steps.

Marcus says nothing, he doesn’t want Miguel to challenge that assumption, so he shrugs. Let him think whatever he wants, as long as you are safe and happy, Marcus doesn’t care. His eyes meet Nestor’s over Miguel’s head and he can tell that the other man is thinking the exact same thing. They need to keep Miguel Galindo as far away from you as humanly possible.

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

As long as Nestor had known you, you had always come with a go bag. He thought it was specifically for jobs, he hadn’t realised it was the only thing you had to your name.

Over the past three months while you’ve been living with him, it’s sat at the bottom of the closet, where every day you pull out the things you need before putting them back into it. He isn’t sure if you are actively ignoring the closet space he’s made for you, or the couple of drawers he’s emptied. There’s a lot going on in that head of yours and you don’t need the extra pressure, so he doesn’t mention it. He isn’t trying to domesticate you, he senses you need the time to adjust. You haven’t had a home of your own for a very long time and if this works for you then it works for him too.

The only evidence that he shares the space with another person is a second toothbrush in the cup in the bathroom and the black cotton panties that end up in the laundry. He sighs. It takes time he knows.

It’s been four months when he realises you’ve actually hung up some of your clothing. It’s unexpected, he doesn’t know what prompted the transition, but he likes the look of your clothes besides his, his fingertips trace over the fabric, and he smiles. Maybe you’re starting to think of this place as your home after all. The next day he realises you’ve filled the drawers with your underwear and some of his socks that you prefer to wear. He’s happy to give them up to you.

It’s a couple of weeks later things start appearing in the apartment. It’s little changes, a new mug, that’s white, sunshine yellow and vibrant orange. As long as he’s known you, you favour bright colours and blocky patterns. It sticks out like a sore thumb amongst his practical grey ones, but he doesn’t care. For Nestor it’s a sign, one that you’re here to stay.

When the dried wildflowers appear in a vase, he’s never owned on the coffee table, he compliments them. You’ve chosen autumn colours, with tiny sprigs of lavender threaded throughout. It gives the living room a soothing scent, makes the place seem warmer somehow. You seem anxious when he spots them, it’s the biggest change you’ve made so far. He runs his fingers over the delicate petals, the edges of his mouth tipping up into a smile.

“They’re pretty.” He tells you. “It makes this place feel more like a home.”

He feels like he’s said the right thing because your entire face lights up, it feels like he’s seeing the sun for the first time in eons. Nestor doesn’t think he could love you any more than in this moment.

It isn’t long after that he finds the go bag completely empty, folded up neatly in the top of the closet, ready for the next job.

Love Nestor? Get added to his tag list!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#nestor oceteva x you #nestor oceteva x reader #nestor mayans #nestor oceteva #nestor oceteva fanfic #nestor oceteva fanfiction #mayans fx #mayans mc #mayans

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bringthekaos · 4 months

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So, one thing that has been weighing on my mind is how Jayce and Viktor will survive the rocket bomb; one hypothesis I came up with is that the Hexcore is now linked with Viktor and doesn’t let him die.

Cut to - I started really studying that Death card in the screenshot (usually too distracted by the Magician card) and noticed that plume of almost demonic looking cloud above the skeleton. Is it leaving? Arriving? Merging with the soul? I hypothesize this might be the Hexcore going into Viktor to keep him alive?

I would hate for the creators to take away Viktor’s agency in augmenting himself in the Machine Herald but this is the only way I can see it tie in with Viktor asking Jayce to destroy the Hexcore and he doesn’t and now they have Beef.

Alternatively, a dying Viktor calls to the Hexcore and it answers. That would give him more agency.

Anywhoodle. These are my big dumb thoughts at 7am. Cheers for reading them, Ace 😅

I love your big NOT dumb 7am thoughts, and I’m always down to read them 🥰

This is a very interesting hypothesis. And I’ve always been captivated by that magician card too, but you’re totally right, there’s definitely some kind of… essence pulling away from the figure in the death card. And we’ve already seen the somewhat parasitic tendencies of the Hexcore (manipulating the host to control its behavior, in this case causing him pain in retaliation when he tried to destroy it). But as we also saw, it requires something in exchange to perform its feats of magic (in the beginning, the power offered by the Shimmer, and in the end, Sky’s life). So if it does act to save him during the explosion, it’s going to have to take something back. Which is probably going to expose him and make the entire council think he was involved. Maybe even Jayce 🥺

But I do have another theory that stems from your point about Viktor asking Jayce to destroy the Hexcore. If the Hexcore doesn’t protect Viktor, and he ends up mortally wounded… I can see Jayce taking him to the Hexcore. Attempting to save his life with it. But Jayce is unaware of the choice Viktor has already made; that he’s unwilling to pay the price the Hexcore requires, nor is he ok with the Hexcore’s manipulation of his augmented limbs, and by extension the loss of autonomy. So it’s possible Jayce uses the Hexcore to save him, thereby giving it even more of a chokehold on Viktor’s body and psyche, which… he would probably hold a grudge over. Especially if the Hexcore and its bodily augments start to negatively affect his sanity, as any exposure to the Void does. Especially when he asked Jayce to destroy it, to remove this temptation. Because as he said, “I can’t do it. You have to.”

One thing is for sure, our collective cries at his downfall will be heard round the world.

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane Viktor #jayce talis #the Hexcore #arcane theories #asks #ace answers

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walkswithmyfather · 1 year

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“If you love me, obey my commandments. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, who will never leave you. He is the Holy Spirit, who leads into all truth. The world cannot receive him, because it isn’t looking for him and doesn’t recognize him. But you know him, because he lives with you now and later will be in you. No, I will not abandon you as orphans—I will come to you. Soon the world will no longer see me, but you will see me. Since I live, you also will live. When I am raised to life again, you will know that I am in my Father, and you are in me, and I am in you. Those who accept my commandments and obey them are the ones who love me. And because they love me, my Father will love them. And I will love them and reveal myself to each of them.” —John 14:15‭-‬21 (NLT)

“But I have said these things to you, that when their hour comes you may remember that I told them to you. “I did not say these things to you from the beginning, because I was with you. But now I am going to him who sent me, and none of you asks me, ‘Where are you going?’ But because I have said these things to you, sorrow has filled your heart. Nevertheless, I tell you the truth: it is to your advantage that I go away, for if I do not go away, the Helper will not come to you. But if I go, I will send him to you. And when he comes, he will convict the world concerning sin and righteousness and judgment: concerning sin, because they do not believe in me; concerning righteousness, because I go to the Father, and you will see me no longer; concerning judgment, because the ruler of this world is judged. “I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth, for he will not speak on his own authority, but whatever he hears he will speak, and he will declare to you the things that are to come. He will glorify me, for he will take what is mine and declare it to you. All that the Father has is mine; therefore I said that he will take what is mine and declare it to you. —John 16:4‭-‬15 (ESV)

“This is the new covenant I will make with my people on that day, says the Lord: I will put my laws in their hearts, and I will write them on their minds.” —Hebrews 10:16 (NLT)

“Who Is The Holy Spirit?” Devotional. Day 3 - “Jesus Promised to Give You the Holy Spirit” By Switch (Life.Church):

“Can you imagine trying to send a group text using pen, paper, and the post office? Imagine writing out letters by hand to your five closest friends, buying stamps, stuffing envelopes, and mailing them to five different addresses. After waiting for two or three days, the letters would start arriving at your friends’ houses. Then, each would respond with a letter of their own, making copies for each person in the group and waiting a few more days for each reply. Whew! I’m exhausted just thinking about it. It seems silly since you can accomplish the same thing in a few seconds using your smartphone.

The Holy Spirit works sort of like that. He makes it possible for Jesus to communicate with every single one of His followers in real time across the globe. Jesus could only be in one place at a time. His first disciples didn’t know much about the Holy Spirit or His purpose. That’s why Jesus spent His last days on earth preparing them for His death. They didn’t know He was about to die, and they certainly didn’t understand why. So, instead of trying to dump His entire plan on them all at once, He made them a promise.

He said that when He left He’d send someone else in His place—the Holy Spirit. Jesus wasn’t saying that they would be trading their relationship with Him in exchange for the Spirit. Instead, the Holy Spirit would come alongside them and help them understand everything Jesus had taught. Plus, the Holy Spirit could teach them new things as they learned to hear His voice.

When the Holy Spirit came, He would lead them to the truth. He wouldn’t have His own agenda, but He would be totally committed to completing Jesus’ mission on earth. In fact, the Holy Spirit would do everything to bring honor to Jesus. He would relay messages straight from Jesus into the hearts and minds of all His followers. But, here’s the best news of all: That promise wasn’t just for the disciples who were sitting around that night. It was also for you!

Think about how that changed the game. Before Jesus gave us access to the Holy Spirit, Jesus was the single source of information, and He was limited to physically being in one place at a time. He had to spread His message one crowd at a time. But, when the Holy Spirit made His home in the heart of every believer, Jesus’ message was engraved into our hearts.

Now, without cell towers or smartphones, the Holy Spirit can speak directly into our hearts and minds. Tomorrow, we’ll begin to explore His amazing power that’s available to us any time or place.”

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mishaloveclub · 23 days

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here’s the very first scene in my rewrite of desert duo’s time in third life because i do not have a completionist bone in my body and i may never end up posting or even finishing the whole thing

(first 700 words of guilty, not remorseful)

The explosion leaves behind remnants of fibre and vines, a sizable crater, and the sickly smell of singed skin.

A dreadful silence weighs heavy upon those who had witnessed it, had witnessed lively green eyes grow dull as Scar’s body slumped amidst the upturned dirt and smoke. They all stare in shock at the aftermath, exchanging uncertain glances as Grian remains frozen, blinking rapidly, eyes unfocused.

A shocked laugh, almost winded, forces its way up from Grian’s throat.

He has taken a life, lured a man to his death, and all he can do is laugh.

The air only remains still for a moment longer before everyone else finds themselves laughing too, unable to help themselves.

It’s an entirely absurd situation. One moment, Grian had a creeper hot on his tail, pressing a finger to his lips as he met Etho’s eye with a cheeky grin, and the next, Scar’s body was laid burnt and lifeless in a ditch.

Grian watches Scar’s fallen body flicker as it regenerates, vanishing from the crater and leaving nothing but a flattened patch of earth in its wake. It’s only then that the guilt rushes in, pushing aside any amusement as Grian realises the gravity of what exactly he has done.

He has stolen the life of a man who has offered him nothing but friendship and kindness. Torn it from his giving hands with a maniacal grin and the audacity to claim it as ‘a joke’.

The chatter dulls down as Scar reappears at the village outskirts and it seems that no one knows quite what to expect from him: anger, possibly. Or a sense of betrayal or revenge. Grian would even understand tears, grieving the life that had been so cruelly taken from him.

And yet Scar does nothing but smile at Grian with wary eyes, eyes that now shine a striking golden colour.

“Scar, I’m so sorry.” The apology bubbles up from Grian’s chest, voice softened with laughter as he takes a careful step towards Scar.

He makes no move to step away, a shocked laugh of his own escaping his lips, breathless yet forgiving, “I know you didn’t mean to.”

Grian’s smile drops at that, mouth falling agape as Scar’s attention is almost immediately drawn away from him.

Because Scar doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know what Grian’s intentions had been - good or bad - and yet he believes wholeheartedly in his innocence. It’s a level of trust that Grian truly does not think he deserves.

Conversation continues amidst the rest of the onlookers, Scar brushing off any implication of hard feelings, lighthearted jokes being made as the panic is pushed aside. Grian, however, has grown quiet, watching Scar laugh and jest as he always does, as though the guilt that has settled in Grian’s stomach isn’t threatening to consume him from the inside out.

Scar catches his eye after an excruciating minute, his lips tugging into a frown as he approaches, “Grian, it’s okay-”

“Let me talk to you for a moment,” Grian interrupts, his voice soft as he takes a gentle hold of Scar’s forearm.

He begins to tug Scar away from the crowd, to which he is happy to comply, following after Grian as they reach a more secluded area where their conversation will be out of the prying eyes and ears of the others.

“Scar, I’m so, so sorry.” Grian whispers, carefully scanning Scar’s face, his fingers still wrapped loosely around his arm.

“I already told you: it’s fine.” Scar chuckles, a well-meaning attempt to lighten the mood.

Grian takes in a long, calculated breath and in a spur-of-the-moment decision, entirely unplanned, he drops to one knee and bows his head in front of Scar, his next words altering the course of his time in this world forever.

“I took your first life, so I therefore owe you mine.”

Scar blinks at him, bewildered, “What?”

Grian lifts his gaze to look up at Scar, unsure of how else to prove his sincerity.

“I feel awful for what I’ve done, accidental or not, I killed you, Scar… So I vow my first life to you. I am in your service and at your side, “ There’s a momentary pause, “if you’ll have me.”

A slow, understanding smile paints itself on Scar’s lips, “So you’ll dig the sand… With me?”

“I’ll do anything you want me to do.”

And so it begins.

#i’m 6k words into a rewrite of third life and scar hasn’t even turned red yet #i’ve been writing this on and off since may i cannot promise i will ever finish it lmao #third life #third life smp #desert duo #scarian #desert duo fanfic #scarian fanfic #traffic smp #traffic shipping

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chvoswxtch · 1 year

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AAA Hello dear! Super excited to be in the bar with you!! CONGRATS!! and thanks for feeding our souls with your writing <3 Margarita of your choice <3 Been hearing NONstop 'The devil is human' by Aurora and 'Jekyll and Hyde' by Five Finger Death Punch. Totally different tones, still sour notes in both. The catholic guilt on the first one had me wandering on Matts crooked faith and how he feels guilt every so often. Second one just the duality of himself and his life and how tiring it can be. CHEERS!! hope you are having a wonderful week <3

hello my darling!

so I tried to incorporate both of these lyrics as best as I could. this actually came at the perfect time bc i'm rewatching season 3 of daredevil (yes again, it's my fav), and just generally feeling like an angsty little gremlin. this was heavily inspired by episode 1 of season 3 (resurrection) and my own religious trauma asjkhdjsk.

cheers! 🥂

blurb below the cut

the devil is human

why did you give us hearts we don’t understand?

Matt didn’t understand the confliction he felt. It seemed simple from the outside looking in. Why believe in someone that doesn’t believe in you? Why ask for forgiveness for what was done to him; what was put inside him? Why continue to forgive someone who has taken everything they could possibly take?

There had been moments of doubt throughout his life. Violent shades of anger, piercing blows of grief, cold winters of loneliness, and frustrating winds of complexity. But he always found peace and understanding in scripture. His shoulders always felt a little lighter after confession. His heart rose above the sea level in his chest when he prayed.

Everything had a purpose. Losing his sight. Losing his father. Losing Elektra.

But twice? Losing the person he loved most in this world, having them die in your arms, twice, that was cruel.

Matt had thought his abilities were a gift. A trade for his loss of sight. He believed the hellfire he felt in his heart was a test of his faith and his strength to be a warrior of God. He believed the blood of the Devil in his veins is what aided him in fighting for truth and justice. It was that extra kick he needed to protect the innocent. The Devil himself had been an angel once, God’s favorite even.

But Matthew Murdock was not God’s favorite.

And he didn’t really care anymore. Because he was never God’s to begin with.

His abilities were a curse. The wicked flames that split open his knuckles and fueled his thirst for blood weren’t holy in origin. He hadn’t been crafted with pieces of the Devil. He had been created by the Devil.

He was raised to believe in a God that didn’t believe in him. He gave his blood, sweat, and skin in exchange for a cause that was never his to begin with, and for what? A lonely life full of loss, torment, and pain.

Maybe that’s why he felt so torn. He spent his whole life thinking he was fighting on the right side. Being told that if he followed the rules, he could be saved. If he sacrificed himself, he would be good. It would all be worth it in the end, when God welcomed him into his home in the next life.

It was all bullshit. God was never inviting him into his home. He never even answered when he called. It didn’t matter if he prayed until his knees bled, saved a hundred lives, brought justice to the real monsters that walked the Earth; none of it mattered.

So why did he still tense up when he heard sirens? Why did he have the itch to run across the rooftops when he heard screams for help? Why did he still want to fight? What was he fighting for? Who was he fighting for?

Did he even make a difference anyway? It had been weeks since Matt had been protecting the city from the shadows, and it felt like nothing had really changed. Maybe he was just a different kind of monster that lurked in the dark.

Matt tilted his head back slowly, his blank, bruised eyes gazing upwards towards the stained glass window he knew was right above his head that depicted one of the saints.

He wasn’t one of them.

“If I ever want to change, would this all remain the same?”

His whispers echoed in the silence of the church basement like thunder. He wasn’t sure who he was asking. He wasn’t sure if he even cared to know the answer. He wasn’t sure who he was anymore.

But he knew that he would rather die as the Devil than live as Matt Murdock.

#matt murdock #matt murdock blurb #matt murdock request #daredevil #daredevil blurb #daredevil request #court's 2k follower celebration #court's 2k friends celebration

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blackdragon-selfships · 1 year

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Name: Megan L. Morian

Nicknames: Meg (common name), Pequeña Roja (by Muerte), (more to be revealed)

Age: Late 20’s onward

Occupation: Various jobs she can’t hold down because of things out of her control

Backstory

When Meg was a little girl she went to visit her grandparents who lived in the woods. On the way there she ran into a friendly woodcutter, but since he was a stranger and she was in a hurry, she didn’t stick around long. She then finally reached her grandparents’ house and was ready for a pleasant time with them, only for the woodcutter from earlier to arrive.

It turned out he had followed the little girl to her destination. It also turned out he was an infamous killer whom she had not had knowledge of being only a kid at this time. He proceeded to brutally murder Meg’s grandparents and take their valuables, then as he was about to finish the little girl off as well he heard someone else approach. So in a panic he stabbed her in the stomach and left her to bleed out as he made his escape.

As she lay there, dying but not aware of this fact, she saw the blurry form of a large wolf person (due to standing on two legs) in black in the now destroyed entryway to the house. His red eyes taking in the scene before falling on her. She didn’t remember much of their exchange after this, but she recalled vividly his words to her:

“Run home now, Pequeña Roja. Run all the way back home to your parents. Do not stop or I will catch you, and you will never see them again.” He told her firmly. “Show me how much you want to live.”

She wasted no time after this, as his words hit her and she was filled with fear. She ran home to her parents and told them what had happened.

Later she would tell others as well, but it soon became apparent no one else cared as much…for another little girl in a red cloak had gone through a similar tale. One involving a woodcutter and a wolf and a grandmother that almost was killed. Because of this, her story was dismissed as something made up to be like Little Red Riding Hood whose story was made famous. Meg’s own story was considered old news by those that did believe, and fake by most others.

Because of this, her grandparents’ deaths were dismissed by all but their loved ones, and Meg grew up to despise the man that did this. However, she could not spend all of her time thinking about him and revenge. She had to make an income somehow, so ended up working various jobs as her family was too poor for her to pursue any meaningful careers.

She ended up working at one of the smaller pubs in Duloc because of this. This is where she met the wolf from her childhood again…and where her journey begins.

Fun Facts:

-Wanted to pursue a career in studying animals (non-sapient or fairytale ones) or baking, but neither were possible

-Her hobbies include drawing and reading when she has time

-Her outfit is common for the pubs she usually works in. She can be seen in a uniform if one is provided, but otherwise she wears this one.

-The knife at her belt is for self-defense at her pub jobs and while in shadier areas. She has had to use it before, but only once.

-She has a scar where the killer that attacked her stabbed her as a kid. Muerte didn’t take her life, but he couldn’t heal her either when he spared her.

-Has PTSD from the day her grandparents were killed

-Doesn’t know what “Pequeña roja” means for a while…when she finds out she is at first offended.

(Why I did this can be found under the cut. Warning: Small spoilers to the movie are in it.)

I saw Puss in Boots: The Last Wish and it was amazing. Unsurprisingly, Death/El Lobo/the Wolf/whatever we call him was my favorite part. Every time he was on screen I was grinning like a fool, he was just so cool and those fight scenes with him… 👌 Perfection. Plus his final scene, which was what made him a great antagonist but not a villain character.

Don’t get me wrong…I didn’t want Puss to die, but I could not get over how amazing they handled Death and his part in the movie. It was so nice to see an animated film not shy from darker, more real themes like this.

Spoiler alert: This is a romantic shipping story with Death from Puss in Boots: The Last Wish. I’m not the first, nor will I be the last, and if people can ship with Jack Horner happily, those of us that want to write romances with Death can too. This is just your warning.

And for those that have been here a long time: Aaravos is still my number 1. He’s the f/o that I imagine being with in my everyday life. Death the Wolf here is a character I’m writing and drawing for fun, not because I feel for him like I do Aary. But this is a good distraction for me while waiting for Aaravos’ source to come out with season 5…which may determine if I follow the series any further. :/

#puss in boots the last wish #puss in boots #Shrek #Shrek universe #self insert #s/i #selfship community #selfship #selfshipping #Meg #starlight’s art #reference sheet #(note: the bottom of the post may have been cut…if so I’ll add it in a self-reblog)

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lenievi · 1 year

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I decided to ramble about McCoy and stuff as I watched the Tholian Web because it sometimes helps me... but I still can’t wrap my head around it lol even thought at the beginning I thought I finally found a reading that works, it still broke during the conversation in Kirk’s quarters… but anyway, you can watch me trying to explain stuff to myself lol

If you love this episode, you should probably skip it idk

MCCOY: Are you satisfied? Spock, why did you do it? SPOCK: The decision to fight was logical. Lack of time prevented any other course of action. The Tholian ship had to be disabled. MCCOY: You should've known what could've happened and done everything in your power to safeguard your crew. That is the mark of a starship Captain, like Jim.

McCoy admires Jim. There’s no one like Jim in his eyes. And Jim’s primary focus is always the crew, always the ship. And Spock failed to adhere to that, and therefore in McCoy’s eyes, in this moment, he failed as a starship captain. And every single exchange between Spock and McCoy after this point is coloured by this – Spock isn’t worth it and doesn’t deserve the position as the Captain of the Enterprise, since he failed the most important thing – to safeguard the crew.

MCCOY: Why? Are you afraid it'll change your present status? SPOCK: The mental and physical state of this crew are your responsibility, Doctor. At the moment, they are your top priority. MCCOY: The Captain's last order is top priority, and you will honour that order before you take over.

“Before you take over, before you become the “captain”, the real Captain’s last order is the top priority. And you will honour it.”

MCCOY: He was a hero in every sense of the word, yet his life was sacrificed for nothing. The one thing that would have given his death meaning is the safety of the Enterprise. Now you've made that impossible, Mister Spock.

Up to this point, I thought it all worked pretty well. The following dialogue though is just... it’s honestly hard to wrap my head around it because McCoy is ??? (in regards to the whole show, but also the episode itself). The problem is that the writers decided at the beginning of the episode that McCoy wouldn’t show any visible worry about Jim, wouldn’t pester Spock to save Jim at all, that he would immediately decide that Jim died.

MCCOY: Spock, are you sure that Jim is still alive?

And it’s really hard to wrap my head around the fact that McCoy would just immediately decide that Jim was dead, which is why it’s so hard for me to accept this episode as “good” or even see it as a “spones episode” because I just don’t like how the relationship is portrayed. I’m not saying it isn’t possible, I’m not saying that he couldn’t just lock it deep down and focus on the crew that was in danger to honour Jim, that he might rather think that Jim was dead rather than stuck somewhere, but it deviates from the norm and more importantly, makes McCoy feel like almost a different character, and also makes McCoy and Spock’s interactions almost unrecognizable, not fitting season 3.

But with this in mind, him believing that Jim was completely lost and dead, the dialogue might make some little sense. Because if he thinks that Jim is dead, Spock’s actions seem confusing. Because what would Spock gain? What would he want to achieve when there was no “crew member” to save, but there was a ship full of people that needed Spock’s focus.

But the fact that McCoy would never even think that 1. Jim could be alive 2. Spock wanted to save him is ???? But also like “you could assure yourself of a captaincy” followed by “i can’t believe you would want to be a captain. they will give you the command of the enterprise” - it doesn’t even make sense. He’s just contradicting himself at this point and idk if it’s supposed to be on purpose to show how his grief is affecting him, how stressed he is, how he just cannot deal, how he just wants to attack Spock with irrational and illogical claims (that make no sense) so Spock actually shows just a sliver of some emotion, or if it’s just weird writing

or if it’s supposed to be caused by the space anomaly... but that really isn’t made clear in the episode, so it’s all just maybe? what if? might be? how can we be sure? does that mean that a few nice words from Kirk can mitigate the effects? But most importantly, was McCoy affected ever since Chekov, but he’s just better at handing anger and rage? And that’s what caused him to decide that Jim was dead?

The problem with McCoy being affected all the time, what did Spock and McCoy learn then, if McCoy’s behaviour was just an effect of an “influence”?

(I also, I guess, have problem with the role reversal. Sure, I’d love to see an episode where Spock chooses his friendship with Kirk over the good of many and his duty, but not at the cost of butchering McCoy’s character so much. Especially when then this episode is everyone’s go to “McCoy and Spock would never be able to work together without Kirk”)

Anyway

they listen to Kirk’s message, and McCoy apologizes for how he behaved before they heard the recording. Seeing Jim and hearing Jim managed to calm him down a bit, and he realized that it wasn’t just him who lost Jim. Which okay, I can buy.

MCCOY: If Scotty goes under, that's the finish of whatever chance we have of getting the Enterprise out of here. SPOCK: Please leave that to me, Doctor McCoy. I realise that the crew are your prime concern. You can best serve them in your laboratory. I urge you to confine yourself to it until a remedy has been found.

which again makes McCoy angry because Spock literally didn’t change his attitude at all

MCCOY: Spock! Must be this space is getting to me too. I know it's nothing you've done, Spock. I, I'm sorry.

but he catches himself in time, probably because he actually truly gets angry, and he apologizes for that because he knows his anger isn’t directed at Spock. It wasn’t caused by Spock. It could be the space, or it could be his own grief and his own inability to do anything right - Jim is dead, the ship is trapped, everyone is dying, he can’t find the cure. And Spock is the easy target. But also, imho, this also isn’t an apology for everything he said before. It’s only an apology for lashing out this time.

To which Spock answers: “I understand, Doctor. I'm sure the Captain would simply have said forget it, Bones.”

And Spock finally acknowledges that he did hear what Kirk said in his message. But in a true Spock fashion, he evokes Kirk himself, quoting him, using the nickname “Bones” that only Kirk is using, no one else. He’s telling him that he understands, and he’s using Kirk’s words to truly get it across (because in some way, neither of them really listened to each other in this episode). Plus, it’s easier to use someone else’s words rather than his own.

And then, as I said in this post (which still tracks for me), McCoy responds back: “That’s a medical order… Captain.”

but not only is it “I respect you”, it’s also an apology for everything he’s done and said.

At this point, everything is back to “normal” for McCoy. Jim is alive, he found a cure. Everything was looking up.

---

This episode could be so good (and it’s not that it’s bad, it’s still one of the better ones in s3) if they only didn’t make McCoy act out of character or if they made it clear that he was influenced, but there really isn’t a definite answer for that imho (I respect if you don’t think McCoy is out of character, but I also know a lot of people think the same way as I do, so it’s just a matter of perspective)

And it’s not that I don’t enjoy this episode, I just really dislike the way McCoy and Spock interact in this episode. And not just from McCoy’s side, but even from Spock’s (and I hate that Spock told him he wasn’t needed at the memorial or whatever that was).

I know that many people enjoy and love this episode, but I can only enjoy it if I see it outside of any continuity, because the episode stands on Spock-McCoy conflict, but that conflict is exaggerated and doesn’t ring true. Even though TOS is an episodic show, the characters tend to have a relatively consistent traits, and McCoy’s were stripped in this episode. I did try mental gymnastics, and sure, I can come up with reasons, but I shouldn’t really think so hard about a TV episode to understand a character’s actions. Spock’s behaviour is clear, McCoy’s like WTF man, and it makes me sad that McCoy’s character in this episode was sacrificed just so Spock could be the one to worry about “the one” for a change

anyway, so these are my reasons for not having this episode nowhere near my fave “spones” episodes lol even though parts are cool, it really is mostly just the dialogue in Kirk’s quarters before they listen to the recording but it always sours the episode for me. Plus, McCoy’s atypical reaction to “Jim is in danger”

tl;dr i’m just sad that i can’t enjoy this episode as much as a lot of people do because i can’t accept how mccoy is written. what’s new though lol

#tos nonsense #leonard mccoy #spock

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rabbitcruiser · 1 year

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Valentine’s Day

Love and romance. Candy and flowers. Cards and gifts. Dinner and dancing.

Valentine’s Day comes along with a whole host of plans and accoutrements that are meant to all boil down to one thing: Love. And it all comes in the name of one man, St. Valentine, who was an interesting (and perhaps slightly misunderstood) character in history.

It’s time to learn about and celebrate Valentine’s Day!

History of Valentine’s Day

While some people believe that the history of this day is pretty clear, the reality is that the story behind St. Valentine’s Day is covered in a great deal of mystery. Tradition hails February 14 (and perhaps even the whole month of February!) as a time for love and romance, with both ancient Roman and Christian backgrounds.

But when the life of St. Valentine, the patron saint of this day, is considered, that’s when things tend to get a bit more murky. Some people don’t realize that the Catholic church actually has record of three of its own saints who went by the name of Valentine (or Valentinus) and all three died as martyrs.

Valentine’s Day Timeline

270 AD St. Valentine is martyred

Defying anti-marriage instructions given by Emperor Claudius II in order to build up the army, Valentine secretly supports and marries young couples which eventually leads to him being put to death. His death is said to have taken place on February 14.

496 AD First Valentine’s Day is recognized

Pope Gelasius decides to get rid of the Feast of Lupercalia, a pagan festival of love, and chooses to replace it with a celebration in honor of St. Valentine, who was martyred a couple hundred years prior.

1382 Chaucer’s Poem, Parlement of Foules, is written

This poem contains the first known literature reference connecting romantic love with Valentine’s Day. In the text of the poem, Chaucer writes of birds who would pair off with a mate, but some people refute the idea that it is connected to Valentine’s Day because February is too early and cold for birds to be mating.

1700 Americans begin exchanging Valentines

During this century, the inspiration for romance and love on Valentine’s Day turns into the specific gesture of exchanging notes, poems and love letters which may have been delivered by hand or by the US Postal Service.

2010 Valentine’s Day is released in theaters

This romantic comedy has a star-studded cast with big names like Julia Roberts, Bradley Cooper and even Kathy Bates, and tells the story of several different romances between couples that happen all in one day. However, at the box office, the film doesn’t really get the greatest reviews from critics.

Valentine Promotes Marriage

Perhaps the most commonly held tradition around St. Valentine is related to the year 270 AD when Claudius II was the emperor of Rome. Known as “Claudius the Cruel”, the emperor who wanted to build a strong army but was having trouble because of the attachment the men had to their wives and families. His solution? Just ban engagement and marriage, of course!

The story goes that Valentine, a priest in Rome, disagreed with the decree from Claudius and decided to go ahead and perform marriages anyway, allowing young lovers to marry each other in secret. When discovered, Claudius ordered the public beating and beheading of Valentine, which took place on February 14. The church later honored him by naming him as a saint.

This same Valentine is rumored to have become friends with the daughter of his jailer. He is said to have left her a note signed, “From Your Valentine”. This may explain the idea of asking someone “Will You Be My Valentine?”.

Less common are the other two saints also called Valentine, one who was a bishop in what is now Terni, Italy, and another who was martyred in a Roman province of Africa.

Feast of Lupercalia

It’s possible that even before Valentine, the priest, was martyred on February 14, the Feast of Lupercalia, a pagan feast of love, was celebrated around the same time. One tradition that went along with this festival is that the names of women were put into a box and drawn out by the men that they would be matched up with, letting chance (or fate!) take the lead.

By 496 AD, Pope Gelasius was tired of such pagan celebrations, so he declared that the Feast of Lupercalia would be canceled and, instead, St. Valentine’s Day would be celebrated on February 14. As time passed, this day became one where lovers would exchange poems, cards, notes and flowers, singing songs and performing other romantic gestures.

How to Celebrate Valentine’s Day

Celebrating Valentine’s Day comes with all sorts of inherited romantic traditions which can certainly be fun and bring lots of joy! But this is also a great way to get creative with showing people how much they are loved–even if it isn’t a romantic relationship.

Try out some of these ideas for celebrating Valentine’s Day:

Make a Card or Gift for Someone

Whether it’s a romantic partner or just a friend, Valentine’s Day is a great day to say “I Love You”. Hand made cards and gifts are especially welcome when it comes to showing someone how much they are cared for. January is a dark and quiet month anyway, so there’s plenty of time to prepare homemade gifts from a hobby like knitting a scarf, braiding a friendship bracelet, embroidering a towel, painting a picture or simply making a card.

Send Roses for Valentine’s Day

With delivery services abounding in almost every town, getting flowers delivered has never been easier! Choose to send red roses that stand for passion; yellow for friendship; pink for sweetness; peach for sincerity or gratefulness; white for purity or loyalty; ivory for perfection; and lavender for a crush (or love at first sight!).

Make Dinner Reservations

It’s likely that a last minute idea for going out to dinner will result in ordering takeout to eat at home, because restaurants are basically always full on Valentine’s Day. But, think ahead (sometimes months ahead, depending on the popularity of the restaurant) and make a reservation for two at a romantic place.

Enjoy a Story About Love

Head over to a local bookstore or library and browse the selection of novels or biographies that might feature stories about love. Or, it might even be interesting to read a biography about the guys named Valentine!

Those who don’t have as much time to read could put on their favorite drama or rom-com movie and see what hijinx the main characters get into. Try out some of these films about love to get started:

Valentine’s Day (2010). Okay, maybe this one is obvious. And perhaps it’s not even a great film, but it would be remiss to leave out this one with an all-star cast including Julia Roberts, Bradley Cooper, Jennifer Garner and Ashton Kutcher.

The Notebook (2004). This quintessential romance by Nicholas Sparks can be read as a novel or watched in the film starring Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams.

Pride and Prejudice (2005). This delightful take on the Jane Austen’s novel of the same name stars Keira Knightly, Rosamund Pike and Matthew Macfayden.

Think Like a Man (2012). Based on Steve Harvey’s book Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man, this rom-com features Michael Ealy, Regina Hall, Kevin Hart and Meagan Good.

Get Creative for Valentine’s Day

This day doesn’t have to be the same as it’s always been. In fact, it’s a great day to try something new. Go on a mountain hike, visit a museum together, go whitewater rafting or learn how to play chess. Whatever would be fun and can be done in the spirit of love is the perfect activity for this day!

Valentine’s Day FAQs

When is Valentine’s Day?

Valentine’s Day takes place every year on February 14. It started on this day in AD 496 when the pope established the holiday in Rome in honor of the martyred Saint Valentine, who was killed on February 14.

What to do on Valentine’s Day?

This day can be filled with opportunities to show people how much they are loved. Exchange cards, send someone flowers, make breakfast for family members or write a poem.

When was the first Valentine’s Day?

Valentine’s Day is not actually a modern holiday, but has been celebrated in the middle of the month of February for more than 1500 years. The first Valentine’s Day was established by Pope Gelasius.

Is Valentine’s Day a global holiday?

Yes! Valentine’s Day is celebrated in various capacities in countries all over the world. From sharing a bottle of wine to giving gifts, from school children in America exchanging Valentines cards to people in Wales exchanging carved wooden spoons, this day is one that shows how people simply love the idea of love.

Who was Saint Valentine?

There is a bit of overlap in the stories as it seems there were at least three martyred saints with the name Valentine. However, the one most notably celebrated was a priest in Rome who defied the emperor’s anti-love commands and married young couples anyway.

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azucanela · 2 years

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BETWEEN YOU AND THE WORLD

summary: in most hero stories, there is a moment in which the protagonist must choose between saving the one they love, and the world they have been working to protect. so, it is a choice between saving you, and saving the world. what will they do?

featuring: albedo, childe, diluc, kaeya, zhongli [gender neutral!reader]

warnings: mentions of death. mentions of violence.

note: never written for genshin before,,,

navigation

ALBEDO has a single goal, that is to understand life itself, as per his teacher’s final guiding words. And you, oh you, you were his life’s purpose. He knew he was in love when he felt as though he had finally understood that, he had finally found the meaning to his life, you made him feel like he was living. At the end of the day, his work as a knight of favonius was simply a medium for his search. So naturally, choosing you is easy. Wordlessly so, he extends a hand to you, simply nodding for you to take it, beckoning you towards him. He’ll call out to Klee, and then the three of you will be on your way, as far from the hell that will be Mondstadt in a few short moments.

Albedo extends one hand, the other keeping Klee behind him in a protective fashion, and she watches, eyes wide in confusion at the exchange. When he meets Y/N’s eyes the realization hits them almost instantly. “Albedo—” He shakes his head as they begin to speak, simply taking an additional step forward. “We need to go. Now.”

CHILDE is loyal to his Tsarita, he is. But he doesn’t love his job, and he has been wanting to quit for sometime, and if the world is ending regardless… Well, choosing you is easy for him. He loves you, you have gotten to know one another in the most intimate of ways. You have chosen to love him despite all the things he has done and he has chosen to do whatever it takes to ensure the two of you get your white picket fence ending, gray hairs and all. He doesn't care if the Tsarita and her harbingers intend to hunt him as their world ends, the only thought on Childe’s mind is you. You, who knows him as the person he truly is; you, who knows him as Ajax; you, who he would not hesitate, to live, die, and kill for.

“We’ll have to pick up the rest of my family, sweetheart, so let’s get to it.” He has a small smile despite the fact that he��s covered in blood, sweat, and dirt. There’s no remorse in his eyes, but Y/N swears they see an ounce of desperation in them, a plea for them to simply join him so that they may run away together as far from here as possible.

DILUC is torn. He has lost so much in his life, to be forced between you and his sense of duty towards Mondstadt is practically torture. A part of him feels the need to continue defending his home, but how long has it been since Mondstadt truly felt like home? If anything, he considers you to be his home now. And when Diluc loves, he loves deeply, it’s a trait of his that he loathes given how hard it makes to hate those of his past, no matter how badly he wants to. But you? He could never hate you. And you’re standing before him, telling him it’s okay, telling him to let you die, and in that moment he knows his choice. Diluc chooses you, because he can’t bear to lose anyone else, even if it means losing the city he cares so much for. Just this once, Diluc wants to be selfish.

“Y/N.” They wonder if perhaps he’s calling their name in his state of desperation, in his state of fear for their incoming death. And Y/N reminds themself that they must remain strong, for him. They’re about to reassure him once more, to remind Diluc that he’ll be okay, when suddenly he repeats, “Y/N.” He looks up to meet their eyes, “let’s go.”

KAEYA knows the moment he’s asked. Jean looks to him with sympathy, ready for the cavalry captain to make the ultimate choice to save the city he’s sworn to protect. And instead, he utters your name. Kaeya has never tried to hide that he is not a good person, he is selfish, everything he does is in his own best interest at the end of the day. Kaeya has no shame, he doesn’t care if the whole city hates him, he doesn’t even care if you hate him after all this, as long as you’re safe, as long as you’re alive. There is no deliberation, there is no regret, Kaeya is completely sure that he’s made the right choice. Even as you look to him, eyes wide in shock.

“Shall we, my love?” Some may interpret the smile on his face as smug almost, but Y/N can see past it. The softness in his eyes makes it seem as though the world is just the two of them, as if the destruction to come is none of their concern. Y/N can see Jean’s mouth gape open in the corner of their eye, “let’s go to that home of mine I’ve always told you about.”

ZHONGLI spent thousands of years of his life serving the people of Liyue. He has ruled diligently, he has watched the city and it’s people grow, and he has helped them do so. And you, you have always been at his side. A god that wanted to observe, one with no intention of fighting in the Archon War. Zhongli had found solace in your company for centuries, you were a loyal companion, one who had watched as others he once knew fell to erosion. A part of him has always remained with you, a part of him often wonders what influence you had on his choice to pursue… retirement. And perhaps it is the very risk of losing you that helps him realize that while he had not perceived you as a threat to Liyue when you two met, he definitely should’ve. For he was ready to let his nation burn if it meant another few centuries with you.

“All things must come to an end.” Zhongli’s voice rings throughout their head, and Y/N can’t help the sad smile that crosses their face. He had loved this nation since it’s birth, and Y/N was ready to die for it. “Including Liyue.” At this, their mouth gapes open, eyes meeting his in their shock. Refined as ever, Zhongli appears at peace with his choice as he meets their gaze evenly.

ANGSTY BONUS They wouldn’t choose you, no matter how badly they want to. → Ei (Raiden Shogun), Jean, Ningguang, Thoma.

#diluc x reader #diluc ragnivindr x reader #diluc x you #kaeya x you #kaeya alberich x reader #albedo x you #albedo x reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #childe x reader #childe x you #ajax x reader #ajax x you #tartaglia x you #tartaglia x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you

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cloudteawrites · 3 years

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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

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sevendeadlymorons · 3 years

Note

Requests oh oh ohhhhh hcs for an MC who [insert brother here] just cannot seem to like. They always end up saying the wrong thing at the wrong time with them, but they genuinely do like that brother and want to improve their relationship despite failing every time they try

This one’s cool, I’ll give it a go :))

Brothers Who Just Can’t Seem to Like MC

WARNING: Angst // Possible Emotional Abuse

———————————————

Lucifer

He doesn’t understand why, but there’s just something about you that he can’t stand

He doesn’t understand your humour, or the way you talk and present yourself, it’s all so odd to him and he finds himself wanting to ignore you more and more

He finds you laughing at the worst times, and it infuriates him in a way that he’s trying his hardest not to just turn into his demon form right there and then and end your life

You always follow him around and try and talk to him and sometimes offer to help him with work but he just... can’t with you. Your voice leaves him with a headache

Brushes you off every single time, he wants nothing to do with you and he will make that very clear to you

He always notices how upset you look whenever he turns you down or pushes you away though. He supposed he has been a little harsh towards you. He doesn’t even know you properly, after all!

One time, he gives in and accepts your help and watches your face light up, and for a spilt second, he feels a small smile tug on his lips at how happy you looked

He still wasn’t too sure of you, and you still got on his nerves, but it was a start for him

Mammon

Ever since he first saw you, he knew you’d be a pest

He was stuck babysitting you, so of course he’s not exactly going to take kindly to you

Ever single time you came up to him with that obnoxious look on your face asking him for help, he pushes you away. He has better things to do than help some human

He doesn’t want to get to know you. He doesn’t even want to be around you. Your voice was starting to be his least favourite thing

You were such an air head, and everytime you messed up, he had to deal with it

If you did something, he’d be the one to get in trouble and he just couldn’t stand that

But then came a day where he didn’t see you; you didn’t come to him asking for help and you didn’t wave him hello in the morning. You were just gone?

Perhaps it was the fear of getting in trouble for losing the exchange student, or perhaps it was... care? He didn’t understand until he found himself running to your room and finding you upset on your bed and he suddenly felt bad, rushing to your side to check on you

Leviathan

From the very start, you were just a pawn to him. A way to get the things he wanted with that pact you made with Mammon

You were a useless pushover of a human and he wanted nothing to do with you

Everything you said irritated him and he quickly saw you as weak and stupid, often throwing insults at you without mercy

Even that sad look you had in your eyes when he was insulting you pissed him off

Being around you was like having a second Mammon to deal with, he hated it and every moment he spent around you made him want to rip out his own hair

Well, he did think that way, until he overheard you talking about one of his favourite anime’s from the human world. He always classed you as a normie, so to hear this changes things

Musters up enough courage to just let it all out and speak his mind about anime to you, and to his surprise, you seemed to enjoy it; watching the sad frown disappear from your face gradually.

Maybe you weren’t so bad after all...

Satan

You just weren’t worthy of his time, really

Everything you said gave him a headache, why did you have to be so loud all the damn time?

On several occasions, he’s just gotten up and left whenever you entered the room, he simply just didn’t want to be around you

If you approached him, he’d ignore you. If you spoke to him, he’d ignore you. There was nothing you could do to get his attention

Looking sad won’t phase him either, you think he cares?

Everything that came out your mouth sounded stupid to him, even if it wasn’t, he couldn’t care less, he saw you as so much less than him

So that’s why he was pretty surprised to see you sitting in his chair reading one of his books. His favourites, to be exact. Did you actually listen in on his conversation about his favourite novels earlier...?

Sat down right next to you and started talking about it, letting the words just flow as you nod with a huge smile on your lips. He’d never had someone just listen and understand. It felt... nice...

Asmodeus

He could never even begin to describe how much he despised how boring and plain you were

You never wanted to go to clubs, you didn’t drink, and you were seemingly immune to all his charms, and that just pissed him off

Constantly threw subtle insults at you whenever he could and made you fully aware that he was ignoring you and that he did not want to be around you for any longer than he needed to be

If he was stuck with you, he’d give you sarcastic responses and these cold dagger eyes. He felt like his entire mood just plummets around you

He’d start complaining like a teenage girl whenever you began talking to him. Not only insulting your personality, but eventually your looks too

Almost felt disgusted being around you?? Like how dare you talk to him. Someone like you shouldn’t even be looking at him

But seeing you so distraught every single time he’d insult you and watching you slowly begin to hate yourself whenever you looked in the mirror, actually really hurt him more than he cares to admit. He doesn’t know why he hates you, it’s not like he wants to, he just does

So decides to take you out shopping one day, because if you want to get to known someone better, what better than going out to buy shit that you both don’t need?

Beelzebub

He couldn’t stand you from the very start

You just asked so many questions, personal ones, it made him angry and he wasn’t afraid to show that

He saw the fear he created in your eyes every time he raises his voice so decides to stop because you truly weren’t worth any of his energy

Actively avoids you. If you follow him to the gym, he’ll turn away from you and put in his headphones to block you out

Whenever he talks though, it’s like there’s nothing there in his eyes. He really doesn’t see you two as equals

Threatens to eat you just to get you to leave him alone

One day, after being scolded and refused dinner by Lucifer, he heard a little knock on his door and when he opened it, there you stood; a tray full of food in your hands

He caught himself smiling at you after realising how kind you actually are to him and he’s been pushing you away for no reason. Perhaps you could sit with him while he eats for a bit

Belphegor

He hates humans, you were no exception

Every single word that came out of your mouth made him wish he’d murdered you the first time

Whenever you attempted to greet him in the morning, he’d walk away or pretend to go to sleep

When he’s around you it just reminded him of Lilith, he couldn’t be around you. He just couldn’t

He knew there was no reason to hate you, but he couldn’t stop himself and he hates that his twin had walmed up to you so quickly even after everything that happened

He’s snarky and sarcastic towards you, constantly insulting you and even blaming you for his sisters death at times, enjoying the look of guilt and pain that flashes through your eyes every single time

But one day, he decides to take a nap up in the attic, only to find you snuggled up in his bed, cuddling all his blankets. He felt rage for a few seconds until he began to feel something else...

He didn’t know what snapped in him but the way you looked so sad as you slept and how you clutched to his blankets like they were a comforting safety to you made him sorta realise how badly he’d been treating you

Well, he’s always wanted a cuddling partner...

This was awful to write, it certainly was not cool. Ouch, writing the boys like this made me feel pain...

Part 2 is here

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me mc #obey me mammon #obey me belphie #obey me belphegor #obey me asmodeus #obey me lucifer #obey me beelzebub #obey me angst

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havenoffandoms · 3 years

Note

Hey congrats on 900 followers! Would I be able to request the touch starved prompt from your list with the pairing Aiden/Lambert please? Love all your writing!

Hello!! Thanks for requesting this prompt and this pairing! I’ve been on a right Lambden kick recently, so I felt inspired. I hope you like it!

Prompt 13: Touch-Starved

Pairing: Aiden x Lambert

Warnings: None

Prompt List

Lambert was apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together. Being stabbed to death in his sleep comes to mind, or having Aiden go all batshit crazy if Lambert dared to beat him at Gwent. Lambert has heard many rumours about Cat witchers in his long life. Cats are batshit crazy. Cats are emotionally volatile. Cats are backstabbing sons of bitches… literally and metaphorically. Cats are bad. Cats are evil, etc, etc. All these rumours circulated in Kaer Morhen long before Lambert even set foot in that ramshackle castle. He was too young to have witnessed the Tournament, but he heard the older witchers talk. Later in his life, when only a handful of wolf witchers were left after the sacking, Eskel gave Lambert a more detailed account of the Tournament.

“The Cats betrayed us, went on a rampage. Killed many wolf witchers in the process. Geralt and I lost many friends that day,” Eskel told him one evening, when the oldest surviving wolf was too far in his cup to notice that he was oversharing. “Radowit’s court mage Astrogarus promised the Cats monopoly on killing monsters within Kaedwen in exchange for attacking the Wolves during the tournament. Turns out Radowit was a backstabbing motherfucker himself. He ordered his soldiers to shoot all of the remaining witchers of both schools in the arena.”

“Lemme guess,” Lambert spoke, his own speech slightly slurred, “pretty boy saved the day?”

Eskel shook his head. “Fled. Mousesack helped him escape the massacre. Poor bastard never forgave himself for abandonin’ our brothers, but what choice did he have?”

Don’t get Lambert wrong. He’s not saying that Aiden is harmless, far from it. The guy’s lethal with his swords, deadly with a pair of daggers, not to mention a stealthy and clever thief. Aiden is mercurial, hot-tempered and a bit feral when he wants to be, and his morals are at best dubious. Whereas wolf witchers had their emotions beaten out of them at a young age, cat witchers feel too much, too strongly. Lambert’s witnessed Aiden flip tables when peasants beat him at Gwent, but he’s also witnessed the Cat shed a tear after bringing the news to a mother that her son did not survive the ghoul attack two villages down the road.

Lambert was apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together, but the Cat had never ceased to surprise him. The most unexpected trait Aiden has displayed to date is his insatiable need for physical contact. It’s not like Lambert hates being touched - he’s only human, albeit a mutated one, but still human. He enjoys a hug as much as the next person, especially when said hug comes from one of his brothers (or, dare he say, Vesemir) at the end of a long and difficult year on the Path. Lambert has also never begrudged a bed partner a post-coital cuddle session. Aiden’s need for physical contact is… on a whole different level.

The first time it happened, Lambert almost shoved the Cat off him and sent him packing, until he realised that Aiden was not only hugging him, but clinging onto him. His sharp nails were digging in the soft material of Lambert’s shirt, the fabric creaking in protest under the firm grip. When Lambert looked down, he noticed the pinched eyebrows and tears trailing down Aiden’s face. It wasn’t until a broken sob pushed past the Cat’s lips that Lambert reluctantly returned the embrace, arms wound tightly around Aiden’s trembling body. Aiden eventually settled in the safety of Lambert’s arms, his features softening as he sank back into a peaceful slumber.

Neither mentioned the previous evening’s impromptu cuddling session, but from that moment one, it was like someone had flicked a switch. Aiden came up with every possible fucking excuse to touch Lambert. Their hands would always accidentally graze each other when they packed up camp, or tacked up the horses. Aiden would bump shoulders with him when they were travelling on foot. If they sat next to one another in a tavern, Aiden would press his leg against Lambert’s, and if they were facing each other, a tentative foot would gently nudge Lambert’s shin and linger there. It’s not like Aiden was trying to hide his intentions, either. They rarely paid for two rooms anymore, because even if they did, Aiden would always end up in Lambert’s bed anyway, arms wound around Lambert’s body like a koala clinging to its mother.

Lambert doesn’t hate Aiden’s need for physical proximity, he’s just… confused by it. Aiden rarely takes any lovers to bed, even though he clearly craves physical intimacy. Lambert is more than happy to cuddle with Aiden, especially when they are forced to sleep under the stars and the early autumn frosts begin to settle over the region. It saves them from lighting a campfire, which may attract the wrong kind of attention to them. That’s all that’s ever transpired between the two, though… cuddling. Lambert enjoys the cuddling as much as Aiden does, but for Aiden it seems to be about more than mere enjoyment. The Cat simply refuses to go without physical intimacy which at times can be… alright, it can feel overbearing, but Lambert’s not about to complain, not when most humans turn away from him in disgust and contempt when he tries to chat them up.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Aiden almost develops a form of separation anxiety. He refuses to let Lambert out of his sight, going so far as to follow the man everywhere, and that’s the moment when Lambert snaps.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he asks, his tone hiding none of the irritation he feels at being tailed by this overgrown tomcat. Aiden stops dead in his tracks, his eyes growing wide at Lambert’s words.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been following me since this morning… I have errands to run and it’s hard to do that when you’re breathing down my neck!”

Lambert instantly regrets his words the minute they leave his mouth. Aiden’s shoulders visibly sag at Lambert’s comment, his content expression melting into something sadder and the sight tugs at the wolf’s heartstrings in all the wrong ways. Aiden averts Lambert’s eyes shyly, the tip of his ears turning a pretty shade of pink as embarrassment washes over him. Lambert heaves a sigh. Way to act like a fucking dick.

“Sorry, Aiden. I… I didn’t mean to sound like an ass, but-”

“It’s alright, I… I knew this moment would come eventually.”

“What are you talking about?” Lambert asks, a confused frown etched on his face. Aiden doesn’t look at him when he replies in a voice far too small to belong to the lethal, cocky witcher Lambert has come to know over the past few months.

“You’re gonna ask me to leave for good. I get it. I… I’ll go back to the room and pack my things.”

As Aiden turns around to leave, Lambert’s hand shoots out and grabs a hold of Aiden’s wrist. Before Lambert’s brain has a chance to catch up, he finds himself pulling Aiden into a nearby alley, away from prying eyes of judgemental humans meandering the stalls of the midweek market. Aiden looks so unsure now, so vulnerable like this, and it makes Lambert want to wrap the Cat up in warm blankets and cuddle him and forget the world for a while. Instead, he settles on pressing Aiden’s back against the wall and draping himself around the Cat witcher as much as he can.

“That’s not what I meant,” Lambert breathes in the air pocket between them as he locks eyes with Aiden, “you’ve just been… especially clingy recently. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Aiden averts his eyes once again, but Lambert is quick to grip the other man’s chin and force Aiden to meet his gaze. Even that simple touch pulls a small hiss from Aiden, whose eyes flutter shut as he relishes in the feeling of Lambert touching him anywhere. Lambert purses his lips, eager for an answer.

“Aiden-”

“Winter is around the corner,” Aiden whispers, his tongue darting out to lick his suddenly dry lips. Lambert’s frown deepens.

“And?”

His question is met with a pointed eye roll from Aiden.

“And… wolves return to their dens for winter, don’t they? I was just… enjoying the last few weeks in your company before you leave and never come back.”

As the final piece of the puzzle slots into place, understanding dawns on Lambert. He pulls away from Aiden and the small whimper the loss of contact triggers does not go unnoticed. Something old and fragile aches in Lambert’s chest as the meaning of Aiden’s words sink in. Aiden isn’t just worried about being separated from Lambert for a few months, but he’s worried that Lambert will never come back.The wolf links his fingers with his Cat’s, squeezing softly as he leans into Aiden’s space and rubs his bearded cheek against Aiden’s jawline. The latter quickly melts under the soft ministrations, the soft content rumble deepening into a continuous purr as Lambert nuzzles the crook of Aiden’s neck.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“Yeah, right,” Aiden snorts in response, “cause you’re so good with feelings and shit.”

“Not everyone’s a sappy sentimental bitch like you are,” Lambert teases gently, earning himself a half-hearted slap up the back of the head. “I don’t have to go back to Kaer Morhen this winter.”

Aiden tenses, his soft purring stopping abruptly as he takes in Lambert’s words. Lambert continues to rub his cheek against Aiden’s jaw, his neck, his cheek… wherever he can reach, the action meant to soothe the brewing storm in Aiden’s mind.

“It’s your home,” Aiden offers weakly, “I don’t want… I… it’s your home.”

“I can send a letter to the old man. Let him know I’m alive. We could find a den somewhere else… an attic somewhere, or an abandoned castle.” Lambert nuzzles the spot right behind Aiden’s ear, earning a pleased hum from the Cat. “Or you could come with me.”

“Sure. Cause that’s gonna end well…”

“That’s settled then. I’m spending winter with you.”

Aiden pushes Lambert away, their eyes meeting once again but this time, Aiden searches for any trace of a lie in Lambert’s amber gaze. He finds none, because Lambert is one hundred percent honest in his offer. He would ditch Vesemir, Geralt and Eskel for a year to spend it with Aiden… and the thought should scare him more than it does, truthfully. He’s only known the Cat for a few months, and yet… well, maybe Lambert was dreading the winter as well. How about that? It’s not like he felt equally anxious about leaving Aiden, it’s just… fuck off.

“You mean that?”

“Mhm. Fair warning… I hate the cold. If I’m spending the winter with you, you’ll have to find a way to keep me warm or I will bite your head off.”

In Aiden’s defence, he does keep Lambert warm all winter long. Their cuddling finally turns into something more, and from the moment Lambert and Aiden cross that fateful line there is no going back. Aiden becomes insatiable, always seeking Lambert’s body in some shape or form, never letting the wolf out of his sight again. Lambert may have been apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together, but it turns out that all his worries were for nothing. Turns out Cat witchers are still crazy, and feral, and mercurial… a tad possessive as well, something Lambert doesn’t hate... but they’re also the cuddliest sons of bitches on the Continent.

Lambert can live with that, he thinks.

Request a prompt.

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wroetospotterwp · 3 years

Note

death eater x harry???? oR SOMEONE ELSE IDK AH

Dark Red

Pairing ✨: Harry Potter x Death Eater!Reader (Fem!) (also implies that reader isn’t in gryffindor n also set during OOTP)

Summary 💓: Y/N has been forced by her parents to follow in their footsteps and join the death eaters, it doesn’t help that her boyfriend is Harry Potter.

Word Count 🖊: 2,613

A/N 🗣: FIRST REQUEST FROM THE LEGEND HERSELF 🤌🤌 she first sent me an edit on tiktok and she was like idea, so we’ve went for it, also first song imagine! all the lyrics i’ll be using will be in italics but i’ve had to change pronouns to fit harry :)

Warnings ⚠️: swearing and made my heart ache a little, manipulation

Requested? 📮: yes! :)

Masterlist

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The rain was pelting hard against the window in Y/N’s dorm, the loudness of the rain drops smashing against the glass had awoken the girl from her slumber. She sat up from bed and leaned against her headboard.

Rubbing her eyes, Y/N adjusted to the dim lighting in the room. Everything in her life was just perfect, her grades were good, she had lots of friends, and last but most definitely not least there was Harry.

They had been dating for over a year now and Y/N could see it lasting, what she felt with Harry was something so indescribable, but it made her so happy. The two of them distracted each other from their lives. Y/N helped him take his mind off He Who Must Not Be Named, and he distracted her from her parents.

Her parents did not approve of their relationship, and Y/N knew it probably had something to do with the fact they secretly supported Voldemort. But she hadn’t ever told him that, for the matter she hadn’t told many peoples.

Y/N was staring at the top of her bed, her stomach beginning to turn. This usually happened when she got a bad feeling. Y/N focused on trying to figure out what might happen, fail a test? Have an argument with someone?

Y/N thoughts were going fifty miles an hour that she didn’t hear her friend wake up next to her. “You look deep in thought.” She joked, Y/N turning to face her. “What’s the matter?” Her friend questioned.

Y/N let out a sigh. “Something bad is about to happen to me.” She mumbled, knowing how ridiculous it might have sounded.

“You’ve been listening to Trelawney too much.” Her friend brushed off with a smile, but it slowly dropped when she saw Y/N’s expression. “Come on Y/N, what could possible happen?”

“I don’t know what, but I feel it coming.” Y/N voiced her thoughts to her friend.

“Let’s do something to take your mind off this.” Her friend suggested. Y/N thought that be the best. Normally when she didn’t feel great, if she did something else to busy herself, the thought usually disappeared.

“Where are you planning to take me?” Y/N questioned, she got out of bed and collected her clothes that she would put on.

“I need to go down to Owlery, I promised to send my sister something from Zonko’s.” Her friend informed her, going into the toilet to get dressed.

Y/N decided to just get dressed in the dorm, the other three girls were fast asleep so she felt comfortable changing. The two girls them left the dormitory once they were ready and headed out their common room.

There wasn’t many students around the castle yet, but this was around the time many of them would be waking up. Many would wake up so thankful it was finally the weekend and they could have some sort of freedom.

Umbridge’s rule over the school was making many reach breaking point, there were new rules almost every day and it was completely turning Hogwarts into a prison. They weren’t allowed to do anything, couldn’t act like normal teenagers, she was determined to make everyone prim, proper and to not challenge the Ministry.

There only hope was Dumbledore’s Army, the only freedom they had. But Marietta Edgecombe had ratted them out, and they were all severely punished. Y/N felt sorry for Harry, it was all going so well and once they were caught, he blamed himself. Y/N tried to reassure her boyfriend that it wasn’t his fault, but she couldn’t get through to him.

In fact, the two of them hadn’t really spoken since Umbridge began giving them punishments, Harry was isolating himself and kept his distance. Y/N was missing him but sometimes he did this, so she decided to let him have a moment to himself and then he would be back to normal.

The girls eventually reached the Owlery, Y/N’s friend immediately heading to find her owl so she could send the products from Zonko to her sister. Y/N looked around at the different owls, but one caught her eye.

It was her parent’s owl. And it had a letter tied around their talon. Y/N untied the letter, about to read it until her friend appeared behind her.

“Has Y/N got a love note from Potter?” Her friend teased her.

“Parents owl.” Y/N informed her friend, who raised both brows. Y/N’s parents hadn’t really kept in contact with her much when she was at Hogwarts, so receiving a letter was unusual.

“What did they say?” Her friend questioned.

“I’m not sure, I haven’t read it yet.” Y/N replied, laughing slightly as she thought of something. “Might be so sad, might leave my nose running.”

“If it’s just to bring you down, ignore them.” Her friend reminded her, her arm wrapping around Y/N’s shoulder. “Let’s head back up, I’m starving.”

Y/N agreed, the two girls heading up the castle for breakfast. They entered the Great Hall and were about to sit at their own house table before Hermione waved them over.

“What’s that?” Hermione questioned immediately as they sat down in front of her, the girl’s two best friends were nowhere to be seen, but not unusual for them to be late for breakfast.

“Nosy are we, Hermione?” Y/N’s friend joked, Hermione playfully shrugged it off.

“It’s a letter from my parents.” Y/N told her, placing the unread letter onto the table.

“Oh.” Hermione mumbled, most people knew what Y/N’s parents were like, she had either told them or heard Harry’s complaints about they didn’t approve of him and the relationship. “Is everything alright?”

“I haven’t read it yet. I will after I have something to eat.” Y/N replied, scanning the table to try and find something to eat. “Where’s the toast?” Her friend reaching and grabbing a piece of toast for Y/N.

The three girls just quietly ate breakfast for a while and enjoyed each other’s company, Ron tiredly stumbled towards them. “Nice of you to finally join us Ronald.” Hermione greeted as he sat down beside her.

“Hermione, I was exhausted.” Ron huffed, grabbing as much food as he could onto his plate, he always acted like he barely eats.

“You always are.” Hermione mumbled under her breath, going back to eating some porridge.

“Where’s Harry?” Y/N blurted out, poor Ron had been harassed by her since Harry started to isolate himself. Ron most definitely knew more than she did.

“Still getting ready, mate.” Ron spoke with his mouth full, Hermione pulling a face and scoffing. “I think he’s alright today, you know, I’d have a chat with him today.” He suggested.

“Thanks Ron.” Y/N smiled, finishing what she was having. Her eyes caught the letter again, she really didn’t want to open it but she was also desperate to find out what they want. With a quiet sigh, she picked up the letter and began to read it.

Dear Y/N,

We hope you are well at Hogwarts, Umbridge seems to finally be turning that school around for the better, I’m sure you’d agree.

Well you would have when you were younger.

We miss our old Y/N, always following the rules and in our footsteps. But every since you started to attend Hogwarts with that daft old man as your head teacher, you changed.

And of course that boyfriend of yours didn’t help either, just like his father, always in trouble. Poor Lily should’ve saved herself.

As you know, the Dark Lord is back. You know how we always felt towards him, but we fear he will target us because of your choices. Many have heard he won’t accept us, because of your closeness to Potter.

He may come after us Y/N, we need you back on our side. Otherwise we’re all dead, you don’t want Potter finding out you’ve been killed by him? He can’t lose another loved one to the Dark Lord.

Write back to us as soon as you can, we can guide you along the way.

All the best,

Mum and Dad.

Y/N eyes began to well up, she knew that feeling from this morning meant something, but for it to be this bad? How on earth she was meant to tell Harry this? “Everything alright?” Her friend put a hand Y/N’s shoulder, the latter had completely forgot where she was at the moment.

“I need to go.” Y/N informed them, quickly jumping up from the bench.

“What did they say to you?” Hermione questioned, but Y/N didn’t answer her. The girl made her way from the hall, eyes trained on the floor to avoid any eye contact from her friends. But that made it difficult to watch where she was going.

Y/N crashed right into someone. “I’m sorry.” She quickly apologised as she refused to look up, she just wanted to go back into her dorm room.

“Y/N?” A voice she could instantly recognise.

“I can’t talk right now, Harry.” Y/N rushed past him, she needed to think what she was going to tell him, if she was going to tell him.

“I just hope he don’t want to leave me.” She mumbled to herself.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

It had been a few weeks and Y/N hadn’t said a word to anybody, her and Harry had completely switched places. She was the one isolating herself, trying to decide what to do. Ignore what her parents said, stay with her boyfriend and friends and hope to God nothing happens to them. Or risk listening to her parents, and possibly lose her relationships at Hogwarts?

She had been exchanging letters between her parents in the meantime to see what she needed to do, and it seemed to be to just join them at the Ministry, which didn’t seem so bad. Her parents worked high up for the Ministry anyway, so as long as they gave her permission to leave, Umbridge would let her.

Y/N had pretended to stay asleep until the rest of her dorm mates left, including her friend, before eventually getting up. The feeling in her chest was back from before, the one she got before her parents letter. “Something bad is about to happen to me.” She sadly mumbled, even the weather had mirrored her emotions, it was a dreary day, grey skies and gloom surrounded the castle.

Y/N fidgeted with her hands as she thought what would happen, anxiety fuelling her veins. “Why I feel this way? I don’t know…” She took a deep breath. “Maybe-“

The dorm door opened and revealed Y/N’s friend. “What the fuck is going with you?” She demanded. “What did they say to you to make you like this?”

“It’s complicated.” Y/N brushed off, should she tell her? She did tell her friend everything and maybe it would be good to have some advice.

After some deep breaths and forcing tears to stop falling, Y/N confessed to her friend everything. By the end of it, her friend was in complete shock, face contorting from confusing, to anger, to annoyance.

“And I just don’t know what to do about Harry.” Y/N sadly mumbled. “I think of him so much it drives me crazy.”

“Y/N, this is bad.” Her friend managed to stammer out.

“I just don’t want him to leave me.” Y/N cried, finally allowing the tears to fall.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N.” Her friend snapped. “Of course he will. Joining the people who support the being who killed his parents?” She raised a brow. “I’d definitely forgive you.” Sarcastically she finished.

“But he knows what my parents are like.” Y/N countered.

“I don’t think he’ll care.” Her friend pointed out, deep down Y/N knew the same, Harry would be extremely hurt by this. “How the fuck are you gonna get out this?”

“I don’t know.” Y/N shrugged. “You Know Who will kill them if I don’t help them.”

“Are you forgetting who your boyfriend is?” Her friend raised a brow.

Oh yeah, it would be completely fair on Harry to force him to protect her family. “Like he’s gonna show mercy.” Y/N huffed. “Harry was with Cedric and look what happened, he wants Harry and to just kill who gets in his way.”

It was silent for a moment, neither of them knew what to say. “What are you gonna tell him?” Her friend quietly spoke up, Y/N didn’t say anything. Her friend’s mouth fell open and eyes widened at Y/N’s lack of an answer. “You need to tell him.”

“And say what?! Sorry, I need to go help my Death Eater parents and probably do something for You Know Who.” Y/N snapped.

“I don’t know how to help you.” Her friend awkwardly mumbled.

Y/N knew she couldn’t. She was now trapped with no escape.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Y/N was at the Ministry with her parents, she still had no idea what they were doing or why they needed her, but it wasn’t as bad as she thought. The family got into an elevator and started to head down a few floors.

“Now, whatever you do, don’t talk.” Her mum warned her before the elevator stopped, the girl nodded and they walked out as the doors opened. Y/N could see Draco Malfoy’s father and another woman with curly black hair.

“Did it work?” Y/N’s father asked Lucius.

“I believe so.” Lucius replied, nobody really taking notice to Y/N.

“I can’t wait to meet him.” The black haired woman cackled.

“Now, now, Bellatrix. We have to leave him for the Dark Lord.” Lucius reminded her, the woman huffing dramatically. Y/N’s eyes widened, oh how she was praying they weren’t taking about Harry.

Please don’t be talking about Harry.

“What if he’s fine?” Y/N thought to herself. “It’s my mind that’s wrong. And I just let bad thoughts linger for far too long.”

“We’re going in. Have your wand ready.” Her dad whispered to her. They walked through a door with a handle in the middle into a huge room filled with crystal balls. She couldn’t study them for long before being dragged into the darkness.

The door had opened again a few minutes later, but Y/N couldn’t see who had walked in, only dragged by her parents deeper into the room.

“They should be here!” Harry’s voice was heard, Y/N’s heart dropping to her stomach. Why did he have to come here?

“Harry? It’s got your name on it.” Neville informed him.

“Follow Lucius.” Her mum whispered in her ear, Y/N reluctantly following him, who was now wearing a Death Eater mask.

“Harry!” Here it goes, Y/N kept back from Lucius as the group’s wands lit up the path, she desperately wanted to stay hidden and they would never know she was here.

“Where’s Sirius and Y/N?” Harry demanded as Lucius approached him.

“How fortunate we are to have Y/N right with us.” You could hear the smirk in Lucius’ voice, Y/N wanted to run and escape, but how could one girl manage to escape four Death Eaters?

“What are you talking about?” Harry angrily asked.

“Come on Y/N, don’t be shy.” Lucius gestures for her to come forward. Slowly and painfully, the girl got closer to Harry and the words kept repeating in her head.

“Don’t you give me up. Please don’t give up.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

thank you so much to @drearyxo for being my first request!! i hope this was class enough for you, no hate comments from you 🙄🙄

I HAVE TO SAY I LOVED WRITING THIS SO MUCHHHHH DEFO A FAVE i think you all know by now i’m definitely better at the dialogue part then anything else, but i’m quite proud of it all today :)

there could be a part two to this??? maybe, depends if people want it

hope you enjoyed!!

Taglist: @malfoysstilinski @drearyxo @just-a-bittersweet-tragedy @fizzleberries

#wroetospotterwp #harry potter #harry potter fic #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter fluff #harry potter angst #harry potter fanfiction #harry james potter x reader #harry james potter imagine #harry james potter

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