#<- again. sorting. sorry fallout tags

[duskgryphon]

if i play fnv again it'll just be me drawing sift 300 times again i think. been thinking about fallout a lot lately...

[omgthatdress]

Sorry if it's a stupid question, but I thought you'd be best to answer it. Why was Coco Chanel's "Little Black Dress" so special? I've been going though your early 1900s tags and knee-length dresses existed way before Coco. Black dresses too. Knee-length black dresses too. What was so special about Chanel? I'd argue that Paul Poiret had a much bigger influence on fashion, with some of his looks being 1920s back in 1910s. So why Chanel became so big? Is it all down to business?

It's historical context. One of the biggest things about appreciating fashion history is being able to put it all in context.

Although black dresses were popular evening wear throughout the Victorian and Edwardian era, the dresses of that era were still over-the-top and extremely fancy. The dress was designed by a couturier, House of Worth being the most influential and popular, silk had to be imported and woven, the beading and embroidery and other details hand-crafted by métiers, and then all assembled by seamstresses in the atelier.

Poiret started out with this notion of radically simplifying fashion. His robe de minute was a sort of proto-flapper dress, and it got its name because it only had two seams and could be sewn up in a minute. In spite of this, Poiret couldn't fully escape Edwardian ostentatiousness, and frequently used exotic silks and fancy detailing, still seeing his designs as works of art. His primary supporters were still the titled nobility of old Europe

World War 1 had everything to do with simplifying fashion. Well, that and the Russian Revolution the collapse of the Hohenzollerns and Austrian Habsburgs and the general collapse of the old aristocracy. Couture houses were forced to close, and Poiret was made to serve as a tailor for the French army. When he re-opened his house, he re-opened to a new world.

Chanel viewed clothes through a much more practical lens, rather than as works of art. She made menswear-inspired clothing with clean lines and few accessories, which was much more in line with the new, liberated woman of the 1920s. The little black dress caught on because it was something every woman could wear and every woman could look good in. It was dependable and practical, thus, "the Ford of fashion." Rather than relying on the old, decaying nobles whose money was running out, Chanel's clientele came from the industrial business class that had an endless supply of new money.

Of course, the world would change again after World War II, and Chanel would be usurped by Christian Dior as the new arbiter of elegance and modernity. Dior brought extravagance and opulence back to French couture, and his nipped-waist designs hearkened back to the nostalgia for pre-war times. Chanel was dealing with the fallout of an affair with a German intelligence officer and had to self-exile from France for several years.

Eventually, she returned, but the brand was out-of-date and diminished. Rather than cutting-edge elegant ballgowns like she had made before, the Chanel brand was pretty much just limited to its iconic suits, and as time wore on, it was considered to be something of a stuffy old lady brand until Karl Lagerfeld revived it in the 80s.

[sanjuwrites]

seven who knows anymore sentence sunday

we are so far past seven at this point its not even funny

thank you to @sznofthesticks, @welcometololaland, @sugdenlovesdingle, and @carlos-in-glasses for the tags this weekend! the aish fic won, so be on the lookout for her story snippets! really excited to share her with you <3

She pulls away, wiping her face, “Carlos…”

She can see the breath leave his body, and she realizes her mistake. “He’s alive, I’m sorry, he’s alive. He’s alive and he’s awake. I’m so sorry. He doesn’t want to see you.”

He collapses onto the stairs, and Aish rushes forward, placing a hand on his shoulder.“Carlos, please.”

Carlos shrugs her hand off, wandering over to the kitchen and collapsing on the barstools. Aishu follows, sitting next to him and messing with her purse strap. 

“My last conversation with Iris was a fight,” Aishu whispers into the silence that has descended upon the three of them, her voice hoarse. Andrea senses the fact that Aishu and Carlos need to sort this out amongst themselves, silently making her exit. 

“It was ugly, Carlos. We were fighting about the fact that she was completely pulling away, not ever fully making sense and barely sitting down to eat a meal with me. We were living together, supposedly sleeping in the same bed, and I saw you more than I saw my own girlfriend. She called me heartless, and that I was pushing her boundaries and needed to back the fuck off. And I,” her voice breaks, “I told her that if she needed the space that badly, then maybe it was time for her to go. She got in that fucking blue truck twenty minutes later, and I never saw her again.”

Carlos’s lips part, “Aishu, what…”Aishu lifts her hand, silencing him, “TK’s alive. You know where he is – he’s breathing and walking and talking and alive, Carlos. You have to fix it, because the love of your life is just mad at you. The love of mine is dead, and I have to live with the fact that she got into that truck because of me. You? Yeah, maybe it was your fault he was first through that door, but he’s alive. So, you fix it. You tell him you love him, and that giving him anything less than that was absolute idiocy on your part.”

no pressure tagging @theghostofashton, @paperstorm, @heartstringsduet, @alrightbuckaroo, @liminalmemories21, @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut , @bonheur-cafe, @reyesstrand, @lightningboltreader, @fallout-mars, @birdclowns, @honeybee-taskforce, and you!!

[bayetea]

re: jasiper. i reread BOO recently and i felt sick to my stomach when jason literally describes growing old with piper. then when i got to TOA and started THO, the two of them are described as being in LA together… and then, come TBM, and they just… break up?! it’s so unsatisfying for them breaking up to happen off screen and the fallout to be outside their perspectives.

the thing about jasiper is that i think jeyna is really fun and interesting to rotate in my mind. there’s legitimate tension to play with! jeyna are, for all intents and purposes, basically the roman percabeth within the narrative, but that’s never addressed. and that’s fine, but like… it would be more interesting to ME if jason maybe Did accidentally cheat on reyna and now has to sort that out!!! it’s kind of a nightmare scenario for him that i’d like to see him deal with! jasiper is also giving jason/medea to me (piper being given fake romantic memories mirrors medea getting hera’d into falling in love with myth!jason so well) except that it’s NOT doomed… until it suddenly is, for some reason :|

idk. i get why some people aren’t obsessed, especially with the fake memory stuff, but idk them working past that and making something real because THEY want to is still fun and worthwhile to me.

this got rambly, lol, but i’m a jasiper enjoyer and it makes me sad when they get uncritically called boring :/

ok so sorry for the late reply I'm very easily distracted but yes you're 100% right and you should say it

(putting this under the cut because I don't want this in any main tags but there's rr crit and jasiper/jeyna/one little jasico thing in here just so you guys can avoid if needed)

okay can you imagine the drama with jason "I can't ever be like my mom who broke her promise or my father whose infidelity makes me uncomfortable" grace accidentally cheating on reyna and how that adds to his conflict between chb and cj. Like... it's right there. maybe I'm just a drama monger but even if you hate jeyna/jiper/love triangle-esque conflicts (which I don't! and love triangles aren't bad they're just usually written so poorly 😩) it could've been a nice avenue through which to explore jason's thought processes and everything he had with reyna and cj (furthermore I mean... cj gets a bad rep and they deserve it but maybe that could be a cool way to explore how chb is also extremely flawed, just in a different way. not that reyna/piper are passive agents in this scenario but jason's the one who has to Choose what he's going to do with his old life and his current life and his future. he spends 6 months at chb pre-moa, it's not really difficult to have him weigh the positives and negatives contained in chb in the same way that he weighs his own relationship with piper... except his memories of his past are still kind of ambiguously unsettled. god I wish that had been resolved more informatively)

and if they were going to break up, then like... he doesn't have to choose either of them. he can just go his own way and that could also be a satisfying resolution to the romance drama and his character arc (and ofc still retain his closeness to piper and reyna because he's not going to leave people behind forever either). ... also again not really into jason ships (and not that he needs to be datin anyone) but on the subject of forging your own path and rejecting the hard binaries of those two options nico was literally right there (and there is no world where jason is just a cishet guy sorry)

with the jasiper breakup my opinion does just boil down to: ok whatever with this relationship but mr riordan you lost your chance to break them up when you had them making the conscious decision to forge their own path together because the memories were fake but they could still make something real. that's how their story ends in hoo and ykw that's a nice enough resolution? oh god and him wanting to grow old with her 😭 they make me so sad. and then like... what sense does it make for APOLLO to be our lens for the end of this relationship??? and it's offscreen too? god. what a waste. you don't have to be a jasiper fan to understand that this was a terrible continuation of their story

I almost Get why people seem to think that piper isn't attracted to men (don't know why people don't understand that being ambiguously sapphic isn't the same as being 100% wlw. pjo fandom is so biphobic sometimes) because it's like... piper breaking up with jason over the fake memories is lowkey such a retcon of everything that hoo setup that the breakup almost ONLY makes sense if piper is gay lmao. comphet for bisexuals is a really interesting thing to get into but I just know that was never on rick's mind, and tossing piper with shel almost felt like an insult to be honest. no hate to shel but like... who is she. what even is that romance. god forbid I want to know more about the relationships that the daughter of aphrodite is involved in

I really do think it only happened this way because jason was the safest character to kill off and rick was trying to quell the negative response people had to jasiper as well as his poorly researched stuff on cherokee culture and stereotypes about indigenous women being saved by the perfect white man or whatever. so furthermore my problems with toa do also kind of just boil down to: everything Really Sucks as a continuation of the stories of our previous main characters + the story reeks of retcons made to appease audience criticism/logical errors (don't get me started on the reyna and frank stuff lol). I don't believe for a second that jasiper broke up for any reason beyond rick's overengagement with his own audience + weird habits of indirectly addressing/refuting criticism. they should have just stayed together after hoo sorry to those who don't agree lol

[ayumuyii]

My brain itches, and I'd like to scratch it by writing some MacCready fanfiction. 😀

Word Count: over 1000 words

Rating: M

Genre: Action, humor, character-driven, Fallout fanfiction.

Tags: Fallout 4, MacCready x OC, team dynamics, humor, Fallout adventure.

Summary:

MacCready's quiet day in Diamond City takes an unexpected turn when Nate reveals he's recruited a new team member: Vivica, a small but sharp-tongued outsider with a knack for getting under MacCready's skin.

MacCready x OC

The Third Wheel - Chapter 1

A dusty but unusually sunny day dawned over Diamond City. The locals were already hard at work: the few unlucky kids born into this world were off to school, guards marched up and down in their unmistakable outfits, and the shops were open for business. Barber shop, clothing store, weapons store—and some ridiculous place selling modified baseball bats. The guy running it was already yelling his trademark slogan from a mile away. Nuts.

I was sitting in front of a steaming bowl of soup at Takahashi’s stand, half-listening to Nate’s endless chatter. The guy had been driving me insane ever since he hired me to tag along: endlessly positive, endlessly energetic, and built like a damn brahmin. At least compared to me.

He’d only been wandering the Commonwealth for a few months since waking up, and he somehow always found trouble. Worse, it took everything to get him to take caps for a job—even when it involved saving someone else’s sorry ass. He was like some sort of comic book hero. Muscular, well-fed, robust, and strong. His black hair was always neatly combed, and his face freshly shaved. Like some damn pre-war poster boy. Then again, I guess he was.

What annoyed me even more was his blue Vault suit. It stuck out like a sore thumb in this grimy wasteland. Why he hadn’t ditched it yet was beyond me. Standing side by side, we looked like two idiots who didn’t belong: me in my tattered, patched-up clothes that had seen more blood and radiation than I cared to remember, and him, the oversized court jester. Still, working with him wasn’t all bad. Not that I’d ever admit it to his face. Hell would freeze over first.

I stared at my dirty hands gripping the chopsticks. Steam from the soup rose in my face, snapping me out of my thoughts and back to Nate’s voice.

“Hey, MacCready, if we’re gonna take on bigger jobs, maybe we should get another person on the team.”

“Huh? What for?” I squinted at him from under my cap.

“Well, you know, it’s great that I smash ghouls up close and you shoot ‘em from afar, but we could use someone in between.” He gestured wildly with his chopsticks.

“You’d actually pay another person?” I narrowed my eyes.

“Of course! I wouldn’t shortchange you either. You know I made a good call hiring you.”

I snorted, unsure if I should take that as a compliment or not. It’s not like I chose this life because it was some grand dream of mine. I was just a lost kid—even now, at around 22—still wondering where I went wrong. Was it when I had to leave Little Lamplight? When I met Lucy? Or maybe when I was born into this messed-up world as someone’s kid?

“Well, good luck finding someone,” I shrugged, silently adding that he wouldn’t.

“Thanks, but I already did! Just didn’t know how to bring it up to you.”

I nearly choked on the mile-long noodle I was slurping.

“That’s why we came to this dump?” I asked, mouth full, soup splattering everywhere.

“Yeah, I got a tip, and since Diamond City was nearby, bam! I’ve already met her.”

“Her?” I repeated, eyes widening. Great. A woman. This just kept getting better. “You sure that’s a good idea—”

I didn’t get to finish. Nate suddenly sat up straight, then jumped to his feet like a love-struck fool, waving frantically at someone heading toward us.

And there she was, all 5’1” of her.

The woman approached with what I’m sure she thought were big strides, though it looked more like scurrying to me. She had to take twice as many steps to keep pace with normal people. Her chin-length chestnut hair swirled in chaotic waves around her pale face, and her eyes were a strange green that reminded me of radioactive swamps. She had a proportional frame, with a long-barreled hunting rifle slung over her shoulder.

So this odd little thing was making her way toward us, and Nate looked like he was about to leap out of his skin. I swear, he was like a drooling dog.

“You made it, Vivica?”

Pfft. What an absurd name.

“Who could resist an offer like that?” she called out teasingly. A few moments later, she came to a stop in front of us. Nate grinned like an idiot, sat back down, and leaned on the table, his eyes glued to her as she climbed onto the only free chair—right next to me. Takahashi turned to her immediately and asked:

“Nani shimashou ka?”

Vivica responded with a curt “No,” then turned her attention to me, locking eyes with mine.

“So, you’re the famous sharpshooter Nate’s been going on about?”

I crossed my arms and stared at her red-painted lips. Who the hell finds lipstick in a dump like this?

“Hope Nate mentioned that I hate it when people spread… uh, crap about me,” I muttered, shooting a glare at the Vault Dweller clown.

Vivica chuckled softly. “Typical,” she said flatly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Was she messing with me?

“Vivica, this is MacCready. MacCready, meet Vivica,” Nate interjected enthusiastically, elbowing me as if this was some grand introduction. It hurt, not that he noticed. I grunted.

“Not impressed,” I shot back at Nate, who frowned briefly.

“Well, she doesn’t need to impress you.”

And here we were again. Nate always pulled out his pre-war teacher tone when he wanted to put me in my place. I rolled my eyes but kept my mouth shut, shoving my bowl aside. He was right, after all. He paid me to follow him to hell and back, so I didn’t exactly have a say in who he hired. So why even ask me?

“Alright, enough tension,” Vivica clapped her hands. “Why do you need more people, Nate? What kind of trouble are you getting us into?”

Nate fidgeted in his seat, then shrugged. “The road will tell us. But for now, since I know MacCready doesn’t do ‘team bonding,’ I took on a job.”

“And is this job paying, or are we playing guardian angels again?” I snapped. So much for keeping quiet.

“Relax, cowboy!” Nate grinned. “A blonde lady promised a generous payment if we clear out some ghouls in her warehouse. A perfect warm-up for the team!”

“A blonde, huh? And she’s paying you in kind, I suppose?”

Nate laughed loudly, while Vivica gave a faint smile.

“Oh, great. What the hell have I gotten into?” Vivica muttered, more to herself than to us.

Fair question. What had she gotten into?

[bardic-inspo]

Sorry for being a bit of a ghost lately. Health stuff got hard again, and I sort of crumpled into a self-isolation cave. Things are still hard, but making baby steps forward. I really appreciate folks still tagging me in things, and those who left kind words. I might not be as responsive as I used to be, but I still see them and appreciate it.

I have an appointment with a specialist at the end of next week. I'm kind of skeptical I'll learn much more at that initial appointment, but hoping they can get some tests or other things scheduled to finally figure this mess out. It ~does~ seem like my body is inching towards healing, but it's slow, and with lots of steps backward in between the steps forward. At this point, it could be any of a variety of things that have similar symptom sets, (including problems resulting from the gb surgery I had earlier this year) and some of the possibilities really scare me. It really feels like this just came out of nowhere and hit me like a freight train.

On a lighter note (heh. Light. Note.) I watched Death Note for the first time and now I'm absolutely enamored with L so, there's gonna be that mixed into your regular Fallout content on this blog. 👀

[potatoesandsunshine]

WIP name game

tagged by @tameila 🌟 thank you!!! i just wanna apologize here for how there are so, so, so many of these. when i have an idea i create a document that very moment even when it’s just for a sentence. my storage space is in shambles.

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs. that last part will not happen i’m sorry. again, there are So Many. also i’m gonna sort them by fandom and nobody can stop me

Critical Role Campaign 1

a better name for fire

are your bags traveling elsewhere

flashpoint/ignition

get up and shake the glitter off your clothes now!

keyleth

never had the room to dream to fly

now is the season / of the hunter Death

the appeal of absolutes

the place where the river lets out

up where the air is light

Four Seasons

LAST TLOVM ONESHOT HIDING.MP3 FINAL_FINAL

Critical Role Campaign 2

a gentler sunrise

a tide that dreams of motion

an echo calling back

Beau & Fjord

food and conversation

glance now over the wrong shoulder

high noon somewhere

intriguing a dragon

Lo, Navigator

perpetual motion machine

the animal of destiny

the beau spoils yasha one

the cheese grater fic

the ridiculous shadowgast au

when all the silver-plated heroes start to rust

who will remember thy green flame

you’re fuel to a fire that’s fixing to die

it’s getting absurd i’m putting a readmore. they aren't all currently being worked on but i will talk about literally anything on this list.

Dimension 20

everything that flowers / flowers for itself

food people again

give your immortality to me

the gukgag/seacaster pairing you never knew you wanted

the most ridiculous isekai ever

the problem with delayed gratification

tonight might be my night to reminisce

Dragon Age

Bequests

hawkebastian bad ending

josie...

max ‘helen of troy’ trevelyan

not the same people that our old friends knew

the possession fic (shallow river, shining within her - the crane wives)

Fallout

the fallout 4 AU

f4

5. hey mister, that’s me up on the jukebox

6. there’s a local angel sitting on my right

Mass Effect

and then you live

ascends bright and calm the lord-star jupiter

The Zero-G Job

pluto shits on the universe

Untitled document

will there be flowers (after the war)

Star Wars

all roads lead toward the same blocked intersection

grease fire

Supergiant Hades

it’s done on a diamond, and for fun

taste of hot ashes on my tongue all day

The Good Place (i had actually forgotten about these! what a fun surprise!!)

i trust you’ve got nothing but good intentions

you don’t keep a ferrari in the garage

miscellaneous (this is a folder for WIPs that have less than 2 documents in the same fandom) 

better find another superstition

down along that devastation trail

god says yes to me

just like a torch

may your feet serve you well—and the rest be sent to hell

learn to wash your hands with fire

run for it, honey

she held her mouth up redly wan

Untitled document misc. 1

Untitled document misc. 2

winemaking

[merge-conflict]

where everybody knows your name

After @another-corpo-rat wrote this story in which Valentine tortures Victoria with her terrible fashion sense, I was motivated to write the prequel, where Victoria has the upper hand. Thank you for trusting me with writing her, she is such a blast!!

Summary: Valentine gets hit by a bombshell. Victoria isn’t ready for the fallout.

---

It had been a long time since Valentine’s last office party, but everything was the same as it ever was. Well, almost. There was a very particular sort of energy still lingering in the air, a sort of wary relief that things were finally starting to turn around. Some were still drinking like it was the end of days, but there hadn’t been any significant purges for at least a few weeks. The next few months were going to be a whirlwind, while the ambitious jockeyed for position, filling vacancies left in every rung of the ladder. Sometime soon they were sure to get an infusion of fresh blood, but until then it was anyone’s game, and nobody smart was going to waste a chance to rub elbows for a single evening of free booze.

Valentine herself was cruising the delicate line between buzzed and drunk. She would have liked to indulge, but she wasn’t invisible anymore, and it was astonishing the number of people who had just managed to run into her in the far corner of the Applied Research floor. It was an endless source of entertainment to see them try and guess what her angle was, although less endearing to endure every subtle and unsubtle attempt at gaining insight or access to Hanako. None of them had even bothered to try and dig up old dirt– but she supposed everyone was more cautious than usual for good reason.

A flash of something bright caught her eye, and her attention immediately focused on the woman across the room who looked nothing so much like a shark moving through schools of nervous fish. She was astonishingly striking– the bright, crisp white of her clothing offsetting the warm gold of her cybernetics and her light brown skin. Definitely a netrunner of some sort, both by the look of her implants and the signature of her interface, which was tagged with a string that would crash most casual scans. Valentine had just about launched a modified one when it occurred to her that where there was one trap, there was probably two. It would be a devastatingly embarrassing lure to fall for, purpose-built to catch careless busybodies and techs alike.

But it seemed she’d at least get to meet someone interesting, because at the exact moment that the runner turned and made eye contact with her. It was like she was twenty-two again, mind going treacherously blank the moment Birdy had given her the slightest amount of attention. Muscle memory allowed her to raise a glass in acknowledgement, but the intensity of the woman’s answering expression put her right back onto her heels. Within moments she had crossed the room, so that Valentine just had time to stand and greet her properly.

“Valentine,” the runner said abruptly, “Or is it Val?”

“Either is fine,” Valentine said, determined to remain cool. “Have we met?”

“In a manner of speaking. You don’t remember?” The runner paused, but she was difficult to read. Angry, maybe. Perhaps issuing a challenge. Or just a test. After a moment, she offered Valentine her hand. “It would be good to meet officially, I suppose. Victoria Crane.”

“Valentine Myśliwiec.” Crane’s grip was just a hair too firm, and the slight, contemptuous change in her expression suggested she knew exactly what kind of effect she was having. Valentine made herself relax, reminding herself it was better to stay cautious and seem a little stupid rather than open her mouth and remove all doubt. “I’m sorry, it’s nothing personal. I’m not great with faces.”

Not a lie– but she would have remembered meeting this woman. Once again she wished she had properly interrogated Johnny about his three-day jaunt about town. It hadn’t seemed important at the time, but she was paying for that now.

“Clearly.” Valentine held her breath as Crane reached out and rubbed the edge of her collar between her golden fingers. “They must be keeping you busy, if you’re still stuck wearing this.”

Valentine resisted the urge to nervously smooth down the front of her shirt. Wearing the standard-issue uniform wasn’t exactly glamorous, but she had never possessed the skill or interest for fashion. She’d been happy just to be back in clothing that didn’t disintegrate after a single wear, and it was the only thing she had that really matched the Arasaka red of her new left hand.

“Style isn’t really my forte,” she admitted. “I find it safest to stick to the basics.”

“It’s only a matter of knowing what flatters you best,” Crane said, finally releasing her. She was still standing just too close to be polite. Her smile was faint but cruel. “And, of course, how to hide any defects.”

“That can be a struggle,” Valentine said softly.

“All it takes is a little practice,” Crane replied, with a spark in her eye that confirmed she had not missed the implied insult in Valentine’s self-deprecating remark. “And some expert advice. Why don’t I take you shopping some time? It isn’t right for someone like you to be stuck looking like some low-level drone.”

Valentine covered her surprise, but badly. “That’s very generous–“

“Good–“ Crane said, before she could refuse. Her eyes flicked over Valentine’s shoulder for just a moment before once again fixing her in place with a steady gaze. “I’m afraid I can’t stay to chat just now, but I’ll be in touch.”

Crane swept away before Valentine could think of an appropriate response, the smell of her perfume lingering behind her. She turned to see one of the AR runners looking back at her with her eyebrows raised in a silent question. She answered it with a small shrug, which she hoped looked casual.

Damn, but Crane knew something and now she had to figure out what it was. They must be keeping you busy, she’d said, and it isn’t right for someone like you. Clearly calculated to get some sort of reaction, to suggest she was some jumped-up gonk who didn’t belong. Valentine wanted to look her up, but she was possessed by an irrational paranoia that she was being watched. If she made official queries she could end up triggering some sort of alert. All she needed was to tip her hand in a moment of blind panic. Instead, she sent a couple of messages out through a channel she knew was secure.

Goro answered first, much more quickly than she had expected, given he was on duty.

vim: I just met Victoria Crane, apparently for the second time. Do you know her?

🦊TAKEMURA🦊: Yes. Smasher’s pet netrunner…a very unpleasant woman. She spoke to your associate once, indirectly. Tread carefully.

vim: Smasher?? Has his own runner?

🦊TAKEMURA🦊: Indeed. Efficient and ruthless.

vim: ok.

vim: thank you

🦊TAKEMURA🦊: Of course.

🦊TAKEMURA🦊: Do not do anything rash.

Before she could respond, she got another little ping, this time from Abernathy.

vim: Victoria Crane?

🦢: avoid

vim: *she* came up to *me*

🦢: why?

🦢: she’s smasher’s girl. he might be in the doghouse now, but I wouldn’t count either of them out.

🦢: don’t piss her off

vim: i’m going to need a night off

🦢: she is way out of your league

Valentine bit her tongue and counted to ten. She was not going to lose her temper, and she was going to figure out what Crane knew. Smasher must have told her something, but the question was how much? Fuck Johnny and his dumb-ass quest for vengeance. If there was someone who would be bold enough to knock her around and ruin all of this, it was going to be the bitch working for Adam Goddamn Smasher.

But everyone had a weakness.

vim: she’s taking me clothes shopping

She watched the little chat icon dance for some time while Abernathy formed her reply.

🦢: god help her

[ashcroft-writes]

20 questions for fic writers

I was tagged by @bluedaddysgirl! Thank you; this fits well into my master plan of attempting to be more alive online hahaha @unmarked-credits @xinambercladx @sinisterexaggerator Not obligated to do this, I'm just trying to be social and thought it may be fun!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 5 🥹 I am baby compared to some people I see answering these

2. What's your total A03 word count? 512943 words!

3. What fandoms do you write for? Actively, right this second, Star Wars! I do have a huge Fallout 4 WIP that hasn’t been updated in a hot second, but I love it dearly and do wish to finish it one day.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

The Idiot’s Array

Rot, Dust, and Steel

Strong Hands

Homeworld Elegy

We can pretend this last one doesn’t exist lolololol (It’s the .hack Penguin Fic of DOOM, a reposting of my very first fic from the twee LULZ SO RANDOM era of my high school days. I like to have my history all together, and I own it, but goodness no one should read that.)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Oh I desperately wish I still was. I used to, every last one, and I still read and treasure all the ones I do receive. Over the last couple years, my life kept getting quite… upended, however… and I my well of communication energy just… died… and this is also partially because I find it physically impossible to just say “wow thank u <3” in a few seconds; I usually get really into it! Still, the kindness and joy folks have left for me has been so deeply appreciated and cherished. I can’t help but want to go back and respond eventually (“Hi! I know this was left like, two years ago, but you pretty much gave me the gift of sunshine then, sorry this is so late <3”) Hopefully it won’t be weird.

(If you’re reading this and you are, in fact one of those whose delightful comment I have not responded to, hi, I see you, and thank you so much for the gift of sunshine)

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Ooo. So though my stories definitely contain some angst, they usually end in very hopeful ways. Even the one about the collective grief for a destroyed planet 😆 Especially that one!! The future yet contains light! So perhaps the answer’s actually in a story that I never finished and isn’t available anymore.

I had this series I was writing when I was a lot younger set in Sonic the Hedgehog. It has this character who had been a villain switching sides and helping the Sonic group win their fight, and thusly secure his own pardon and freedom, a redemption sort of story. And it ended pretty sunshine and roses for most! But for the POV character, he never really would belong among the victors. They gave him a ship and his freedom in payment, and he took it and left for a world he didn’t know, off to try and find some new life on horizons where he would be either at best a stranger, and at worst hated for what he’d done in the past. I suppose there is still some hope in all that! New chances, new beginnings. Like I said, I’m a hopeful writer. But it was the most uncertain and melancholy of the lot, for sure.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? HA, almost certainly The Idiot’s Array; there’s a frickin’ romantic poem, a hopeful promise to see each other again, healing and reconciliation, and a man who flings himself out of the window dramatically in lieu of saying goodbye. What more could you want, I ask you.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Fortunately, no!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Sure have! The Gunslinger’s Paean series has been my first public work with a couple hot and heavy sort of scenes, mostly because at the time I was dying to write Cad Bane, who is an extremely blunt and direct character, told initially from the POV of someone bringing what he feels are shameful parts of himself into the light. Thematically, it just didn’t feel the sort of story in which smut should be anything less than on the page in every last detail where it had to be unpacked. I guess you could say they were the sort of scenes meant to reveal the changes in the characters because smut scenes are vulnerable scenes.

But judging how I’m talking about it, you might detect I’m running some obscure ace algorithm in my internal software that demands a very particular ratio of what it deems smut too unprompted 😆 AND THAT WOULD BE RIGHT AHHHH. I don’t write a lot of pwp, though I’m known to partake (and I hope this even answers the question lmao)

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? Not really my thing, but it sure is a valid lifestyle!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not to my knowledge, unless you count the LLM-training data scraping of Ao3, which I suppose doesn’t precisely qualify as theft in the classical sense 😅 I do wonder if a shard of my characterizations will some day jump out at people using those chatbots. Weird to think about.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Nope

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? I have not. I think I’d like to try some day, however, if I vibed with someone hard enough on an idea!

14. What's your all-time favourite ship? Hilariously, I don’t even write for this fandom I'm about to name. I HAVE NOT READ A SINGLE FIC AND THE FANART ARRIVES ON MY DASH WITH NO ACTIVE SEEKING. But Good Omens really went off with Crowley/Aziraphale! Gives me SO many warm fuzzies. What a great queer yearning story.

And I know, I know, that’s weird, someone probably expected me to say something I read/write for at the very least, but the character ships I adore exploring creatively genuinely exist on such a different brain circuit for me than the “fave ship I cheer for like a sports team” heh, though they are in no way lesser.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? You know that Sonic the Hedgehog series I mentioned earlier? That. My remaining mojo-energy in the Sonic-verse is just not powerful enough to overcome the inertia of revisiting something YEARS AND YEARS gone, and I have too many works other works open and waiting, but I’ll always look on that unfinished beast with affection. Yes that means all other stories I haven’t updated in a long time I still intend to finish 🥺 Please don’t throw rocks 🥺

16. What are your writing strengths? I’ve been told it’s my worldbuilding and characterization! And boy howdy do I love doing those things, so I’m really happy I’m doing it well!

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I get real maudlin sometimes in my early drafts! A LOT of characters on my pages work through a complex array of feelings and internal monologues before I can wrest a moving story from their emotional morass. You would not believe how much I tone down in editing. And oh god I write a lot of words. Somehow my chapters are now often 9-12k words and I just can’t stop myself; they feel complete when they’re complete 😭

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I dislike it usually, because in my work I’m often trying to immerse my (sometimes monolingual) reader in the headspace of another person… and if that’s the case, and my character runs into someone speaking a different language than the story's overall text, there’s usually three outcomes:

The POV character understands the other language fully. In that case, the reader should likewise feel the understanding is effortless, or they might get jarred out of the flow of words and character headspace. So I just write the translation of the words, i.e.

“I really wish I had a pet raccoon,” said Talky McTalkerson in soft-spoken French.

The POV character does not understand the other language at all. In that case, why would they mentally be able to give us a perfect transcription of the foreign words for readers? In that case, the character experience really is:

The man was saying something in a bashful sort of French—at least I think it was French. But I didn’t understand.

The POV character partially understands the other language. In that case, the translation struggle might even be part of the reader experience, and remains immersive, i.e.

“I really wish I had a…” Talky McTalkerson was saying in his quiet French, my poor student-learner brain straining to pick apart the mumbled crumbs. Something about… laveur? Washing? “I really wish I had a new washer too,” I tried in solidarity, and he looked at me as if I was an idiot.

(Note, I do not speak French and picked it out of a hat for examples <3)

Anyway, I think some exceptions can be made for words that don’t have precise translations! I like to do that with some of my alien language stuff if talking about the words deepens some understanding about the culture and people who speak them.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Pokemon, when I was a wee sprout in elementary school. It was never published lol but it was so incredibly dramatic and terrible. And it rocked

20. Favourite fic you've ever written? I will never get over Homeworld Elegy. It gets a little less attention than its predecessor—ah, such is the fate of all sequels, especially when it's not quite the same sort of story! But it means just as much to me. I don’t know how I pulled it out of my brain in six months, though I think I was processing a lot at the time, and looking back at the themes, hoo, it makes sense. I’ve never written something quite that complex before, the multiple POVs, all the wholesale alien culture invention, the making use of a past and present timeline, and the endless little circles connecting the two right up until the end. That and bringing in a stable of OCs and hoping people would like them… and I think it all worked even better than I’d hoped. I had no idea if I could stick the landing writing it, but I’m so proud of how it turned out and the things it’s inspired in some of my readers since.

Here’s hoping the next thing I publish will continue the trend of being my new favorite thing!! I’m really excited about literally everything I’m working on!!!

[scribbledquillz]

So we have never talked before, but I was browsing the Solas/Adaar tag and spotted your fic and I wanted to say that it’s INCREDIBLE. Gorgeous prose, great character study, so many vashoth feelings. It’s in my queue right now. Welcome aboard the ship, it’s a fun time and there’s amazing art and writing out there. Also, I sorta binged your Imakai tag and she is amazing. Just love her backstory and personality. (I hope this isn’t Too weird of an ask, I’m just always really excited to meet Adaar Inquisitors and Solas/Adaar is my #1 ship, so…I got excited. 😅)

So first of all THANK YOU? And I'm so sorry that it took so long for me to reply - Real Life has been busy and throwing a lot of curve balls, and I got this ask at such a perfect time. So thank you again for being an inadvertent little moment of joy when I really needed it. <33 I'm so, so touched to hear how much you like Savagery! I had a wonderful time writing it, it was one of those one shots that just sort of materialize on the page (or screen rather) before you realize what you're doing haha. I really love the potential of writing for Imakai and Solas, and seeing how the fallout of their tumultuous relationship molds both of them - for good or ill. I'm hoping to write more for them at some point when life offers me more time to devote to fanfic again. If there's any particular scene or prompt you're interested in seeing, by all means feel free to shoot them to me! I am always happy (and really flattered lbr) to get those in my inbox. : )

[warriorpax]

Coming to terms...

Warning: The following includes a long-ass post involving drama with a former friend of mine. If you do not wish to read, there is a read-more and a trigger warning tag to avoid this for your convenience. Those that wish to read on...be warned, this may change your perception of me forever.

So...a number of you that still follow me, still put up with me, whatever, probably know by now that at one point, I was friends with and interacted with @pudgy-planets, one of a number of blogs owned by Neon.

Well...some time had passed, and you probably know that we are no longer on speaking terms anymore.

So, some of you might already know, or you might be asking, "well, what happened? What caused you two to not talk to each other anymore?"

Basically...I fucked up. I more or less forced myself on Neon...I got a bit too flirty, and instead of accepting that Neon only saw me as a friend and nothing more, moving on from that and keeping my friendship with her, I kept up my behavior...which caused the falling out.

After some time, I tried to talk with her, to sort things out...but I was too forceful with it, causing Neon to block me on all of her blogs that I know of so far, including the aforementioned "pudgy-planets" blog.

Now...I'm just gonna say this right now. What I did was in no way okay whatsoever.

I have taken a lot of time to learn from my mistakes...both from then, and from times prior...and I believe that I have changed enough to begin again, to quote basically everyone from Fallout New Vegas: Dead Money.

Regardless...from the bottom of my heart, somewhere in this mess of a body you all know as "Chase"...I'm sorry, for everything.

Do as you wish with all of this information. Send it to Neon, use it to send anon hate towards me, do whatever.

I understand if some of you are angry with me, or even hate me. Given everything that I have just told you, I would not blame you for it in the slightest.

I just hope that all of this doesn't cost me the friends and mutuals that I have made since my falling out with Neon...losing friends fucking hurts, no matter who it is...

I just realized that it's been a long time since all of that happened...and I figured I should come clean with it all, admit my mistakes, my faults, my fuck-ups, my whatevers...and move on now.

So...for those that are still here with me, despite everything I've just said...thank you.

For those of you that have most likely blocked me by now...I'm sorry to see you go, for what it's worth I enjoyed all the time we had together.

Here's hoping for the start of a better chapter, for all of us...

[onceuponatimeinerebor]

The Cowboy - Part 1

Masterlist | Part 2

Pairing: The Ghoul/Cooper Howard x F!OC Word Count: 2.4k Tags: Slowburn, fluff, angst with a happy ending, naive protagonist, age gap (duh, he's like, 250?) Warnings: For now just dead people? It's Fallout man, it's gonna get gruesome...but mostly in a chill way.

Summary: Isolation. That was what Vault 28 was designed to study. Adults, children, and even babies were placed in rooms alone. They were told they were asymptomatic carriers of a deadly virus, placed in small rooms with no contact in order to protect the other residents of the vault. In reality, they were lab rats selected to study what effects extreme isolation had on one's mental and physical health. Eve Bennett was one of these test subjects. Having spent all her life alone, she finds herself in a place she could never have imagined when the door to her world was suddenly thrown open.

A/N: *walks in with a hat and trench coat, drops this and leaves* If you read one of my other fics I'M SO SORRY! I'VE BEEN INSPIRED BY A BEAUTIFUL MUSE AND THAT MUSE IS WALTON GOGGINS! Anyway, I posted this on AO3 but I think the sexyman/monstefucker communities here on Tumblr would appreciate it more. And I had to repost because tumblr is jank as hell. (:

Eve sat cross-legged on the small couch in her room. Her bare legs bounced as she watched intently at the scene unfolding on the television set before her.

Three men stood in a circle, hands resting on their holstered six shooters as the tension mounted. As they spoke she followed along, whispering the lines under her breath. And despite knowing exactly what would happen, she still waited in anticipation for the men to make their move. One of the outlaws started to draw, just before the sound of duel gunshots rang throughout the town. A cloud of dust swept past, and the two outlaws stood disarmed, the sheriff smiling triumphantly with his pistol in his hand.

Eve smiled, falling to the side and snuggling into a pillow as she watched for what may have been the thousandth time as the sheriff tipped his hat up with end of his gun. He gave his victory speech as the two outlaws were cuffed and taken away. She paused the holotape, rolling herself to the floor so she could get closer to the screen. She stared at the man on the screen--her only friend for as long as she could remember--and wondered as she often did if cowboys still existed. Were there cowboys and lawmen and outlaws out there in the wasteland? Or had the bombs destroyed them along with everything else?

Lost in her thoughts, she almost missed the unusual sound coming from behind her. It was a sound she had never heard before, and so turned her head slowly towards it as she crawled back onto the couch. She peaked over the back of the sofa, he eyes going wide at the sight of an open door.

The door was open. The door had never been open before.

She sat frozen, her heart racing as she waited. For what, she didn't know. A person maybe? Or perhaps some kind of announcement? Maybe it would just close again, no ceremony or any explanation for why it had ever opened in the first place.

But none of those things happened. In fact, nothing happened at all. Eve peaked her head out a little further, and saw a red light flashing outside the threshold of her door. She licked her lips, thinking about what she should do next.

She could just ignore it--just stay in her room like she was supposed to. If it was some sort of malfunction they would surely notice eventually and fix it, right? And if she just went wandering out she could run into someone. What if she got them sick? What if she started a plague? What if everyone in the vault died and it was her fault?

Then again, it had been some time and nothing had happened. Maybe something was wrong in the vault. Maybe they needed help. Thinking on it a bit longer, Eve finally made her decision. Chewing on her lip, she slowly stood, watching for any signs of movement by the door. She gingerly made her way towards the doorway, smoothing out her hospital gown as she approached. She stuck her head out, looking around the hallway outside her room for the first time in her life.

The red light illuminated the area seconds at a time, making it difficult to get a clear image.

There was no one outside--no one that she could see, anyway. Multiple doors lined the hallway, each looking just like the one she had just stepped out of. There was no way to see what was behind each one, with the rooms having no windows or video monitors. She slowly stepped out, one bare foot in front of the other. There were dark stains across the floor, which she tried to avoid as she made her way down the corridor to the elevator.

The elevator shook as it brought her up. She thought about what she would do if she saw someone. She thought about what she would say. What did people even say to each other? How did they know the right words if they didn't already know the whole conversation?

The door soon opened, and Eve stepped out to find more empty hallways. The red light had followed her upstairs, a constant blinking in the endless maze of empty corridors.

With no sign of anyone, and she began to wonder if they had all just left--or worse, if there had ever been other people there to begin with--when she rounded a corner and felt the breath catch in her lungs. In front of a shut door at the end of the hall lay bodies. There was a whole mound of them; their skeletal corpses climbing one on top of the other as even in death the scrambled to open the door before them.

Oh, so they were all dead then.

By the look of them, they had been dead for a long time. A stray thought past through her mind as she stared at the pile bodies. Her parents were likely there somewhere. They must have been, right? She moved her eyes across every skeletal face, wondering if maybe one would somehow reveal itself to her. Not that she would have been able to tell which ones they were even if their faces were in any shape to be recognized.

She wasn't sure, and she doubted she ever would be.

There must be something important behind that door--an explanation for what happened here at the very least. But she felt herself wanting to leave this place behind. It didn't matter at this point anyway did it? They would still be dead either way.

As she steped back, she felt something graze her bare thigh. A skeleton, curled up alone in the corner. A pile of bones in a faded blue jumpsuit. The number on its back read '28'. It looked as if they had just sat down and died, all alone. Eve moved to return to the elevator when she stopped, looking at the skeleton's fleshless wrist.

A pip-boy.

A thought shot through her then. She could leave--not just her room, but the vault. She could leave this place and see what was left of the world she loved so much from her holotapes. She gingerly reached down, being as gentle as possible as she removed the device from the skeleton before quickly retreating back to the elevator. She hugged the pip-boy close to her chest, all but sprinting when the doors opened until she found herself back in the safety of her room.

Now came the time to choose. Did she stay where she was? Nothing had changed about her situation really--she was still contagious. Her room seemed to still be fully functioning despite the door being open. The auto-dispenser would still give her food, and of course she always had access to clean water. She would have all her holotapes, her books, her bed, and what else did she really need? She had it all, just like she always had. And of course there was the idea of what might happen if she somehow spread her disease.

She also had to consider her medication. She had always been asymptomatic of the illness that got her locked inside her room for all this time. But she could develop symptoms at any time, and the suppressant she took every day was perhaps the only thing keeping her healthy--and even that wasn't a guarantee. If she didn't stay, she could get sick herself.

Then again, maybe there were people on the surface, and they had found a cure? And could she really live knowing what lay above her? She had always been alone, but she was alone with the knowledge that there were others around her even if she couldn't see them. Of course the others had clearly been dead for some time, but she hadn't known that before. That knowledge, and the wide-open door, made it hard to imagine staying. The door was a barrier, and it had been torn down.

But what would she find on the surface? Where would she go? Were there really people living up there? Could she really meet someone real?

She glanced over, and saw the image of the cowboy, his smiling face still frozen on the screen. The Sheriff was always brave--he wouldn't hesitate, even if it was dangerous.

Her room may have everything she needed to survive, but now she had the chance to actually live. How could she not take it?

She sighed, thinking about the undertaking ahead of her. One more last, calm moment, and then she got to work.

She ran around the vault, running back and forth between the housing units and her own room. She ransacked the homes, grabbing things she didn't already have. She found a backpack, packaged food, a canteen, a gun she had no idea how to use, and some clothes. The boots she found fit well enough, but the vault-tec suit wasn't the greatest fit. The bottoms fit alright, but she couldn't manage to zip up the top. Having to improvise, throwing on a white tank top over her bra and used the sleeves of the jumpsuit to tie around her waist. She braided her long blonde hair and used on of the two small scarves she had found to tie off the end, the other going around her neck.

Then went back to her room and grabbed a few of her favorite books, and opted to bring only her favorite holotape. She may not be able to watch it again, but it was a comfort to have with her all the same.

Content she had prepared as best as she was able, she placed the pip-boy on her wrist and headed for the elevator. Reaching the top floor, she used the pip-boy to unseal the door to the outside.

Light blinded her as she took her first few, shaky steps out. Her vision slowly began to adjust, and soon a sea of sand spread out before her. She took it all in, overwhelmed by the vastness of the space sprawling out before her. Taking in a deep breath of the hot air surrounding her, she put one foot in front of the other as she began walking away from the only life she had ever known.

Two steps in, and she went tumbling down the side of the mound of sand she had been standing on. Apparently, sand was a very unstable surface, and it was harder to walk in shoes than Eve had realized. How did cowboys make it look so easy?

Once she had stopped rolling, she sat up. She spit the sand from her mouth and dusted what she could from her scalp. She stood up, patting down her clothes before straightening.

Alright then, here we go.

The sun was beginning to set as the ghoul trudged his way though the wasteland. Fresh off a big bounty and a nice payday, he had already picked up another job and was out on the hunt once more. It was an easy job, just something to do to keep the caps coming in after the mess that last job had turned into.

And off she went, traversing the wasteland with no clear goal or destination in front of her. She could only hope that she would run into someone soon.

---

He moved through the sand with the ease of someone who had been walking the wasteland for years on end. He scanned his eyes across the dunes, looking for a decent spot to set up camp. His eyes stopped on the remains of some pre-war structure jutting out of the ground like a knife. It could have been anything at one point--he thought it had the vague shape of a truck stop roof--but now it was just a mess of gnarled metal. It seemed as good a spot as any to stop for the night, and made his way towards it.

As he got closer his eyes squinted to make out what he thought was a body laying in the shade of the structure. It could have been nothing--a pile of junk maybe--but the closer he got the more sure he was that it was a person. Maybe dead, maybe sleeping, or maybe waiting for someone to get up close so they could attack.

Whatever the case, he was hardly worried. If it was an ambush, he could handle it--even if they had friends hiding out somewhere in the wreckage.

He finally got close enough to make out the figure laying in the sand. It was a young woman, her face covered by a scarf. She laid flat on her back, a backpack under her head acted as a makeshift pillow. The blue jumpsuit was a clear sign that she was a vault dweller, though even without it where she had come from was obvious. No wastelander was so clean and unblemished--particularly the pretty ones.

Beauty didn't last long in a place like this.

He saw the slight rise and fall of her chest, so he knew she was alive at least. For how much longer though, wasn't too hard to guess. She was going to die out in the wasteland; whether quick and violent or slow and painful. One look at her and it was clear she was too soft to make it long, and he thought it would be a mercy just to take care of her quick. He pulled his gun from it's holstered, cocking it as he aimed at the woman sleeping soundly on the ground.

She stirred, her eyes fluttering up as she left her dreams behind. She began looking around as she lifted herself up onto her elbows, having nearly forgotten what had happened and where she was. She froze when she caught sight of the man, his gun fixed on her.

Her eyes went wide, and Cooper knew what would come next. Wastelanders may not like ghouls, but they were at least used to the sight them. Vaulties on the other hand, were not. Judging by how clean this girl still was, he was likely the first ghoul she had ever seen. That typically didn't go over well.

"A-are you..." her voice was hoarse as she spoke.

Here it comes, Cooper thought.

"Are you a cowboy?"

[epsilonicronecronomicon]

1. Please send me the actual post you are talking about, as I just asked before. I want to block the op so I don't accidentally reblog from them.

2. Read my tags again— I said every post you reblog/make about trans men is a post that paints them negatively. I know you write smut, it's none of my business. Your opinion on my existence is my business.

3. Please cite the posts you are referencing where users nothorses and crimsonender have done the things you've mentioned. I see a lot of fallout posts of ppl like that and I've learned to ask for proof because that sort of thing can be real but also accusations of it can be used as a weapon.

4. I get hatemail too :( two threats so far just from people who claim to follow you. This weird war is vicious like that, and I am also sorry you are recieving harassment, and I encourage anyone still reading this post who is on my side to stop bothering this user who is just trying to tell me what users have been saying awful things about her

5. I reiterate, please show me proof. I know everything about this is totally nuanced and it's important to block the bad ones who overcomplicate things and get confused about what the transandrophobia movement should be about

Without hrt, Christmas is just cismas.

[cloudteawrites]

chapter: seven ( 12.3k ) 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 >>

The sound of your phone ringing rips you from sleep. You sit bolt upright, confusion and panic dousing you like twin buckets of ice water. You’d been having a nightmare about something, but you can’t remember what. The tattered ends of it are already slipping away, just out of reach. You don’t chase after them.

You fumble for your phone in the dark, fingers groping uselessly at your blankets until they close around it. The bright white light from your screen blinds you as you flip it over and you blink blearily, rubbing at your eyes with one hand and trying to answer with the other.

“Hello?” you rasp, mashing the speaker button. “Who is this?”

“Apologies for disturbing your sleep, ma’am.” A woman’s voice crackles over the other end of the line. You can hear exhaustion dripping off every word. “This is Officer Kwon from the Namhyeon-dong precinct of the Seoul Metropolitan Police Force.”

You squint into the dark expanse of your bedroom, a little frown on your face as you struggle to process what she’s saying. “....okay?”

“I’m calling because we’ve got two of your hybrids in custody.”

You blink slowly. “Hmmmm, I don’t think so...” you mumble through a yawn. “They’re all in bed.”

“We ran their numbers through the registry and you were pinged as the owner of both.” You hear papers shuffling and her voice get distant as she transfers the receiver to her shoulder to free up a hand. “We’ve got a rabbit calling himself Jeongguk and a Seokjin who the rabbit says is a deer-” She sighs. “Listen, I’m at the end of my rope here. They won’t tell me where they came from and the phone number of the business they were registered to before you is out of service. They’re hurt pretty bad, worse than what we can take care of here at the station. We can’t get them any sort of medical care without their guardian’s permission, so-”

Your eyes glaze over as you groggily connect the dots.

A deer and a rabbit.

Not canine, not feline.

Other.

Other.

You shove the covers down your legs and kick them over the side of the bed. “I’m on the way,” you tell her, already adding up the distance between your building and Namhyeon-dong. It’d take an hour to get all the bus transfers you needed- your eyes narrow as you squint at the time on your phone. 3:27 AM. You’d have to get a cab. Your stomach twists at the thought of the fare, but you shove the feeling down. This was no time to be thrifty. “Do whatever you need to.”

The officer exhales in relief. You can practically hear the tension leave her shoulders. “There’s a little hybrid clinic in the neighborhood. I’ll see if I can get the vet up and convince them to go.”

“Thank you,” you breathe. She gives you the address and you type it into your notes app, reading it back to her twice to make sure you got it right. She hangs up with a promise to see you soon and your phone locks, leaving you alone in the blue-black gloom of an early morning.

This wasn’t great. This wasn’t great any way you sliced it. You’d thought you’d have an extra two weeks to get the canines settled and all five hybrids to at least not want to kill each other. That’d been the plan, at least, when you’d sequestered yourself in your bedroom without telling Jimin and Taehyung goodnight or doing any introductions. Now the others were coming and you were on borrowed time. You drag your hands down over your face. “What are we gonna do?” Nothing but silence answers you.

When you were a kid and you’d had anything big before you- a massive school project you’d waited til the last moment to start, having to walk yourself to the market because your mom was too sick to go, a hard conversation with a friend- your mom had always told you to break it down into smaller pieces. Make the big thing small; do what you can for now. So, that’s what you do.

You shove your phone into the pocket of your sweatpants, tug your backpack out from under your bed and grab a pair of socks. You slide them on as quickly as you can and head for the door. You tug it open and try to rush through, already on the way to your next small thing- but you stumble over a shoulder and go down.

You let out a yelp of surprise that quickly morphs into one of pain as your forehead knocks against the other person’s. Your hands slam down on either side of their head and their own fly up to your waist to steady you. You blink down at them, willing your eyes to adjust to the dark.

Hoseok is beneath you. He’s squinting up at you, his hair in disarray and his cheeks puffy with sleep. “Ow,” he croaks.

You wince. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, rubbing the spot on his forehead your own knocked against on autopilot. He seems to wake up a little at that, eyebrows inching up his forehead. You snatch your hand back. “Ah, sorry. I was worried I hurt you-”

“I’m okay,” he rasps, his voice still thick with sleep. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“Okay.” You disentangle yourself from him and rise back to your feet. He struggles to get up too, mirroring you. The blankets pooled around his hips fall to his feet. You frown at the picture he makes, his shoulders slumped from exhaustion and indents on his cheek from the hardwood. “Did you...did you sleep out here?”

His ears fall and he lowers his head a bit between his shoulders. “Yeah,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “I did…”

You wrote off a lot of the behavior the boys exhibited that you didn’t understand as just a part of them being hybrids. When Taehyung affectionately headbutted you, or Jimin always hopped up on counters or Yoongi lapped from glasses instead of sipping, you just accepted it and stashed it away to google later- but this was a little more concerning. Did he not feel safe in his room? You’d tried to put him and Namjoon as far away from the felines as you could, but you also knew the cats weren’t thrilled about sharing their space. You hoped they hadn’t made him feel too unwelcome after you’d collapsed into bed.

“Is everything okay?” His ears twitch as the smell of your worry fills his nose. He leans forward and for a moment you think he’s gonna close the distance between you- but he pulls back.

“No,” he answers. You feel your heart sink. “I just...your room is closest to the front door.” You blink at him slowly, not following. You don’t know how his sight is in the dark, but he must see the confusion furrowing your brow,because he continues. “Your room is the only one on the first floor and it’s close to the living room and front door. We all sleep upstairs. If someone broke in, they’d get you first.” He tosses a finger down at the blankets. “I was sleeping here so that wouldn’t happen.”

“Nobody’s gonna get me, Hoseok,” You soothe, trying to assuage his fears. “I’m nobody-”

“You don’t know that,” he argues back. “And you’re not ‘nobody’ to me. I waited my whole life for you. I’ve gotta keep you safe.”

You don’t know what to make of that. You’d known Hoseok had been trained specifically to protect the person he’d eventually be sent to, but you hadn’t expected him to be so adamant about it. After all Namjoon grew up in the same place- No. Your expression sours as the thought stops you. No he didn’t. The wolfdog hybrid had been locked away for most of his life and interaction with others had come only in the form of meal delivery. He wouldn’t have had the director’s lessons drilled into his head everyday in the same way Hope had.

Still, no one has expressed this level of care for you since your mom died. You’re not entirely sure you deserve it.

“I was gonna wake up before you did and go back to my room,” he mumbles, kicking gently at the blanket and not meeting your eyes. “I promise, I was. I didn’t expect you to be up this early.” He fiddles with the hem of his shirt, his ears drooping more and more the longer you look at him. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable…”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Hoseok,” You tell him and his ears perk up a little. It was true, he hadn’t. His actions were sweet, if a bit misguided but you were more worried about him than anything. “I don’t know what the director told you or what you’ve heard, but I promise there’s no one after me.” He frowns at that, lips twisting into a little pout. He goes to interject, but you speak again before he can. “If you’re worried about anything, just tell me okay? If there’s anything you need to do to make yourself feel more at ease here, just tell me.” You implore him softly.

Hoseok nods slowly and you see his tail give one small wag. You nod back, and turn to go, but his voice stops you. “I think it would help a lot if I could sleep down here.” Your brow furrows at that.

“This is the only bedroom on this floor, though?”

He whines and looks like he’s about to explain- but a soft voice purring in your ear cuts him off. “He could sleep on the couch,” Jimin supplies, his arms entwining around your middle as he rests his chin on your shoulder. “It’s quite comfortable...Y/N-ah, do you mind dogs on the furniture?” His tone is light, free of the haze of sleep and a little teasing. From the way Hoseok’s ears droop and the way his shoulders curve in, you could tell Jimin hadn’t crept down here for a bit of good-natured ribbing. Your scent sours as your expression does, irritation with the leopard hybrid pricking at you. He lets out a little disgruntled murr in protest as he noses at your neck, trying to get you to soften for him. You tilt your head away from him and disentangle yourself from his arms. It’s three in the morning, you have to cross the city to deal with the fallout from God only knows what, and your neck still aches from the bruise Yoongi had left on it. You have too much on your plate to deal with Jimin needling his new housemate.

“Leave him alone, Jimin,” You exhale, side-stepping the leopard hybrid and heading down the corridor for the door. “Hoseok, you can sleep where you want. I’ve gotta go.”

The doberman takes a step forward. “I’ll come with you-” the icy look Jimin shoots him has him slowing but it’s not until the leopard hybrid bares his teeth at him that he stalls entirely. The sound of his whimper has you whirling around, but when you do, you find Jimin looking at you, blasé and Hoseok eyeing him with uncertainty

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise,” you toss back over your shoulder as you slide your feet into a pair of shoes. “Please, just...if you can’t be friendly, just do your own thing ‘til I get back.” You lace up your sneakers as quickly as you can and duck out the door. “Text me if you need anything; I’ll call on the way back.” And you’re gone, leaving the leopard and the doberman in the dark.

You are not at all confident in their ability to maintain a truce while you’re gone. You’re almost certain that if you hadn’t shoved your way between Namjoon and Yoongi last night, they’d have come to blows right there in the lobby last night. You punch the button for the ground floor and slump back against the railing of the elevator, exhaustion settling heavy on you now that you were alone again. You’d known Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung weren’t thrilled about sharing their space, but you hadn’t expected this kind of fallout from bringing new hybrids home. You don’t know if there’s anything you can do to make things a little easier, but you want to. Sighing, you resign yourself to more research. You pull out your phone and start typing.

why are my hybrids freaking the fuck out

You backspace. Venting at google wasn’t going to help you figure out what the sharp looks Jimin kept throwing Hoseok while he thought your back was turned meant or why Yoongi had been so furious the other hybrids’ scent was on you.

why don’t my hybrids like each other

Just like all your other searches, this one turns up millions of results. You thumb over the links but none of them are helpful. They’re dealing with puppy hybrids bickering and cat hybrids hissing at each other. None of them cover cross-species beef. None of them deal with exotics. You sigh, lock your phone and tilt your head back to stare at the soft yellow lights in the elevator’s ceiling. You were out of your depth. You’d known that from the moment Mr. Seo turned you into an heiress with a wave of his fountain pen. You get the urge to run, that old niggling feeling that settled like a stone in your mind and made your palms itch.

It’s been years since you last felt the need to pull a disappearing act. You don’t think you’ve done it since the one year anniversary of your mom’s death. The foster home you’d been sent to was a shit show. You found out the woman in charge had been pocketing the money you gave her every month for your mother’s columbarium fees and her urn was in danger of being thrown out. You’d shoved everything you owned into your school bag and walked across the city to get her. When the police found you, you were striding down the side of the highway, her urn clutched to your chest, determined to go anywhere but there.

You hadn’t known where you were going then; you still didn’t now. All you’d had was the urge to flee and fire under your feet. All you’d had was a singular focus on the road ahead.

The elevator reaches the ground floor with a soft ding, the automated voice letting you know you’ve reached the lobby. You step out and shuffle across it with your head down, careful to avoid eye contact with the receptionist watching you warily from behind her desk.

It’s a cold night. A blast of frigid air hits your face the second you’re out the door. You curse under your and fold your arms around yourself in a futile effort to keep warm. You should go back upstairs and get the coat Yoongi made you buy. You shift from one foot to the other, weighing your options- and decide against it. If the conversation you’d had with Hoseok was enough to wake Jimin and send him slinking toward you, you running in and out of the penthouse would almost certainly wake Yoongi up. Memories flash in your mind: his hands gripping your hips tight, his rough tongue laving over your neck, that self-satisfied smirk he’d let spread over his mouth. You pinch yourself, trying to stem the heat you can feel crawling out the neck of your sweatshirt. It had upset you, there was no denying that. The warm feeling that’d bubbled up in your stomach at being touched didn’t wash away the fact that him marking you had nothing to do with your friendship and everything to do with warding off the canine hybrids.

Yeah, you decide, quickening your pace down the ice-slicked sidewalk. You’d much rather face the cold than him.

You make quick work of the walk from Haneul Tower to the streets of the club district. It’s only two blocks up and one over, but by the time you get there, you feel like a giant icicle. You’re out of place in a sweatshirt and scuffed up sneakers among the glitz and glamor of the club-goers, but you don’t have time to deal with your imposter syndrome. You duck into the first taxi you find, pass the old man the address Officer Kwon had given you and settle back.

He complains nearly the entire time about how far out of the way you’re making him go. You apologize as much as you’re able and promise him return fair back to Gangnam if he waits for you. He huffs and puffs, but he still takes you. Forty minutes later, you’re standing on the sidewalk outside of Happy Tails Hybrid Clinic, rapping urgently at the glass. After two minutes that feel like twenty, someone finally answers you.

You think she’s in her late twenties but the dark circles under her eyes she keeps rubbing at make her look older. She’s dressed in the typical winter police uniform, minus her jacket. The pale blue sleeves of her dress shirt are rolled up above her elbows and are blotchy with pale red marks she’d tried to scrub out. Blood. You swallow, your throat suddenly dry.

She unlocks the door and pokes her headout. “Y/N L/N?” She asks, eyes narrowed against the glare of the street lamps.

“Yeah,” you answer, giving one short nod. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Officer Kwon; we spoke on the phone.” She opens the door for you fully, stepping back and ushering you in urgently. “I’ll be honest,” she says once you’re safely inside and the door is locked back tight again. “I wasn’t sure you were gonna show.”

You frown at that. “Why wouldn’t I have shown?”

“Most of the time when hybrids run, it’s an abuse case.” She drops into one of the plastic chairs lining the waiting room. Her head falls back with a thunk against the yellow plaster. If it hurts, she shows no signs of it, just stares up at the fluorescent lights. You settle on the lip of the chair next to her, feeling awkward and anxious. “The rabbit broke into an Olive Young to steal antiseptic and bandages,” she supplies without you having to ask. “He said he did it for the deer. When he showed me he was…” Officer Kwon exhales sharply and tips forward to rest her head in her hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that much blood.”

“I wouldn’t hurt them,” you insist softly. “It wasn’t me.”

“I know,” she answers, voice muffled against her palms. “I pulled your name and ID picture from the national database and the rabbit didn’t recognize you. Even if you didn’t do it, I didn’t think you’d wanna deal with it.”

Your anxiety spikes at her words. What had happened to the hybrids before she found them? Who’d want to hurt them that badly? Your mouth feels dry, but you force it to move. “Do you know who they were running from?”

Officer Kwon shakes her head and drags her hands down her face. She lets her arms fall to her knees as she hunches over in her chair, back bowed with exhaustion. “Whatever the rabbit knows, he’s not sharing,” she exhales. “-And the deer’s in no position to speak up. He’s been unconscious since I found him.” As if sensing you tense, she adds, “He’s on the table now. I think Dr. Cheon put him under sedation.”

You don’t know what to say. You’re not sure if there’s anything you even can. You have a million questions buzzing around in your mind, but so heavy is the weight of them on your tongue that you can’t find the strength to ask a single one. You’re saved by the doctor coming out from the back.

The door right next to the counter that reads STAFF + PATIENTS ONLY swings open and a middle aged woman in cat print scrubs comes out, shoulders hunched in like she’s got the weight of the world on her back. You can’t blame her; she looks every bit as tired as you feel. She stops just short of you and Officer Kwon, peels off a pair of blue medical gloves, dyed sticky red, and tosses them into the garbage can behind the reception desk. “Well,” she huffs, dragging her fingers through the greying wisps of hair that’d escaped from her braid. “It’s done.”

“How is he?” The police officer asks before you can. Dr. Cheon grimaces and leans against the counter.

“If you hadn’t found him in time, it could’ve been much worse.” You think she’s trying to put you at ease, but you don’t want compromising optimism. You want the truth. “An hour or two later and we’d be dealing with a very different situation, medically.”

You swallow and force yourself to speak. “Do you have any idea how this could’ve happened?”

Dr. Cheon turns her attention to you and blinks slowly, like she’d just noticed you were there. “...this is the guardian?” The police officer nods. The doctor takes you in, eyes roving from the mess of your hair twisted into a bun atop your head, to the scuffed rubber toes of your sneakers. She’s judging you, you know, trying to find something that’d mark you as the reason for the pain and suffering of the hybrids she’d helped. She finds none. “It didn’t happen to them,” she sighs. “Someone did this to them on purpose, likely over the course of several hours.” She tugs the office chair out from behind the desk and sinks into it, her limbs going to jelly the second she’s seated.

“Jeongguk won’t tell me what happened, but I know the signs. Puncture wounds around the entirety of Seokjin’s ankle, remnants of both sedatives and epinephrine in both of their blood, what looks like a bullet graze wound on Jeongguk’s side and he’s got a broken arm,” she rattles off symptom after symptom, each of them making the knot in your belly wind tighter and tighter. “The worst of it is Seokjin’s head. Hairline fractures all along the top of his skull and lacerations on his pedicles. They took his antlers from him.”

You feel sick to your stomach. You knew there were people who hurt hybrids, just like there were people that hurt animals and other people. You just hadn’t expected to ever have to deal with the fallout of one such incident. “Will he be okay?”

“He’ll survive, if that’s what you’re asking,” Dr. Cheon allows. “But he’ll need to be monitored closely during these next few weeks. They were hunted. If they decide to come with you instead of going to the shelter with Officer Kwon, you’ll need to be cognisant of the fact that the trauma from that could manifest in unexpected ways.”

Hunted. They’d been hunted.

You knew hunting was illegal in South Korea, you had that little tidbit tucked away in the recesses of your grade school memory along with the list of provinces and their capitals and the names of all the sailor scouts. It’d been outlawed in the fifties with the rash of hybrid centered legislation after a hunter up in Chungcheongbuk-do had shot a black bear hybrid he’d mistaken for a real bear. It was determined that since humans couldn’t distinguish between regular animals and hybrids shifted down into animal form, hunting had to be outlawed to prevent any accidental killings.

“Were they shifted down?” You ask. “Did someone not realize-”

“No.” Dr. Cheon’s answer is swift and final. “They knew. This was a choice.” The disgust in her voice is palpable.

“There are places that...Some centers cater to people that want to hunt.” Officer Kwon cuts in. “They have hybrids as employees and they let people rent airsoft or paintball guns to come hunt them. It’s supposed to be more ethical than actual hunting. No matter how distasteful I might personally find it, if they have a permit, there’s not really much the police can do unless a law has been broken. ”

“And without any information on where they came from, we can’t prove that one has,” Dr. Cheon finishes. “The most I can do as a vet is submit a report to the police about a possible abuse case and hope it makes its way to the hybrid crimes unit.” You hear the words she doesn’t speak, the meaning behind them. There’s nothing more we can do. They’ll get away with it. This is the end of the line.

Dr. Cheon drops her palms against her knees and forces herself to stand “Jeongguk’s injuries should heal just fine outside of the clinic,” She sighs. “But Seokjin-” she clicks her tongue against her teeth and gives a single shake of her head. “Cervine hybrids don’t shed their antlers like real deer do. There’s no telling if his will grow back or what they’ll look like when they do. All we can do is keep the wounds clean and pray.”

You nod numbly. She gestures for you to follow her and you do, making your way around the reception desk and through the staff door with her.

It’s dim in the back. The overhead lights are off and your path ahead is illuminated only by what light spills over from the reception room and an exam room up ahead. There’s only four of them, but the door to this one is slightly ajar. “Wait here for a second,” Dr. Cheon instructs, slipping through the door and leaving you alone in the corridor. You can hear her speaking softly to someone inside and them answering in even quieter tones. You have to strain to pick up the edge of their voice and even then, you can’t understand what they’re saying. “Would you like her to come in here, or would you like her to stay outside?” You hear her ask. The response is too soft for you to catch but a second later the door swings open.

Dr. Cheon steps out and gestures for the shadowy figure behind her to follow. “It’s alright,” she assures them. “No one here is going to hurt you.” Slowly, they shuffle out from the back.

It’s Jeongguk. There’s no denying what he is, not with the black velvet ears you see poking up out of his mop of wavy, dark hair. They’re alert; they prick toward you when your breath hitches. His eyes are dark and wide and the tip of his nose twitches when he looks at you. You muster up a smile you hope is reassuring and this right foot taps once against the linoleum. Yes, he’s a rabbit- but he’s also fucking huge.

What little research you’d managed to do in between apologizing to your taxi driver and keeping an eye on the fare had been straightforward: rabbit hybrids were naturally timid, needed a lot of attention and were small. Most sources you’d checked seemed to concur that they very rarely cleared 5’5. Jeongguk is pushing 6 feet and he’s built like a professional athlete. You suppose that’s what happens when you’ve spent your whole life running for it.

He’s wearing a teeshirt that’s too tight on his chest, the logo of the Seoul police force stretched thin, and a pair of grey sweatpants that are too short for him, both obviously on loan from Officer Kwon. His feet are bare, but there are bandages wrapped around both of them. True to what Dr. Cheon told you, his arms in a cast and wrapped in a sling. There’s scrapes on his knuckles and bruises blooming on the right side of his face. He looks like he’s been through the wringer. Still, he doesn’t slouch or shrink before you.

“Jeongguk, this is the woman we talked about,” Dr. Cheon tells him. He nods, but doesn’t move his gaze from your face once. “You’ll be going home with her-”

“Only if he wants,” You interject and she nods in agreement, quickly adding that caveat in.

“-only if you want.” He nods again and swallows, his bare foot giving another little tap against the floor.

“What about Seokjin?” He asks you.

“If he wants to come too, he’s welcome to, but neither of you have to if you don’t want to.” There’s a little frown on his face as you answer and he finally looks away. You can’t help but think that’s a bad sign, that he thinks he and his friend would be safer in a shelter that they ever could be with you- but then he asks another question.

“Do you have a husband or a boyfriend?” You frown at that. Why was it that every hybrid in the city was suddenly so concerned with your marital status? Hoseok had asked you in the car last night and now Jeongguk seemed worried about it as well. Sensing your confusion, he clarifies. “Do you live with any men?”

You wince. “Oh! Yeah, I live with five.” You see his expression darken as his ears sag. “They’re mostly predator-”

“If they’re hybrids, it’s fine.” He interjects, a little tension leaving his shoulders. “I can live with them.”

You relax too. From what you’d seen, most shelters weren’t nice places. They were overcrowded and underfunded. If the news was any indication, some of the worse ones got treated like grab bags by fighting rings, who’d shell out a couple thousand won for a canine hybrid and turn him into a prize fighter. You didn’t want that for them, not if you could provide an alternative.

But was it one though? He said he could live with them, but could they live with him? You think back to Yoongi and Namjoon snarling at each other last night, about Jimin’s little jabs at Hoseok. Yeah, you’d need to have another house meeting when you got home if this was ever going to work. Jeongguk had just been through hell and back; the last thing he needed was a territorial bobcat trying him.

“You can change your mind any time,” You tell him softly. “If you get there and feel like it’s not a good fit for you and Seokjin, you can go, okay?”

He dips his head. “Okay.”

“I think Seokjin can decide for himself.”

Your eyes rocket just over Jeongguk’s shoulder. There’s a man leaning heavily against the doorframe of the room the rabbit hybrid had come out of. He’s in a blue exam gown, his feet bare except for a plain white cast on his left leg. Every part of his head from his eyebrows up is bandaged, but you see soft tufts of red-brown hair poking out from between the layers. He looks human. You’d almost think he was if it weren’t for the oblong pupils in his hazel eyes and supple ears you see twitching as he observes you.

“What are you doing up?!” The alarm in Dr. Cheon’s voice is palpable. “Those sedatives should’ve kept you out ‘til morning.” She takes a step like she’s going to rush to his side- but stops short when he tenses and tilts his chin to his chest. Just for a second, it looked like he was preparing himself to square off against her- like he was brandishing something that wasn’t really there. His antlers, you think. He was trying to protect himself with his antlers.

Seokjin forces himself upright, his knees wobbling as he tries to stand on his own. He looks off-balance, and it’s not just because of the cast. He looks like he’s trying to figure out how to stand now that a piece of him is missing. His legs are trembling. “What can I say?” He huffs, sounding like he just ran a marathon. “I like to surprise people.” And then his legs buckle underneath him.

He hits the floor with a heavy thud. Jeongguk and Dr. Cheon rush to his side but he waves them off, eyes closed and brow knit in frustration. “I’m fine,” he insists, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to struggle back to his feet. “I’m fine, I just…I just need a moment-”

“You need bed rest.” Dr. Cheon goes to latch on to his arm to help him stand but Jeongguk catches her wrist, gives a single shake of his head and she drops it back to her side.

Seokjin manages to get himself back standing, but he sways precariously. “If this were a hunt, I’d already be dead.” He swallows and inhales shakily through his nose, doing his best not to gulp down air. “You should have left me, Jeongguk. You know the rules. One falls, but the herd rises-”

“The herd is gone, Seokjin.” The bitterness in the younger hybrid’s voice takes you aback. It’s a black wave, threatening to drown all four of you right there in the corridor. Seokjin stares at him, his jaw slack and pretty brown eyes wide.

“What do you-”

“They’re gone.” The rabbit hybrid’s bruised fingers clench into a fist and he fixes his glare on the tile. “All of them.”

Silence rings in the corridor. Dr. Cheon’s mouth is pressed into a thin line, but she doesn’t press for details and neither do you. She’d been right. They’d been hunted. The thought of it turns your stomach. Seokjin closes his eyes, long lashes fanning out over his cheeks as a muscle tenses in his jaw. He’s thinking. When he opens his eyes again, his gaze is settled on you. Your heart jumps as your nerves get the better of you, and one of his ears flicks back.

“You’re taking us?” He asks. You swallow.

“Only if you want me to.” An unreadable look passes between him and Jeongguk, the younger’s nose twitching.

“Speaking strictly as your doctor,” Dr. Cheon speaks up, interrupting the hybrids’ telepathy. “You need time to rest and recuperate-”

“Is there any special reason I have to rest and recuperate here?” He asks. You can’t help but notice the slight challenge in his voice. The corner of the doctor’s mouth twitches.

“No, I suppose not,” she acquiesces. She doesn’t look particularly pleased about the prospect of letting her patient go when he was still in the danger zone, but if the look of determination in Seokjin’s eyes is any indication, she doesn’t have much choice.

“Then, we’ll go.” The tone of his voice is final, letting everyone present know that he’s done talking about it.

That's the last that’s said to you or anyone else about it. Jeongguk falls in line with his orders easily and so doesDr. Cheon after she manages to get him to accept a pair of crutches she’d foisted upon him and passes off a prescription for pain meds and both of their check up schedules to you.

“It’s important that they don’t miss these dates,” she tells you at the reception counter, tapping the sheath of papers with one clean, blunted nail. “A single one of them. And make sure they don’t shift ‘til I’ve given them the all clear. Hybrid injuries are tricky, but they’re aggravated by the shift.” You nod, hanging onto every word she says, forcing your tired brain to take mental notes. “And-” she cuts her eyes at Jeongguk and Jin, both of whom are lingering in various extremes in the room, the deer hybrid sitting ramrod straight in a chair in the far right corner and the rabbit pretending to browse informational pamphlets. Once Dr. Cheon’s deemed it safe, she leans closer to you across the counter and gestures for you to come closer as well. You blink in confusion but acquiesce. “It’s important that your current hybrids be made to feel secure with the new additions coming.” She tells you, voice gravely serious. “Do you know about scenting order?”

After a beat, you nod. “Yeah. I mean, I read about it online but-”

Dr. Cheon tuts her tongue against the back of her teeth. “Online sources are shaky at best, wildly inaccurate at worst- particularly forums.” Your stomach flips. Had all your research been for nothing? “What did they tell you?”

“Um…” your brain boots up slowly as you try to recall the hours of research you’d done. “Uh, dominant hybrid first, then in age order?”

The corner of Dr. Cheon’s mouth quirks in an odd way. “That’s certainly a simplified way of looking at it.”

You wince.

“Hybrid group dynamics can be…” She searches for the right word. “Messy to start out with, especially with hybrids who don’t know each other who find themselves with an inexperienced handler. They’re all going to be trying to figure out where they fit in the pecking order as well as how their relationship with you works. There’s likely to be a lot of posturing, not just in order to impress you, but to solidify their place as well.” Dr. Cheon drags a hand down over her face. “Seven male hybrids under one roof...It’d be a miracle if no one’s missing fingers by the time the week’s out.”

“Is there any way I can stop them from being mean to each other?”

“I’m not a behaviorist,” The doctor sighs. “But I’d suggest you start with a conversation.”

You slide into the back of the taxi a little after 5:30 AM and pull out your phone. You’d promised to call on the way back and you don’t want a repeat of what’d happened the last time you’d forgotten. You scroll down your contacts, thumb hovering over Yoongi’s name and you hesitate. You remember warm lips, a rough tongue. You remember hands gripping your hips tight and a possessive growl in your ear. You press Taehyung’s name instead.

The tiger hybrid picks up on the third ring. “Hello?” His voice is slow and scratchy, still thick with sleep.

“Hey, it’s Y/N-” Almost immediately a happy rumbling starts from his end of the line. You can hear the sleepy joy in it and it makes your face warm.”A-and I just wanted to let you guys know I’m on the way home.”

Taehyung hums in acknowledgement, a low, musical sound. “Where’d you go?”

You bite your lip as nerves spark up in you. Well, all things considered, it was probably better for him to find out now rather than later. “The last two hybrids my uncle got…they were hurt and I had to come get them.”

The line is quiet for a moment and you gnaw at the bottom of your lip. Finally, Taehyung speaks. “Ah.” That’s all he says. Somehow, that’s worse than whatever Yoongi growling at the new hybrids or Jimin icing them out.

“I’ll be home in about another forty-five minutes, okay? Could you have everyone get together in the living room for me? We need to have a conversation.”

“Yeah, I can.”

You wince. There’s an almost imperceptible change in his voice. You swallow. “Taehyung, are you upset?”

He hums again like he’s considering it. “No,” he answers after a moment. “I don’t think i am. At least, not with you.”

That does little to allay your fears, but you force yourself to sound upbeat when you tell him, “I’ll see you when I get home, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll see you when you get home.”

The line clicks off and you drop your head against the headrest. A conversation. It should be a simple thing, but you spend the entirety of your taxi ride back to Gangnam with your stomach in knots. If the thought of introducing your two (very injured, very vulnerable) new hybrids to a house full of predators wasn’t enough, you have to try to allay Jeongguk’s inexplicable fear of the taxi driver. The middle aged man isn’t thrilled about ferrying hybrids across the city anyway, but between Seokjin swooning and Jeongguk thumping his foot so hard the whole car rattles whenever the man so much as looks in his rearview mirror, he’s almost ready to put all three of you out on the side of the highway. You have to promise him a 50,000 won tip just to get him to relent. He rolls up the partition, but even that doesn’t put Jeongguk at ease.

The rabbit hybrid is curled up in the corner of the backseat, his back against the door, his injured arm cradled close and his knees pulled up to his chin. His ears are on high alert, twitching at every passing car or stray siren. His whole body is tensed up like there’s a current running through it, like if he lets himself relax for a second, he’ll disperse into nothing. He’s glaring daggers at the partition, but you know he can’t see the driver. The car rolls over a speed bump a bit too fast and he flinches, hand shooting out for the door handle.

You watch him, concern coloring your scent. It’s not your place to ask, you know, and you feel almost stupid doing it, but the words slip out of their own accord. “Are you okay?” It’s a ridiculous question. You can still see the bruises blooming on his cheekbone, see the angry red of his split lip in the stray light of street lamps. His dark eyes flick toward you, round nose twitching.

“How do you know he’s taking us somewhere safe?” His gaze shifts from you, to the partition, to Seokjin, dozing fitfully on your otherside. The deer hybrid had finally surrendered to his pain meds not a second after you’d helped buckle him in. He’d been out cold before the driver had pulled away from the curb.

“Because that’s what I paid him to do,” you tell him, truthfully. You’d never given much thought to how much trust you placed in taxi and bus drivers to not kidnap you before. You certainly had to now, especially when Jeongguk seemed hyperaware of the fact that you’d entrusted all of your lives to a stranger. The rabbit hybrid swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing in the long column of his throat. He gives a little shake of his head.

“He could take your money and still take us somewhere bad. He could take us up into the mountains and Seokjin and I wouldn’t be able to do anything because we’re hurt and-”

“That’s not going to happen, Jeongguk,” you say in as soothing a voice as you can manage to muster up. “It’s really unlikely that that’ll happen, but even if it did, I’d do my best to protect you.”

He snorts, ears tilting back. They brush the roof of the car as they do and he shrinks himself, shoulders hunching forward. “What can you do?” His tone is derisive. “You’re only human. You’re not as fast as us or as strong-”

“I’d try,” you insist, some strong, unnameable emotion tightening your chest at the thought of them in danger. “If if came down to it, I’d still try to protect the pair of you-”

“You don’t even know me.” Jeongguk’s voice is edging somewhere between disgust and disbelief. You look away from him then and at your hands, gripping your knees.

“I don’t,” you agree easily. “But I’d like to. Even if I don’t- even if I didn’t, people should still help each other when they can. We owe each other that much.” The taxi is quiet for a moment, only the sound of tires rushing over the slick pavement and other cars zooming by filling the empty air between the two of you. Finally, the rabbit hybrid exhales shakily.

“I’m not a person.” He sounds resigned to that fact, like he’s accepted a burden far too heavy for him. “I’m not even an animal. I’m a-”

“Just because you aren’t human…” you start off hesitantly, very much aware that you might be crossing several invisible lines. “...doesn’t mean you’re not a person. You have your own thoughts and feelings and emotions. You deserve to have them heard. I know I’m not as fast as you or as strong, but the least I can do is listen to you, right?” The car is silent again. You’re too nervous to look at Jeongguk, worried that you’d gone too far- but then there’s a warm weight against your side. It starts slow at first, just your shoulders brushing against each other, but before you know it, Jeongguk’s leaning his whole body against yours. He’s slumped over with his head tucked beneath your chin like he doesn’t have the strength to hold himself up anymore. You swallow, your throat suddenly dry. “Jeongguk-”

“I’m afraid.” He admits in a whisper, like it’s the worst thing in the world. “Everything in me tells me to run all the time, but I can’t anymore.” His ears droop and his pretty dark eyes slip shut. This close, you can hear his heart beating at breakneck speed in his chest, feel how he shudders with every shaky inhale. “I’m so tired of running.” He’s terrified. You wouldn’t have guessed from his posture. Maybe the reason he held himself so tight was to stop himself from shaking apart.

You watch in surprise as the rabbit hybrid links his fingers with yours and drops your hand on top of his head, right between his velvety ears. “Help me like this.” You’re frozen, unsure what to do with a six foot tall man practically crawling into your sweatshirt with you. Was this really okay? He’d just been through something traumatic, the details of which you know nothing about. You hadn’t thought he’d want anyone to touch him, much less you, a virtual stranger. You don’t know what to do. The car jerks to a quick stop and the taxi driver leans on his horn, curses jaywalkers. Jeongguk’s grip on you tightens and he flinches so hard you’re surprised he didn’t knock his head into your teeth. He exhales shakily, tilts his head up and brushes his nose along the underside of your jaw. “Please,” he asks in a voice so small you know it’s killing him. “Just ‘til we get there, please just let me be weak.”

That breaks something inside you. Despite how awkward you might feel, he’s sure to be feeling worse. You wrap your arms fully around him, hesitant until you feel him go lax in your arms. You slowly stroke the back of his head and he buries his face in your clavicle, his eyes squeezed shut. “We’re almost there,” you assure him gently as he fists his good hand in the fabric of your sweatshirt. “You’re almost home.”

By the time the three of you arrive back at Haneul tower, the sky is lightening in the east and the first wave of office workers are making their way from your building into the streets of Gangnam. It’s not even 6 AM yet, but the city is stirring.

It takes you a good ten minutes to rouse both the boys and get them out of the taxi. After you’d let Jeongguk cling to you, the rabbit hybrid had fallen asleep quickly, the exhaustion from his turbulent day finally catching up to him. Even in sleep he was latched on to you, a small crease between his brows and his nose wrinkled up. Seokjin hadn’t fared much better. The cocktail of meds Dr. Cheon had given him had rendered him dead to the world for the entirety of the drive back. Even now you were having trouble rousing him.

“Seokjin…” You shake the sleeping stag’s shoulders but the only response you get is a slight hitch in his snoring. “Seokjin, please wake up, we have to go…” You can practically feel the glare the taxi driver is giving you in his rearview mirror. Yeah, the meter is still running, but you’ve taken up enough of his time as it is. “Seokjin, come on…” Jeongguk is standing behind you, staring bleary-eyed up at the apartment building, his free hand fisted in the fabric of your sweatshirt. If he’s cold in his thin tee-shirt and bare feet, he makes no mention of it.

Without warning, the taxi driver leans on the horn. Seokjin’s eyes fly open and he sits bolt upright, fear making his body tight. Jeongguk jerks so violently you think he’s going to rip a hole in your sweatshirt. You stumble back a few paces, trying to steady the rabbit and stop the pair of you from tumbling into the street. When you manage to right yourself, you slam a palm against the roof of the car and glare in the window at the driver. “Yo, what the fuck?”

The man glares back at you and waves you off. “I don’t have all day!” He shouts. “Get your animal and get out!”

You want to argue with him, you want to make him apologize- but the sight of Seokjin disoriented and afraid stops you. He’s looking at you with hazy eyes, his whole body stiff and his chest heaving. It’s for his sake alone that you hold your tongue. You reach a hand out to him. “Come on, buddy.” You say. “I got you.” He looks from your face to your hand and finally, slowly, places his own in it. His fingers are long and elegant and his hand dwarfs your’s. You tug him from the backseat and he leans heavily on you, hopping awkwardly to avoid walking on his broken foot. You pass him his crutches and he takes them, wobbling awkwardly as he tries to set himself to rights. “Can you stand?” You ask him. He nods and starts limping for the glass doors of Haneul Tower. He’s doing his best to look strong. His back is straight and his head is high, but you don’t miss the tremble in his fingers or the way he winces whenever the wind blows over the top of his head. You shove some bills at the taxi driver with a final, disapproving look, usher Jeongguk up onto the sidewalk and head inside after Seokjin.

The moment the three of you breach the double doors, Jeongguk drops his hand from your sweatshirt. His eyes rove over the glass and granite, round nose twitching at all the scents and his ears standing at attention on top of his head. He pauses, a little furrow between his brows. You’re halfway to the elevators, hovering a foot behind Seokjin in case he falls, before you notice the rabbit hybrid isn’t following you.

You cast a look back over his shoulder and find him gawking up at the hanging lights, mouth slightly ajar and starry-eyed. The corner of your mouth twitches. He’s cute, you decide. The thought leaves you almost instantly when you see Mr. Park powerwalking over to him, a sunny smile on his face. Jeongguk takes notice of him only a split second after you do and his eyes wide. You see him tense up, watch the fingers on his uninjured hand curl into a ball.

“You need to get him,” Seokjin says, sounding like he’s out of breath. You turn your attention back to the deer hybrid. He’s leaning heavily on his crutches and his face is pale. “You need to get him,” he repeats, nodding at Jeongguk. “That man gets any closer and Jeongguk will kick him.”

You whip back around. Mr. Park is closing the distance between them, seemingly unconcerned by the look of distress on the rabbit hybrids face or how his foot seems to be tapping a mile a minute.

“Excuse me!” The older man says, reaching out to put a hand on the rabbit hybrid’s shoulder. “Where’s your-”

“Mr. Park!” You practically sprint over as fast as you can, sliding between the receptionist and the hybrid just as he’d started winding his leg back. Mr. Park blinks, surprised to find you so suddenly in front of him. You offer him a tight smile. “He’s with me.”

“Oh! Ms. L/N, I apologize. He didn’t have a collar, so I assumed he was a stray.” The statement pricks at you, but you know he means nothing by it, so you try to stamp down your irritation. “It’s rare but we do occasionally have them come in in the hope someone will take them in.” He clucks his tongue against his teeth. “Such a shame really.”

You feel Jeongguk’s hand fist in the fabric of your sweatshirt. He wants to go. You nod emphatically at what Mr. Park says, already heading back to the elevators. “Yeah, totally,” you agree, shuffling the rabbit hybrid in front of you and putting some distance between him and the elderly man. “Well, have a good morning! I’ll see you later!”

“Ms. L/N, I actually need to speak with you-”

You wave him off and duck into the elevator Seokjin had called in your brief absence. “We’ll talk later!” You tell him, pressing the close door buttons as quickly as you can and willing them to shut before he can catch up.

“But it’s about your-!”

The doors click shut and you’re blessed with silence. You exhale in a short puff, press the button for the penthouse and slump against the cool metal wall, finally letting yourself relax for a moment. The elevator starts rolling and Jeongguk flinches beside you. He duck his head like he’s going to crouch down- but he stops himself, grips the railing instead.

“It’s okay,” You soothe. “It’s just-”

“I’m fine,” he insists, forcing himself to stand up straight and release the death grip he has on your sweatshirt. “I’m fine; my time’s up.”

It’s just like he’d said in the car. Just ‘til we get there, let me be weak.

The rest of the elevator ride passes in silence outside of the automated bell dinging as you pass each new floor and Seokjin panting quietly. He’s in a bad way. He’ll need another dose of pain meds soon. You arrive on the top floor, punching in the key code and pull the door open. “Let me get Seokjin settled, Jeongguk and I-” You run directly into someone.

Their arms wrap around you, covered in a brown cable knit sweater. It’s soft and they smell of vanilla. They press their cheek against the top of your head and exhale, a little rumble kicking up in their chest. “You’re back.” Taehyung.

“Hey, buddy.” You pat him on the back gently and peer around him. Yoongi and Jimin are both sprawled on the couch, legs kicked out so there isn’t room for anyone else to join them. Namjoon is sitting on the stairs shooting daggers at the back of Yoongi’s head and his arms crossed over his chest.Hoseok is lingering in the no man’s land between the living room and kitchen looking like he’d much rather be anywhere else. The atmosphere is tense to say the least.

Taehyung dips his head down. “I got them, like you said,” he whispers, lips brushing against the tip of your ear and his breath warm. You have fight off a little shiver, but if he notices it, he doesn’t react. “I don’t think Hyung and Jiminie like the others very much.”

You give a little nod of acknowledgement. “That’s okay,” you tell him. “We all just need to get to know each other a little better.”

Seokjin hobbles through the door, past the tiger hybrid and drops himself onto a stool on the kitchen with a heavy exhale. “Well, I’ve got maybe fifteen minutes at most before these meds catch a second wind, so let’s get this over with.” He’s doing his best to sound cavalier but he’s pallid. You don’t miss the thin sheen of cold sweat on his face and neck. “Seokjin. Twenty-eight. Red stag.”

All the other hybrids are staring at him in a mix of confusion, irritation and, in some cases, open dislike. It seems like they don’t know what to make of him. It’s Yoongi who speaks first. “If you’re a stag,” he drawls and you already feel dread welling up in you at what you know is going to follow. “Where are your antlers?”

Seokjin fixes him with a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I only put them on for special occasions.”

“Okay!” You clap your hands together trying to diffuse the tension you can feel building. “New house rule: let’s not ask each other about injuries past or present unless we’re asking how to help.” Yoongi looks miffed, but he settles. It’s weird. Normally, you’d have expected him to say something snarky back to you. He’s trying not to push his luck after last night, you think. “Yoongi, why don’t you go next?”

His ears flick in annoyance, but he does as you ask. “I’m Yoongi, I’m twenty-seven and I’m a bobcat-”

“I’m Jimin,” his junior pipes up before he’s hardly had time to finish. “I’m an amur leopard and I came here with Yoongi-hyung and Tae. We’ve been with Y/N the longest.” He says it like it’s an important piece of information for everyone to know.

Beside you, Taehyung lifts one hand, palm up. “Hi,” he says calmly. “I’m Taehyung. I like the color purple.” Everyone watches him to see what else he’s going to say, but the tiger hybrid is finished. You give him a little nudge with your shoulder.

“Tell them how old you are and what your hybrid is,” you suggest.

“Oh,” he lifts his eyebrows like the thought genuinely hadn’t occurred to him. “I’m twenty-four and I’m a tiger.” Suddenly remembering something, he tilts his head forward in a little bow. “It’s nice to meet you all.” A sour look takes over Yoongi’s face and Jimin rolls his eyes, gestures for the youngest of their group to come sit beside him.

Hoseok is the next one to pipe up. “I’m Hoseok!” He seems to perk up a little when you turn your eyes to him, his docked tail giving as much of a wag as it’s able. “I’m a Doberman, I’m twenty-six and Joonie and I came from the same pla-”

“My name is Namjoon.” The wolfdog cuts off the other canine with a growl. All the wind goes out of Hoseok’s sails and you don’t miss the way Seokjin freezes up at the dark sound, suddenly alert. You weren’t sure if prey hybrids still avoided predator hybrids like their animal counterparts did, but you’d need to learn and fast. Namjoon leans back on the stairs, his jaw clenched. “I’m the same age as him-” he jerks his head at the Doberman hybrid. “-so I guess I’m twenty-six too.” He makes no mention of his hybrid and you don’t press. You don’t know how sensitive a subject it is for him yet, but you don’t want to find out the hard way.

Hoseok looks back at you and cocks his head to the side, his gaze fixed on a spot just over your shoulder. “Who’s he?”

Five pairs of eyes follow his. You turn around. Outside the apartment, still in the corridor, is Jeongguk, his back pressed against the wall and his eyes wide as he surveys the mixed bag of hybrids spread out in front of you. Your eyebrows furrow in concern.

“Do you wanna come in?”

His gaze flicks from you, to the cats, then to Hoseok and finally to Namjoon. It’s only when he sees the wolfdog hybrid that he moves from the wall. He takes halting, jittery steps one after the other until he’s planted by your side, his eyes on his bare feet. Every move he makes makes it look like he’s fighting against his own body, forcing himself to tamp down his instinct and move.

“Can you introduce yourself?” You ask him softly. “Or do you want me to?”

His good hand clenches into a fist and forces himself to look up. He meets each of the other hybrid’s eyes evenly. “My name is Jeongguk.” When he speaks, there’s no shake in his voice. “I’m twenty-three years old. I came from the same place as Seokjin but we don’t know each other that well. I’m a Flemish Giant Rabbit.” So that was why he was so big. You’d never seen a Flemish Giant in real life, but you’d happened across the odd youtube video of them once or twice in your suggestions. They were huge.

With introductions out of the way, you feel a little tension melt out of your shoulders. That was the biggest hurdle. Maybe now that they all at least knew each other, they’d be a little more open to being around each other. You let out a little exhale. “And I’m Y/N. I’m also twenty-three and this is my uncle’s apartment. He’s the only that bought all of you but I only found out you were coming a little over a week ago, so please forgive me for being unprepared.” You rub your palms against your eyes, trying to combat the exhaustion you can feel crawling over you. “I don’t know that much about hybrids, but I’m trying to learn. A lot of things you’re gonna have to help me with. I’m not expecting you guys to be pets or best friends or anything, but if we could all try to get along I’d appreciate it.” You offer all seven them a weary smile. “Thanks for getting up early to do this, guys, I appreciate it. If there’s anything you need, literally anything, please don’t be scared to ask-”

“Um, Y/N?” Hoseok is looking at you like he’s been dying to say something for the past five minutes. You turn your attention to him and squint as you try to focus on what he’s saying. “I did a sweep of the apartment earlier-” That was concerning. You make a mental note to tell him he doesn’t have to do security sweeps anymore. “-and there’s only four bedrooms.”

You blink at him in confusion.

“There’s eight of us.”

Oh. Oh. You drag your hands down over your face. You hadn’t accounted for lack of space being an issue. When you first moved in, Oliver’s penthouse seemed like it went on forever. “Okay,” you start, crunching some quick numbers. “Some of us are gonna have to double up.” There’s a disgruntled mrow from the couch and without looking, you know it’s Jimin. “Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung are already sharing so they’re exempt, but Seokjin needs his own room- at least until he recovers.”

“That’s fine by me,” the stag chimes in. “But that leaves Jeongguk without a-”

“Hyung, can I stay with you?” The room goes quiet.

“Seokjin really needs his own room-” You pull your face out of your hands to address the rabbit hybrid, but he isn’t looking at the stag. His eyes are fixed on Namjoon who’s looking at him in a mix of confusion and alarm. The wolfdog looks from the rabbit to you.

“I saw a camp bed out in the greenhouse while you were showing us around last night.” He says, standing to go. “I’ll sleep out there.”

“Namjoon, you don’t have to sleep outside-”

“I like it out there.” He calls back over his shoulder as he climbs the stairs. “I can see the sky.” Then he’s gone and the six of you are left.

“Well,” Jimin purrs, rising and crossing the living room to you. “Best of luck.” He rubs his cheek against yours, folding you into a loose hug. You think he’s about to pull away, but he whispers in your ear, “If you want to share with us, you know where we sleep.” And then he’s gone, sauntering up the stairs with Taehyung and Yoongi in tow. The bobcat tosses a look at you, but you look away quickly, missing the way his ears sage when you do.

Now, the only ones left are you, Jeongguk, Hoseok and Seokjin who’s rapidly fading. “I’ll take the couch,” you volunteer. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable thing in the world, but right now, the stark white cushions look like heaven to your sleep-deprived mind. “Seokjin can have my room-”

“He can have mine,” Hoseok interjects. “And, if it’s okay, could I stay with you?” There’s a light whine on the end of his words and you don’t miss the way his ears prick up in anticipation of your answer. “It’s what I wanted to ask you earlier.”

Oh. When Jimin interrupted him, that’s what he’d been trying to say: he wanted to sleep in your room to be closer to you. To protect you.

“Yeah,” you agree easily. “Yeah, that’s fine.” Sharing beds wasn’t a big deal for you. You’d grown up in a flat with your mom and had shared a bed with her til she’d been taken from you. Then in foster homes with too many kids and not enough resources, you’d had to double- and sometimes even triple- up. It was a matter of convenience and space.

Hoseok’s tail gives a little wag and he nods, happy with your decision.

“Great!” Seokjin cheers weakly. “Now can someone please help me lie down.”

It’s Hoseok that helps the stag hybrid up the stairs and into bed. He’s stronger than you and taller, so it only makes sense. You show Jeongguk to his new room and stay with him for a few minutes while he feels it out, making sure it’s safe. It’s only once he’s sequestered himself under the covers and dismissed you that you leave, closing the door quietly behind you as the rabbit hybrid settles down for some much needed sleep. You turn to head back for the stairs- but you find Yoongi at the other end of the corridor, staring you down. You stare back. He swallows.

“Can we talk?” He asks, his voice quieter than you ever remember hearing it.

You give a little nod. “Yeah,” you assent. “We need to.”

He meets you halfway, his hands shoved into the pockets of his joggers and his gaze anywhere but on your face. The seconds stretch out and you exhale, closing your eyes. “Yoongi, about last night-”

“I’m sorry,” he interjects. “About what happened in the elevator. It was disrespectful and immature. I won’t do it again.”

You balk at him. You’d honestly expected him to tell you you were being childish for reacting so strongly to it when you’d told him he could mark you whenever he was ready. But he hadn’t. He shuffles back a few steps, his head still low.

“Well, that was all I wanted to say to you, so-”

“Do you understand?” You ask him. He stops short. “Do you understand why I was upset?”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you see a little furrow between his gray eyebrows. “Because I marked you.”

“No,” you insist, emphatically. “I was upset because it didn’t feel like you were doing it for me.” He does look up at you then, yellow eyes unreadable. “It didn’t feel like you were marking me because we’re friends or you wanted me to be a part of your group. It felt like you were doing it to show off in front of Namjoon and Hoseok.” You swallow. “And that hurt my feelings.” It feels good to say. It feels good to talk about.

He lets out a little chirp of distress. “I don’t wanna hurt you,” he rasps. “I just-” He rakes a hand back through his hair and shakes his head. “Fuck, I just felt like if I didn’t do something right then you’d get bored of me and send me away. I thought you’d replace me with them.”

Your heart twists. You know the feeling more intimately than you’d like to admit. You reach out, hesitantly and squeeze Yoongi’s arm. “Yoongi, I’m not gonna send you away. Ever. It’s important to me that you know that. Unless you wanna go, you can stay. There’s room enough for all of you.”

“No there’s not, that’s why we’re sharing rooms,” he drawls.

You roll your eyes and let out a little chuckle. “Okay, smart-ass.”

The corner of his mouth curls up at the playful insult. After a moment, he speaks. “I don’t, for the record,” he says. “Wanna go, I mean.” He stares down into your face, yellow eyes intense. The seconds drag on and something between the two of you grows tight. He leans down, face nuzzling the soft spot between your ear and your jaw. He huffs. “Bunny scented you,” he mutters, tail flicking in annoyance, but there’s no heat behind it. You’re relieved.

“He was afraid in the car,” you answer softly. “I think it helped.” Your hands slip from his arms around his back and he purrs. It’s the first time you’ve heard him make that sound. It sends warm vibrations through your whole body and you giggle. Yoongi smiles against your skin and your heart leaps. He’s never smiled around you before. You can’t see it, but you can feel it. You know it’s there. “Do you want to try again?”

Yoongi exhales, his breath warm on your neck. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” you say, tilting your head to the side for him. “You can.”

This time is different, you can feel that from the onset. His fingers wrap gently around your hips and he nuzzles into your skin. He nips lightly at the skin below your ear, the corner of your jaw, all down the column of your neck until he reaches the spot where it joins your shoulder. He hums, wraps his arms around you fully and pulls you flush against the hard line of his body. Your breath hatches and you can practically hear your heart thudding traitorously in your chest.

It’s not a big deal, you tell yourself as he laves his rough tongue against your feverish skin. It’s not a big deal; marking isn’t sexual. This isn’t a big deal, there’s no need to be nervous or get- the points of his teeth scrape over the mark before he laps at again and you have to bite back a whimper. Your knees feel a little weak- that is, until Yoongi slots his thigh between them, keeping you up while he finishes his work. Your hands ball up into fists in the fabric of his t shirt and you grit your teeth together with the effort of keeping quiet. He pulls off your neck with a wet pop and you swear you’re imagining it when he presses a final kiss to his mark. He noses your ear, still purring and you think he’s gonna mark you more- but then his warmth is gone and his standing before you, eyes a little hazier but no worse for wear.

He reaches up and flicks you in the forehead. You grumble at him, covering the spot up with your hands before he can do it again. A lazy smirk spreads out on his face. “Welcome to the family,” he drawls. Then he’s turning on his heel and heading back to his shared bedroom. “Don’t wipe this one off this time, okay?”

You nod mutely after him as he disappears, your hand cupping your mark. “What was that?” You wonder. You descend the stairs in a daze, your mind whirling. None of your research had told you creating a mark would be like that. You’d thought it was a quick thing and Yoongi had just been showboating for the canines. Even in the videos you watched, the hybrid had leaned in close to the human, given then a few quick swipes with their tongue and moved on. Then again, those hybrids had all been domesticated dog or cat breeds. “Are exotics different?” You muse, turning the handle to your bedroom- and promptly tripping over someone.

This time, you don’t go all the way down. You make it halfway before Hoseok catches you. “Ah, I’m sorry, Y/N!” The dog hybrid whines, fussing over you as he sets you back to rights. “I’ll do better about staying out of your way, I promise-”

“It’s okay,” you soothe, trying to stop him from fretting. “It’s okay, I’m okay.” You survey the floor of your bedroom. It seemed like in his security sweep earlier, Hoseok had found the linen cabinet and made use of the spare blankets. His pillow and a comforter are set up in a little pallet on the floor in front of your door. It seems he’d been putting the final touches on it when you’d stumbled over him. “Hoseok…” you start slowly. The Doberman looks at you, ears pricked up. “Hoseok, I wasn’t expecting you to sleep on the floor.”

He cocks his head to the side, doglike even in his confusion. “Then where…?”

“The bed is big enough,” you say, gesturing to the queen sized bed dominating the center of the room. “I don’t mind sharing if you’re comfortable with it.”

His adam’s apple bob’s in his throat as he swallows, suddenly serious. “Yeah,” he says with a nod. “Yeah, I’m comfortable with it.”

You nod and pat him on the shoulder, passing him as you head to bed. “Come on, then.” You collapse onto your bed face-first and slip back under the covers with a groan. “I’m just gonna take a quick nap before I’ve gotta get up and deal with stuff…”

The room is quiet, but somewhere in it, you can hear Hoseok shuffling around. “Maybe I should check to make sure everything is safe one more time?”

You exhale, your eyes slipping shut. “Hoseok…”

“Did you lock the front door after you came in? I think the rabbit...Jeongguk was the last one in? I don’t remember him locking-”

“Hope, bed. Now.” He doesn’t say anything else, but a few seconds later, you feel the far side of the bed dip with his weight. You sigh as he shifts to get under the blankets and you snuggle down further into your pillow. “Sleep well, Hobi.”

He mumbles something under his breath about security being a serious issue, but you don’t catch it. You’re already halfway to dreamland.

[jangofctts]

Sink Your Teeth In (Part 2 of Are You In Or Out?)

Rated: Explicit (Paz is in the next chapter DONT WORRY)

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: mentions of violence, blood, the cold?, reader is in PERIL YET AGAIN, vaginal fingering, oral female receiving, unprotected vaginal sex (wrap them schlongs yall), brief hand jobs, swearing, angst, very VERY light choking, din is a sub sorta?? bottom energy 

Summary: Well. At least you aren't dead. After a solo hunt gone wrong, you’re dumped in a cave on Csilla. Hopefully someone finds you before you freeze to death.  

a/n: hey…so uh. HOW ABOUT THAT EPISODE HUH?!? aheM anyway--yall I just wanna thank everyone first off for all the love and support!!! I see all of your comments and tags and AH IM SO LUCKY TO HAVE ALL OF YOU GUYS. ALSO SPECIAL SHOUTOUT TO @djxrxn​ THIS WOULDNT HAVE BEEN DONE WITHOUT YOU BB GORL

Well—

Here you are. 

Taken by surprise by another bounty, further proving how irrevocably incompetent you are at this line of work. You blame the binders. An older, clunkier model—easy to pick if you’re clever enough and yes. Maybe you should’ve asked to borrow a carbonite chamber, but hey—where’s the fun in that? 

Not much, as it so happens. 

Your feet had been kicked up on the dashboard, dozing and unaware of the freed bounty creeping up behind the pilot’s seat. Something delightfully blunt smashed against your temple, jolting you into a brief conscious state where the only thing you could think before passing out again, was a resounding— 

Oh, fuck me sideways with a fucking lightsaber—

The rest is hazy. A blur of colors and the fuzzy shapes of your bounty’s face sneering in amusement when she bound your wrists and ankles and left you in the cargo hold. Vaguely you recall your ship being commandeered, swung into an unidentified atmosphere and landing on said unknown planet Or planets. Planet hopping to cover up a trail. 

The bitter cold, sharper than a needle through skin is what shook off the last dregs of unconsciousness. The bounty’s hand was hooked into the collar of your clothes, dragging your limp body through drifts of snow and ice. You would’ve fought back—should’ve even though each extremity felt like a numb block of lead. Not very useful in a fight…

Soon, the snow turned to mud and the mud to stone as a mouth of a cave slid over the impossibly blue sky. Dumped in a cave, and left to die—perfect way to bite the dust. Your bounty turned captor lands a sharp kick to your ribs, mouthing some curse in a language you don’t understand, and left without a second thought. 

Seems about right. You have a knack for lying helpless and half dead in places you ought not to be in. 

Two days and counting, you’ve been holed up in this blasted cave with no food, no supplies and no comlink. It’s going be a fucking chore to find you—nearly impossible. You’re lucky in that aspect you guess—you know enough bounty hunters to sniff out a a needle in a whole stack of needles, so all it is is a race of time against the elements and how long it takes for one of them to notice.            

Aeris is no help. He left a day before you had—hired as personal protection for some syndicate leader halfway across the galaxy. Ives is in a similar boat, off-world and unavailable to drag your ass out of the hole you’ve dug. Which leaves…

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose between your forefinger and thumb. Anytime you even think of those two a migraine cumulates behind your eyes. It’s…it’s not like anything bad happened in the aftermath—there’s been no fallout or arguments with barbed words as weapons. It’s been quiet. Like stepping onto a sheet of cracked transparisteel in a library full of tight-lipped academics. 

The questions lurk under the surface of every conversation and longing look cast your way. You’ll need to clarify and sort things out eventually, but fuck—it’s such a mess of frazzled heartstrings and fine strands of impossible thoughts that lead into an endless void of doubt. You’re shoving that emotional time bomb to the very back of your mind—everything is still so raw…  

So you ran. 

Picked up any and all jobs that the Guild provided just to escape the looming decision of confronting a certain pair of Mandalorians. That and with them having their own tasks to complete, it was rare to see them, let alone together in the past few weeks. A simple run in here and there in the halls of the Covert, but you were too busy to stop and chat—forced a chaotic schedule upon yourself as an excuse to avoid staying in once place at a time.    

Coward.

The word knots in your stomach like gnarled tree roots escaping their prison of dark soil on untrodden land.  

Maker—how did everything become so tangled? 

You draw your knees up to your chest and release a long, drawn out exhale that echoes through the cave. You sniff and force the swell of tears that prick at your eyes away. You’re pretty sure they’ll freeze and you’re not hoping to find out. 

The only good thing about being dropped on this Maker-forsaken, wasteland devoid of anything but snow, is the free ice for the nasty gash on your forehead. A nice little parting gift. 

It’s shallow…you think—it stopped bleeding the night before and is now just a scabbed over, tender wound that throbs whenever you move your head too fast. Concussion maybe—a mild one.  

Maker willing when someone finds your sorry ass they’ll have bacta. Or a blanket. Either would be peachy.     

Sitting up with a wince, you shuffle to the mouth of the cave for the thousandth time and scour the skyline for a familiar ship. Or, any ship really. The only thing you do see is a lonesome wisp of cloud against the grayish blue sky much to your chagrin. You scowl and stalk back into your little hovel and slump back onto the ground. 

The hours drag on, the watery light of the dying sun barely doing anything to warm you. Sulking is hardly what you should be doing—not great for the burdened mind and all that, but ah, it’s so fun to wallow in misery. You curl your knees up to your chest and you must slip into a doze because when you’re snapped back into the present, footsteps punch through the frozen tundra outside your cave.  

Adrenaline crackles down your spine—the bounty changed her mind. Ultimately decided she’d be safer in the long run with you dead. Fine.

If this is where your grave is going to be, might as well get in one or two punches. What’s another black eye anyway?

A shadow flickers at the mouth of the cave, curling around the wall as she draws closer. A brown boot kicks through the snow and— 

“Changed your mind? I—“

Your words die on your tongue as relief floods your veins. Din Djarin stands before you, a sight for sore eyes in these trying times. 

Frost glitters on the burgundy chest plate, glinting in the dim sunlight that touches the mouth of the cave. A delicate feathering of the dainty crystals that no high end lace maker could ever hope to mimic curls up the front of Din’s visor and eats away at the edges of his cloak. His heavy step forward reverberates off the walls, some of that ease replaced by the prickle of dread. His silence is unnerving. 

“Din,” you say again, just so he’ll say something. “I can—“

You move to stand, but he interrupts with a halting;

“Sit.”       

Your mouth snaps shut and you drop back on the floor. This…is not good. His footsteps are heavy as he approaches you and every muscle in your frame tightens like a fist wrapping around your ribcage and squeezing. The precise edges of his helmet are not a forgiving sight and even when he kneels onto one knee you have to resist the natural urge to flinch. Like this, despite hunching over, Din is broad. All hard muscle and sinew amplified by the bulky layer of beskar.   

Your tongue runs over the insides of your teeth as you track his hand that he thrusts foreword. You hiss and jerk away at the sudden needly pain when his gloved thumb finds the edges of your head wound. A low sound of disapproval filters out through the helmet in a low metallic buzz. 

“You won’t need stitches,” he says. Din reaches into one of his various supply pouches and pulls out a tiny vile of bacta. He casually pulls off his right glove, unscrews the vile and smears the bacta over his thumb. This time you don’t make a sound, even though your nerves scream at the razor like sensation of his thumb working the bacta into the damaged flesh. He doesn’t ask how the injury happened and you don’t care to tell him. There’s a time and place for stories about battle scars and near misses—it’s much too fresh to be spoken of right now. 

The brief torture finally ends after once last glance over for other presenting injuries. He finds none, replaces his glove and stands with a muted grunt. You know what’s next. You’d rather avoid it—you aren’t keen on the berating lectures—as deserved as they are.      

“I found your ship on Sato 3,” Din begins with a growl. “Imagine my surprise when I found your bounty selling it for parts.”  

Ah, there it is. You wince and study your fingernails. “Pile of junk anyway…”

“I thought you’d be smarter about these things,” he snarls, his sharp tone deadly enough to slice through bone. “Was the hole blown into your lung not enough for you?”

You swallow and bite your tongue.  

The bristling Mandalorian, continues and jabs an orange tipped finger at you. “You are reckless.”

Your chest constricts as you look away, shame blooming in the pit of your stomach.This is a new facet of Din you’ve never encountered. You aren’t naïve—even the most docile of people can harbor a temper, you know that. And you know Din is by no means passive—he’s an elite warrior equipped with a small arsenal at his disposal. You don’t expect him to coddle you or treat you different than any other companion; but…but it’s hard not to take his ire to heart. Not when it’s the kind of anger that boils deep in your chest and erupts with molten streams that leaves scathing wounds and blistered feelings.  

You chew your lip hard enough to taste blood and avoid his piercing gaze. You think if you do you might catch fire and burn to a crisp. “I’m sorry.”   

The meek apology settles in the air like a heavy fog. Din’s anger still brews, looming and dark but he reigns in his temper and switches out the searing cadence of his words with chilly informality. You’re not sure which is worse.   

“No more bounties.” 

“What?” Your brows knit together. The fuck does he mean.  

“No more hunts alone—“  

You interrupt with a scoff. “You’re grounding me?”

He strides across the small space and plants himself on the opposing wall. “Until you’re competent enough, you have no business being out in the field. You might as well be bait at this point.” 

“Competent.” You echo through clenched teeth.  

His helmet dips, leveling a steady glare of indifference. “The Crest is a half cycle’s walk from here. In the morning I’m taking you back to Nevarro.”   

“I’m not a child. You can’t just,” you throw your hands up in dismay, “ban me from bounty hunting.”    

Din’s armor clinks together as he moves to sit. He rests one elbow on his propped up knee, extends his other and rolls his helmet to meet your eyes. “Your actions reflect the Covert now. We can’t risk discovery because of one stupid mistake or a careless loose end.”    

That hadn’t even crossed your mind. Stars, you want to smack yourself. Your ship, as shitty as it was, hosted a good chunk of sensitive information, all encrypted and translated into binary. A mediocre slicer could hack through it in hours. Not exactly foolproof but hey, at least you had something. Good thing your bounty wasn’t in the market of selling stolen ships to the Empire. 

“Din?”

The Mandalorian makes no noise of affirmation that he heard you. You sigh and take his silence as a go ahead and clear your throat. “How long was I gone for?”

Here, in the cave it’s been nearly three days, but the rest of it you’re not exactly sure. Hunting the bounty down took up at least a week or two and even longer to capture her and there’s no accounting for the time lost after your ship was commandeered. Your teeth roll over your bottom lip as you wait for him to respond. 

“Almost two months.” He replies evenly. “Your transmissions were cut three weeks ago and I didn’t think anything of it. Comms are always patchy in Wild Space."

Leather creaks as his fist balls at his side. “You didn’t answer for days. Paz and I tracked the ship to Sato 3, but you weren’t there. Do you know how difficult it was to pick through all the planets recorded on your log?”

You blink and return to picking at your fingernails. 

“You weren’t easy to find, I—“ He severs the rest of his sentence with a crackling sigh and tilts his head back. “You’re lucky.”    

The hesitance lacing his words makes you bite your tongue, the snarky retort crumbling to ash in your mouth. Din doesn’t bother to filter his words—he’s blunt. Efficient and to the point when he does decide to speak. That…well that was different.   

He was worried—

You rub at your cheek—numb with the cold and curl into yourself. Din was worried. Easily the most feared bounty hunter in the parsec, worried that he couldn’t find you.   

A different cold—one that settles deep into the marrow of your bones and hugs your soul with a sheet of frost, makes a home in your heart. The severity of what could’ve happened replaces that sheen of hilarity and fuck. You were closer to freezing to death than Din finding you here—alone in some stupid kriffing cave.  

Somehow the idea of that is worse than the brief brush of eternal slumber you had on Nar Shaddaa. Up to that point you expected to die young—no harm and no foul in it either. You had no attachments, no debt to pay—a drifter in an endless galaxy.    

Now you’re here, buckling under the weight of mismanaged friendships and your uncanny skill at weaseling into any and all trouble. 

Neither you or Din jump to fill the silence. The ashes of disaster settle in nicely with the frozen echo of an endless winter.      

It’d been a couple hours shy from sunset when Din arrived, the sun providing weak light that hardly touched the mouth of the cave. Now as the shadows grow longer and with the temperature dropping, the two of you are swallowed up by the unyielding darkness of night. 

Din shuffles and fishes out the solar light from his supply bag. It clicks on and warm, orange light illuminates the cave. It bounces off his beskar, fracturing the light like a million tiny suns in the tempered metal and in the impossibly dark visor. He looks up, and tosses the light over. 

You catch it easily and despite the warmness of the light it emits, it offers no heat for your chilled fingers. You set it to the side and tuck your hands into your armpits. 

By no means is the cave warm—the natural thermal vents kept the ground dry and free of the ice and snow that rages outside, but it doesn’t protect you from the occasion chilly draft that cuts through each layer you wear. Then again, you weren’t planning on taking an unexpected vacation on Csilla. No time to plan really.  

You sigh and pull your knees up to your chest and cast a glance at your ever radiant ray of sunshine across from you.  

He looks nice and cozy—leaned back against the cave wall, one leg crossed over the other while his hands sit intertwined just below his navel. The beskar must provide insulation—maybe a fancy heater in that bucket of his, or maybe he’s just too stubborn to show anything other than indifference.   

Another bout of shivers tear through your frame and you’re certain Din can hear the enamel of your teeth clack together. You shove your hands deeper into your armpits and tuck your chin into your chest to preserve heat and pray that sleep isn’t far off—can’t be cold if you’re unconscious.    

Metal scrapes over stone as Din readjusts himself and you can feel him looking at you. It’s not a terrible weight to bear; intense and analytic, sure and in the past it would’ve unnerved you. Now, instead of it feeling like he were peeling back each fibre of your soul each time he stares, it’s familiar. A pattern of sorts—

It happens each time Din wrestles with an uncertain question. He deals in absolutes, and it’s no surprise he rarely knows what to say to you. 

“You’re shivering,” he states. You roll your eyes. “Are you cold?”

“Boiling, actually,” you snip. “Why else would I forget a jacket?”

A sharp hiss of air crackles through the vocoder. “Don’t get mouthy with me. It was a simple question.”

“Well—there’s not much to do about it,” you sneer, watching your breath condensate in the air. “I’m freezing, exhausted, and hungry.”       

You know you’re being snide—but your nerves feel like they’ve been severed at the root with a dull vibroblade. You have neither the time nor energy to spare for simple questions. Din should understand that—seeing as he’s a man familiar with short temperament.

The space between you is ripe with crackling tension, and maybe—if you weren’t so fucking cold—you’d play the mediator. Thread stitches into the gash you both sliced into your friendship, as small it may be. You’ve lost friends over less—this could end up no different.

You sigh and turn your head. This is a problem for tomorrow. 

Irritated and upset, you squeeze your eyes shut and chase after sleep. You slip in a doze faster than expected, any and all discomfort fading away a you toe the line between a deeper sleep and waking dreams. You think you imagined Din saying your name—Maker you can’t even escape him in your own fucking head—  

It doesn’t end—like a nagging buzz that swells until it’s right near your ear. Spite spurs you to ignore It and exhaustion convinces you to drift further away. That is, until a hand, gentle and warm curls around your shoulder. You once again hear your name rumble low through Din’s helmet, but it’s much too difficult to open your eyes. Why can’t he leave you be? You barely feel the cold now…

“Stay awake.” Din sounds distant, in some other plane of existence despite the steady hold he has on your arm. “Maker—you’re colder than kriffing ice.” 

“Go away,” you grumble through numb lips. Such a pest.  

He’s talking—but the words don’t make sense. Muddled—split between that hazy line of dreaming and consciousness where you can’t decipher what’s real. His hands however—you can feel those plain as day. A bare palm cups your cheek—shreds through the layer of frost you’re positive has crystalized over your skin and rouses you to a more coherent level of presentness.       

“Don’t quit on me yet—“

“Nah,” you mumble. “I’m hard to…to kill. L-like a scrap rat…”  

Din grunts in response. “Rat is a compliment. You’re more of a spider-roach.”

The ends of your mouth quirk. It’s the best you can do—a full smile just might push you to the brink of death.        

“C’mon—I won’t let either of us freeze,” Din sighs. His fingers find the magnetized latches on his cuirass and it slips off with practiced ease, the armored thigh plating following a moment later. He neatly sets it to the side and grabs his cloak to fasten it around you. With another sigh, Din shuffles in behind you and wraps an arm around your middle, nestling his legs and body snuggly around yours.   

Maker—you don’t have time to bother about the intimacy of this because all you’re drawn to is the furnace like heat. Fuck, he’s so warm. You have only a second to enjoy it before your body begins to thaw—bringing forth waves of achey pain.   

His chest molds to your back, both arms curling over your own arms that are scrunched up tight around your chest. You shake in his hold, vicious waves of cold clashing against his body heat—it hurts—like sticking your bare foot into hot coals.     

You squirm, little gasps of discomfort slipping out that echo around the cave. Din shifts, tucking you further under his body until he’s nearly crushing you. It’s a bit tricky to breathe like this but hey—you’re not complaining. Not when your nose is buried in his soft undershirt that smells purely of Din.   

Your fingers and toes still throb as they thaw, but it’s working. Cuddling Din Djarin to stave off hypothermia—sounds kriffing ridiculous. 

“You’re still shivering,” he says. “I might…”

Your breath catches in your throat as he trails off. “Might what?”

Another shiver wracks through your body as his frosty helmet catches on bare skin when he dips his head in embarrassment. You don’t quite catch what he says and he doesn’t bother to clarify. “Forget it.”  

You turn your head as much as you can, straining your eyes to meet the strip of visor. “Tell me.”

He mumbles under his breath again and cuddles closer, slotting his hips against your ass. “Might know…know another way to keep us warm…”

Oh. 

A spark breathes to life in the pit of your tummy. You wiggle onto your back, your nose brushing the vizor. “Does it involve me taking off my pants?” 

Din huffs, his hands, previously latched onto your hips, starting to crawl up your waist. “It could…”    

You smirk and rock your hips back, eliciting a low growl that rumbles through his chest. With your whine of approval, Din’s hand slips between your legs and gives the meat of your inner thigh a squeeze. You let your knees fall open as far as they can in this position and it’s all Din needs to cup your cunt through the thin material of your trousers. 

Crackling pleasure flood your veins as the heel of his palm grinds into your clit, and while the pressure is nice, it does nothing to satisfy. Only feeds the growing flames of desire with brittle kindling. 

You pull at his undershirt and whimper, thrilled once his deft fingers, calloused and thick unlace your pants and yank far enough down to fit his hand. His fingers trace your outer lips, a ghost of a touch as arousal swells in your stomach. He parts your folds once your wetness begins to dribble out and coats his fingertips with your arousal. 

Stars—you need him. You arch into him and whine. “Touch me. Din, please—“ 

You jerk as Din’s thumb swirls a slow circle over your clit, a rush of endorphins surging out like unrefined fire whiskey. Din’s head tilts to watch you writhe over his fingers and the sudden chill of his helmet touching the inside of your flushed neck steals away your next inhale. Goosebumps race down your entire being, adding to the influx of your excitement that pools in your lower belly.       

Your hands tangle into his undershirt, pulling him closer until you can’t find where he begins and you end. His heart pounds in his chest, thrumming to the dance of your own heart that yearns to break free from your ribcage. Your breath catches when two of his thick fingers tease at your entrance. Your walls flutter around him as the slip in easily.   

His fingers roll forward and stroke against something devastating inside of you, and he when his palm rolls back, it bumps against your clit with that divine firmness you need. Your cunt tightens around the two digits as they curl.  

“Fuck. Can you hear yourself?” He pants, groping your breast to elicit a high pitched wail. “You always make—make such pretty noises.” 

Butterflies erupt in your stomach at his words and fuck. You’re already dipping head first into release. A moment later you’re arching into his chest as every muscle stiffens in a crescendo of bliss, your stuttered breathing harsh even to your own ears.  

Your quick pants fog up his visor as Din rests the crown of his helmet on your forehead, the metal a cool relief to your flushed skin. He slips his fingers out of your dripping cunt, your chest still heaving with exertion as the last strands of your high fizzle and ebb away. Din shifts and and snakes his fingers, still shiny and wet with your arousal, beneath the lip of his helmet and sucks them clean with an appreciative groan.  

“Fuck—“ You breathe, pushing your face into his hand as he cups your cheek. Din’s thumb brushes over your cheekbone and swings his leg over your hips to hoist himself over you. 

“Do you remember...” He starts, his voice buzzing through the vocoder. His fingers tickle down your cheek and trace the parted outline of your lips. “When you let me taste you?”

You nod, and it’s all you’re able to do. You’re not even sure you can formulate words, let alone voice them right now. 

Din’s thumb pulls at your plush bottom lip, and you can’t help but slide your tongue along the digit. He grunts and slips his thumb into the wet heat of your mouth. “I think about you every night…how you came on my tongue—”

Your stomach flips as a rush of arousal sweeps through your tummy. You groan and you’re half sure you’re gonna dissipate into the floor from how hot your cheeks burn. “Din—"  

He continues without missing a beat. 

“You were so fucking wet for me—dripped all over my hand,” he murmurs, nuzzling his helmet, still chilly and frosted over, into the crook of you neck.  “I want to do it again—can I?”

You’re nodding before he even finishes his sentence. He wasn’t the only one longing for his head between your thighs on those long nights apart. Remembering those plush lips and addictive touches could only get you so far and well—he’s here now. You said it once and you’ll say it again—there’s no chance in hell you’d be passing up this opportunity. 

Din lifts his head and as you watch the light glitter in the reflection of the beskar, a sudden stray thought ricochets into the forefront of your mind. “Din, the light—your helmet.”

He pauses, his body tensing as he mulls over his options. “It’s—I—it’s ok…It’ll be ok.”

Din inhales a stuttered breath and casts a brief glance over his shoulder. It’s a dim light, kicked into the corner and laying on its side. From this angle, his face would be partially obscured in shadow…but still. There are easier ways to go about this. Ways that don’t risk jeopardizing the very foundation of who he is—what he stands for and what he so devoutly follows.    

To say you know anything about his religion is laughable. Everything you know can fit on the back of a thumbtack and even still, you’re sure that half of that is still based upon rumor and speculation. But this—what Din is hinting at, you know is not something to be taken lightly. 

He’s stripping his soul bare for you—allowing you to glimpse at that bleeding heart of his he guards so securely within layers of flesh and bone and impenetrable beskar. Din is gifting you his trust and there’s no where else to put it except for the space beneath your breast bone.   

Yet, even still—this could mean nothing at all. You have no way to know the exact magnitude of what this means to him. If he’s alright with this, who are you to question?

He mumbles one last thing about the light and sits up. Goosebumps rush up your bare skin at the loss of the heavy warmth of his body. You whine and curl up closer to his legs, greedy for any spare iota of heat like you’ve been denied it your entire life.   

Maker you hate this fucking planet—   

Your attention snaps back to Din when he makes a noise of uncertainty. His hands are cupped around his helmet—hesitant, nervous and you suspect if Din’s hands weren’t plastered so tight around the metal, he’d be shaking. You chew on your lip and prop yourself up. 

Cautiously, so as not to startle, you reach up and curl your fingers around his wrist. You can feel his pulse thrumming through his veins—alive, flesh and bone like you. Not some heap of sentient metal built for the horrors of war. You don’t know why you do it—just seems right to pull the fragile and vulnerable skin of his inner wrist to you mouth. You plant a gentle kiss there and smile when he cups your cheek.           

“You don’t owe me anything, Din,” you say, staring into the darkened depths of his visor. “Least of all this.”    

Some of that tension held in Din’s shoulders melts. He utters something in that clipped language of his people, and the only thing you can make out is your name. He lurches foreword and fuck—you’re terrified for a split second he’s gonna cave your skull in but instead he lightly bumps the crown of his helmet over your forehead.      

“I want to. For you—only you.”

Din doesn’t leave any time to unpack all of that. He sits up again, wraps his hands around the beskar— 

The metallic thunk of the helmet reverberates through the cave like a crack of thunder.    

You were right. 

You can barely see his face—if you really look, you can see the murky outline of his nose, dark hair and a sliver of his tan skin that the light touches. Attractive—but you knew that already. You touch his cheek and smile, your thumb catching over wiry facial hair and soft skin. Din makes a sound low in his throat and pushes his cheek into your hand. 

“I still want to taste you,” Din says, his voice richer when stripped of that tinny vocoder. You like listening to him speak without it, you think, and it’s a damn shame you never get to hear it. “Please.”     

Before he can escape and fulfill that fantasy, you yank him into a blinding kiss. He kisses the same—all wild edges and with desperation lining each motion—but there’s a new found tenderness here. Like he’s savoring each gasp and every brush of skin you grace him with like it’s your last night left in the galaxy.   

He breaks away from your mouth and peppers kisses and nips down your jaw, then lower as you arch and expose the bare skin of your throat. There’ll be a plethora of bruises tomorrow, and with no hope to cover them either but fuck it—Din can leave as many hickeys and teeth marks as he wants. 

If not for the cold still latching onto your very soul, you’d ditch the shirt; give Din better access instead of him needing to shove a hand up under and grope at your breasts. He gives the fabric an annoyed tug, but it’s fruitless. There’s no use when there’s better things to be sought. 

He shoves your shirt as far up as it goes, shivering as he mouths down your stomach, licks around your bellybutton and sucks a bruise onto your hipbone. Your pants are already pulled halfway down—one sharp yank and they’re around your ankles and off in the next breath. 

Cupping your knees with both hands he gingerly spreads your legs and drapes them over his muscular shoulders. Din rubs his patchy haired cheek along your thigh and hooks his hands under your ass, his ivory white teeth catching the light as he smiles.  

“Fucking perfect—“ He groans, planting his lips over your inner thigh. His tongue swipes a wet line up, stopping just before your aching cunt to dig his teeth into the sensitive flesh. You jump at the burst of pain and shoot a hand down, tangling your fingers into the soft curls atop his head.  

Din grunts and jumps to your other thigh, leaving no inch of skin neglected and without evidence of his teeth and lips. By the time his thumbs touch the outer lips of your cunt, the aching need for him is burning you from the outside in. He has to still your twitching hips with a calloused palm, and only after you settle does he surge forward. 

His tongue meets your swollen clit, ripping a tangled cry from you vocal cords. He’s just as eager as the first time he tasted you, if not more—every action backed by needy abandon. He sucks at the bundle of nerves then sweeps his tongue lower. Din’s thumbs part your lower lips as he runs his tongue though your soaked folds, the tip of his nose bumping against your clit that send delicious sparks throughout your whole body. Little noises and breathy gasps fill the cave, encouraging Din to push his tongue deep into your aching entrance. 

Your hand fists into his hair as your hips stutter and rock into the searing heat of his mouth. The noises you make are obscene, and Din is no better. Each pass of his tongue over your pussy is matched with his own deep moans that vibrated against your clit. Fucking hell he’s devouring you alive.          

Your orgasm sneaks up on you, robs you blind and crashes over you in deep waves that drag you out to sea and never to be found again as you spill onto his greedy tongue. Your fingers are threaded tight in his hair as you squeak and press harder into his mouth, riding out your pleasure until it shifts and becomes raw and sore.  

Din doesn’t pause for even a second—all too happy to stay put between your thighs for eternity. Your legs are trembling when you force his head away, a nice, tingly warmth settling into your limbs 

A dark thrill rushes down your spine when he looks up, wild hair and mouth covered in your slick. If not for the low lighting you imagine his eyes would be glazed over and Maker you want him again. Din swoops down and presses his mouth to yours, the taste of yourself heavy on his tongue that slips past the seem of your lips. 

You whine after he breaks away and sits up—an opportunity for your eyes to roam down his body. He’s still got his trousers on, a considerable bulge tenting the front. With a smirk you reach up and grab a handful, delighting in Din’s startled grunt. “Easy.”

You flash him a wry smile and give his clothed cock a playful squeeze. “Take them off.” 

Din huffs and pulls at the drawstrings. “Needy.”

He says it with no bite and no coquettish retort on your end springs to mind—especially when his thumbs hook into the waistband and pull. A slow reveal of sun-kissed skin and a sparse happy trail that your eyes eagerly drink up. 

Din’s cock bobs as his trousers fall around his knees, tip shiny and wet and curling towards his navel. You bite the inside of your cheek and reach out, a rush of arousal pulsing through your core at Din’s low moan. He’s heavy in your hand, deliciously thick and throbbing—and all of it for you. 

Din gasps out your name as you lightly squeeze and stroke down, your pace dreadfully slow and teasing. Who knows when you’ll get another chance like this—a Mandalorian willingly on their knees for you.           

Your other hand slips up his chest as you stroke him, intent on grabbing a handful of his thick hair that curls softly against the column of his neck. Your fingernail lightly scrapes across his nipple and he sways, pitching forward before he catches himself and straightens. Din’s eyes are squeezed tight, chest heaving with shallow pants as a smirk tugs at your lips. 

“It’s ok, Din,” you whisper. “I won’t break.” 

Your fingers twist into the hair at the base of his skull and guide him back. He slumps forward with a sweet moan, laying his weight onto your body that you’re all too happy too bare. His nose is nestled into the slope of your neck as his hands lock around the dip of your lower back while the other cradles the back of your head, drawing you into a loose semblance of a hug. 

Something snaps and crumbles deep in your soul that bleeds the heartstring blues, humming with broken chords in the presence of Din’s soft fragility. Your hand moves from between his legs to instead wrap around the wide expanse of his back, squeezing him tight to your chest. You hold each other like there isn’t tomorrow to look forward to and you wonder if this is how it feels to fall apart. Two spinning halves of a supernova torn apart and destined to collide and shatter into a million fragments of dazzling light.  

Yes, you’re scared he might blind you or burn you with his brilliance, but you can’t look away.      

Your fingers crawl up his muscled thigh and settle on his hip. “Lie down for me?”

There’s no hint of hesitation or complaint as he maneuvers himself onto his back, patiently allowing you to clamber over his legs and straddle his hips. His cock rests on your inner thigh, pulsing and leaving a dribble of wetness every time it twitches.    

“Good boy.” It’s subtle but it ripples out like a heavy stone thrown into a still lake. Din shudders and says your name in a cracked whisper. He rolls his hips, both of you groaning at the sensation of his cock running along your dripping center.     

Another time for that game maybe. 

Your desperation is running hot and wild to have him inside you and you know he’s in a similar boat. You grab the thick shaft of his cock and grind the tip of him through your lips, breath hitching when it extracts such a perfect moan from the man below you. 

“Ride me,” he pleads, clamping his large hands over your hips. “Fuck—I need you.” 

How can you deny such a request?

You line the wide head up with your aching center and slowly work him in. Shivers wrack through you, and Maker—he’s splitting you apart, molding your insides to the shape of him. Beads of sweat dot your hairline by the time you’re seated fully on his member, the both of you pushed even closer towards madness.  

Din squeezes your ass and props his knees up, rolling his hips up into you. You whimper and tip forward, propping your palms over his chest as he sets the pace. You may be on top but there’s no changing the bold colors of power and lust that cloud his mind, fueling the brutal movements of fucking up into you. Your thighs burn already and Maker—why the fuck are you already tired? You’re not doing any of the work.  

Quicker than lightning, Din curls forward and manhandles you onto your back. You squeak as he grips your thigh and yanks it around his narrow hips, thrusting in deeper. His right hand crawls up the front of your shirt and wraps his fingers around your throat in a loose hold. His thumb hovers over the dip at the base of your neck but he makes no move to press down—just allows the weight of his palm to do the work. And fuck—it works. 

Choked garbles of his name pass through your lips as you buck and squirm in his hold, feeling your arousal begin to drip down the back of your thighs. You’re skirting the edge of sizzling release that alights your nerves with liquid wildfire. Your nails harpoon into the meat of his shoulders as your eyes squeeze shut. Din won’t allow it.      

“Look at me,” Din snarls, yanking your head back by your hair. “I want to—to watch you cum for me.” 

A blush scalds your cheeks but you listen. Your eyes flutter open for him, sliding to the dark shadows of his eyes that sweep you into their own gravity well with no hope to escape. You don’t mind. 

“You’re so g-good for me—always so perfect.”

White hot light bursts behind your eyelids, and that’s all it takes. Your body seizes, your cunt squeezing impossibly tight around his cock as you cum. This one is different—steals your breath away and leaves you a broken husk of a person lost in most delectable forms of agony and pleasure. The cry of his name pierces the air only spurring the Mandalorian into a jarring pace to seek his own peak of ecstasy.  

Din’s nose nuzzles into your neck, his pants hot and sharp against your flushed skin. “You f-feel so—fuck. Say—say my name.”

You leap to his request and with a playful nip to his earlobe, you whisper it to him with the sweetness of starcherrries and the promise of better things. 

He tips over the edge, his hips faltering into no discernible pace as he cums. Din buries his teeth into the skin below your jaw, a mess of whines and begging gasps of nonsense as he fills your cunt to the brim. 

Your harsh breathing mingles as you both lazily slip down from your high. He rests his head over your sternum, listening to your beating heart that drums in a wild staccato as your fingers carefully comb through his hair. If not for the ache in your hips you’d keep him here forever. Din pulls out and you both groan at the loss. 

He doesn’t completely move away and you’re glad for it. He brushes his knuckles down the expanse of your cheek and dots a tender kiss to your hairline. Your name rumbles low in his throat as he shifts lower and gives your ear lobe a playful nip. His stubble scrapes along your neck, and you can’t help but giggle and squirm—but the weight of his body keeps you pinned. Your name slips from his lips a second time, breathy and drawn out in a sweet sigh, like he’s savoring the sound of each syllable and roll of the tongue. 

Din lifts his head, only slightly—near enough that his nose bumps into yours and his lips scrape along yours that are still parted and wet. “I—can I tell you something?” 

You cup his cheek and steal a kiss. It’s supposed to be quick—but instead he leans into it, guiding your mouth into a slow dance of sticky sweet movements that are caught in a slow draw, like crystalized honey abandoned in a glass jar. You’re enraptured by his touch—his skin mottled with scars yet somehow still unfairly soft. He smells of snow—like metal and soap and something gentler, that’s uniquely Din.            

Fuck—you can feel your mind slipping away, wrapped up so snugly in his presence you almost forget to answer. “Yeah—anything.”

Crackling static suddenly rips through the cave, startling you both. A distorted voice chatters on the comlink that lies forgotten beside your pants. It blinks and the transmission ends just as abruptly. With a sigh Din brushes it off and tilts his head to tempt you into another kiss but—

Whoever’s trying to patch through is persistent. 

His lip curls in a scowl and snatches the comm. “Jorhaa’ir.”

You only catch your name being mentioned twice as rapid Mando’a is exchanged. Aeris maybe judging by the tone, but no that’s not right.   

“Wait—is that Paz?”

The muscles in Din’s shoulders tense, confirming your suspicion.

“Is everything ok?” Din doesn’t resist you when you pry the comlink out of his fingers and patch in. “Paz?”

Your heart skips a beat. 

“There you are,” the comlink crackles and you smile. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” 

Stars—you didn’t think you’d miss hearing Paz’s voice. Your chest aches. 

The conversation is short, he asks you how you are and when you’re coming home and in the time it takes to answer, Din is peeling himself from your body. While you're distracted, he pulls on his pants and sits at the edges of your vision.

You both pretend when you say goodnight to Paz, return the comlink and crawl into his arms that nothing has festered with savage detachment. You don't remember to ask him what he was going to say and he lets you forget. The golden heart that bleeds molten ichor slips from your sight and becomes shut behind walls of beskar and bushes of thick thorns and overgrown ivy.         

He still holds you, but it’s the coldest you’ve ever been. 

Tag List: @teaofpeach @corrupt-fvcker @nelba @datmando @ben-is-a-hoe @dreams-like-clockwork @aeryns-library @auty-ren @huliabitch @anxiety-riddled-mando @phoenixhalliwell @cptnbvcks @thesoftdumbass @krissology @starlite41 @legally-a-bastard @basslinedweller @cloud-of-roses @elenamiria @goldafterglow @maybege @equalstrashflavoredtrash @wandxrlust @hdlynnslibrary @calamity-queen @sgtbookybarnes @pinkninja190 @lackofhonor @darthstyles @spacegayofficial @absurdthirst​ @blue-writes-a03​ @max--phillips​

[victorluvsalice]

I did say last week I was planning on doing a few others, right? Welcome to Ship Meme February! :D I’ve seen a couple of ship memes going around the various tags I frequent, and I figured that filling out a few would be a fun thing to do for the month in which Valicetine’s Day falls. ;) First up is this “My Ship In Five Minutes” meme that I’ve mainly seen in the #fallout 4 tag (and is apparently available at imgur here -- thank you very much, @its-sixxers!)! It’s not that dissimilar to @kalidels‘s ship meme from last week, as you can see, but there are a few things I’d like to discuss under the read-more:

Checkboxes: Most of these are self-explanatory -- and, again, some of them are shared with the previous meme from Kalidels -- like Alice being the main cook while Victor bakes. A few of them, though, I’d like to expand on my thoughts --

The more popular/charismatic: This has a half-tick for Victor “mostly because of Fallout of Darkness,” as per the text. Generally in my fics both Victor and Alice are on the outcast side in the respective social circles -- BUT, in FoD, Victor is the General of the Minutemen and his general kindness and willingness to help makes him a very popular leader around the Commonwealth. Victor himself is baffled by this, as his Charisma score is a 2 to start out with, but. . .yeah. Add in that even in more canonical universes, Victor comes from a rich family and is allowed to get away with more for that reason alone, and I decided it deserved half a tick.

The best caregiver when the other is sick: I imagine they’d both do their best, but Alice would have more experience in any verse where she looked after the kids in Houndsditch, and I suspect Victor’s desire to help would be hampered a bit by his natural worrier tendencies. Thus it goes to Alice.

Does the housework: “They divide up chores,” as stated! I don’t know HOW they divide them up yet -- maybe it’s a lottery system, maybe each has a job they really hate so the other one offers to do that -- but they do try to keep it equal.

Does most of the speaking: Victor is shy and awkward; Alice is snarky and doesn’t care who knows it. No contest. XD

The overprotective one: Victor has shades of this, due to usually having lost his chance with previous loves (or just lost his previous loves -- sorry FoD!Victor), but Alice is the one who had to flee her burning house as the sole survivor of her family and spent ten years in an asylum coming to terms with that. She is NOT letting ANYTHING happen to Victor.

Designated driver: “Neither are big drinkers” -- I don’t drink, so my characters usually don’t either. If pressed, I could see them trading off in situations where they seem themselves drinking -- or both acting as drivers for other friends who are drinking.

Has good penmanship: My original thought was “the only penmanship we ever see is Victor’s, which is pretty neat” -- but then I remembered we get a couple of Alice’s diary pages at the end of the old Storybook app, and went to look up that and the font used on YouTube. I can confirm it’s fairly scratchy, which means my answer stands. (I always figured good penmanship was more enforced with Victor than Alice anyway!)

Has more experience with relationships: BARELY in most cases, but Victor’s story revolves around him and marriage, while Alice canonically has no love interest, sooo. . .

Sensitive to subtle changes in their partner: I wasn’t sure about this one at first, but I gave it to Alice as she was pretty aware of Victor being “off” at the beginning of “Fixing You.” I wouldn’t say Victor’s unaware of changes in Alice, but -- well, let’s face it, I usually give Alice the ability to “cheat” this sort of thing through Wonderland noticing stuff. :p

The one who dies protecting the other: “Both would, no questions asked.” Says it all really, huh?

Graphs: “Attachment” and “Jealousy” are pretty much identical to Kalidels’s version -- Alice can be a little more independent while Victor gets a little more anxious, but they’re both protective; Alice can get a little more jealous and they both need space to deal. As for the others --

Showing Affection: This is similar but not identical to “Expressing Affection” on Kalidels’s, so I ended up adjusting my answer. Alice is more verbal and more likely to take the lead; Victor is more reactive, but I decided he’d be most likely to take the initiative on giving presents (remember, that’s one of his love languages), so I ended up sticking him in that corner of the graph. It’s a bit of a tricky one, but I’m happy enough with that placement for now.

How It Happens: Have I EVER had them court each other intentionally? XD Yeah, these two falling into a friendship, then being shocked to realize that they’re actually in LOVE is my go-to for this relationship. Alice got put higher-up than Victor on the “falls in love slowly” axis because she generally takes longer to recognize her feelings for what they are (see Forgotten Vows!Alice being oblivious for the vast majority of “Forgetting You”).

Handling Conflict: They don’t fight often, and when they do, while they need some time alone afterward, they don’t let bad feelings linger. Victor in particular tries to avoid fights and forgives quicker than Alice, I feel -- probably at least partly due to his anxiety, and growing up the son of Nell Van Dort, who you do NOT want mad at you.

Relationship Attitude: Oh yeah, they’re dedicated. They regularly go through HELL for each other. I put Alice on the “reserved” side of the line and Victor on the “PDA” side as I think, under normal circumstances, Victor’s the one a little more willing to be open with his affections among strangers.