#breaking leash laws offends me

[warrenwitches3]

CHAPTER TWO

The walk of silence came to an end as they approached massive double doors that no doubt led to an even bigger room.

‘Like the my old castle back home’ the fair maiden held the doors to comparison, while the one at night raven college have a more dark rusty touch with the grand old wood doors, her castle doors back home were colourful and detailed taking at least over 3 months to make each with details of old stories made of clay and wood, the handles made of gold yet still able to swing open easily even with the sizes they were.

Voices speaking caught her attention and she stopped behind Crowley to wait and listen. He also seemed to be mosey as instead of going in he leaned his ear against the wall. ‘Maybe he wants to know if they realised his absence, he is headmaster after all’

~~~mirror chamber~~~

A short boy with red hair spoke up over the commotion of the other students talking. “We're done with orientation and dorm assignments?” He asked then turned to a group of students near him. “All right, new students—let me be clear. At Heartslabyul House, I am the law. Break the rules, and it's off with your head!” A few people seemed to flinch and step back from him a bit due to his voice raising with the last sentence, even the girl outside the door let out a squeal, although it sounded more like the bugle noise a swan makes.

“Yawn* Well, that ceremony was as boring as ever. I'm going back to the dorm. If you're in Savanaclaw House, follow me.” A boy with feline ears seemed to slope around the place ready to get out, his eyes were dropping, and dropping a bit more now, and now there closed, now he’s letting out what sounds like a snore. His dorm mates sweat dropped at that.

“New students! Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your achievement. As dorm leader of Octavinelle House, I am honored to have the opportunity to support you in what I hope will be a fulfilling campus experience.” The boy with glasses seems to really like his new dorm mates.

“Hey, does anyone know where the headmage went? He disappeared midway through the ceremony...” a pretty looking boy finally spoke up about the problem at hand, took them long enough to notice.

“Some headmage he is.” A voice came out of a tablet contradicting the headmage’s decision to leave.

“Maybe he had a tummyache?” An innocent looking boy with red eyes proposed an even more innocent answer. Suddenly the old wooden doors burst open and crowley stepped through martching to the front with a leashes up cat and a hooded student following behind him.

‘This must be an all boys academy, I see no women in sight’ the new information did not make the maiden any less nervous, she remembers what the last male sorcerer she encountered did to her.

“I most certainly did not!” Crowley even had the heart to seem offended, listening only when it involves himself.

The short red head spoke up “Ah, speak of the devil.”

Crowley seemed to hate her at this moment “If you must know, I was searching for the new student who'd failed to show for orientation.” All eyes turned to her as she tried to stay standing straight and not quiver under their gaze. “You are the only one who has yet to be assigned a dorm. Step up to the Dark Mirror, and be quick about it. I'll watch your weasel.” He showed her to a mirror, one that looked familiar in the sense that her stomach dropped when her eyes met with its own. Even worse was when it spoke to her.

State thy name.

“Yuu..” she felt unsafe giving her name away yet she had to remain some form of strength to show the sorcerers that she wasn’t weak or to be laughed at.

The Dark Mirror seemed to drag out her name. “Yuu…

The nature of your soul is...” the pause it seemed to take was long enough to keep her there until she had to become a swan again.

“...unclear to me.”

“What did you just say?” Crowley seemed appalled and the few that were talking quietly completely stopped, this was shocking enough that they didn’t even make a gossip riot about it.

“I sense no magical power from this one that they themself own, magic from another running through them in such a crewel way perhaps but other then that, none. Soundless. Colorless. Shapeless. Utterly vacant of their own. Therefore, no dorm would be appropriate.

“Are you suggesting that the black carriage went to receive a person who cannot even use magic?But that is absurd! The student selection process has not erred once in its century of existence! How could this have happened?” His yelling of utter nonsense right in her ear made Yuu raise her neck and push her shoulders back a bit.

Grim seemed to struggle in his restraints before getting out “Mmmph! Nnnrgggh... *GASP!* ME! Let ME have this student's seat!” ‘Again what is so special about this school that he has to get in’ she wouldn’t dare say this aloud as people might get offended.

“Not so fast, you hyperactive weasel!” Crowley scolded.

“Unlike that human, I can actually use magic! So let me be a student here! Look, I'll show you! My spells're the cat's meow!” He seemed to charge up, his blue ear flames rising higher.

“Everyone, get down!” The short red head seemed to realise what was happening before others and ducked taking the nearest student down buy the arm with him. Yuu felt someone else yank her down just like everyone was doing with each other, she turned and saw it was the really pretty boy with the blonde hair and.. colour at the tips..?. His eyes seemed to widen a smidge upon seeing her appearance.

“Your a girl..?” She nodded and told him later before they both stood up and looked back at the pyromaniac of a cat.

“Myaaahhh!” He spewed his fire all around the room.

“AHHHHH! HELP! I'm on fire over here!” The boy with the red eyes was panicking not knowing what to do when one’s butt was on fire. So Yuu quickly walked to him and pulled the sleeve of her jacket down a bit before telling him to stay still and began to hit the fire until it died down. He rubbed his but sore from both the fore and the hitting before looking at her. His eyes also seemed to widen making the same realisation as the pretty boy from before.

“Oh! Your a girl!” He seemed to not mind and smiled at her “thanks for that!”

“Your welcome” she gave him a polite smile ‘maybe there all not so bad’

“Someone catch that blasted animal before it sets the entire school ablaze!” Crowley ordered around.

“Ugh. Can I go now, or...?” The boy that was snoozing around before seemed to wake up at the commotion a while ago and watched with bored eyes.

“Oh? I thought you fancied yourself a hunter. Go and help yourself to that plump little morsel!” The pretty boy seemed to snap at the human feline.

“Too much effort. Do it yourself.” He waved the other off

“Allow me to handle this, Headmage Crowley. If none of you are up to the task of catching a small animal, I will accept the responsibility.” He seemed to want something out of this with the tone of his voice, Yuu learned to pick up on this all the time before becoming a swan when she had her lessons as a princess.

“WTG Azul. Rackin' up those participation credits.” Yuu had stared at the floating flat box that seemed to speak words she hadn’t heard before, the box noticed her and flew away a bit into the shadows averting her attention back to the pyromaniac.

“I'm sorry, were my instructions unclear?!” He seemed to stress out the issue ducking from an incoming fire ball.

“Sigh* Preeetty sure you can handle catching one mangy weasel all on your lonesome there, headmage.”

“He’s right” she mumbled out no one hearing her, although the lion boys ear twitched and he looked a bit smug.

“How many times do I gotta say it? I'm Grim, spellcaster extraordinaire! I am NOT a weasel!” It seemed to irritate Grim more calling him names.

“Aren't you a spunky little fellow? Riddle, would you be so kind...?” The boy with glasses, Azul..? Turned to the short red head who’s name is revealed to be Riddle.

“Furry miscreant. I will abide no rule-breaking. You will be judged by my hand.” Riddle seems to bask in the fact that he could stop someone from breaking many rules that we’re definitely in place, one probably being to not set the place on fire.

He pointed what seemed to be a pen with some sort of gem on its end at grim and shouted “Off With Your Head!” A red and black heart shaped collar with gold trim appeared around grins neck weighing him down a bit.

“MYAH?! What are you doing?!” He flailed around.

“The Queen of Heart's Rule 23: "One must never bring a cat to a formal affair. Your very presence here is a violation of order. You will vacate these premises immediately.” He carried a stern voice and upon seeing him like this Yuu could tell he’s done it before multiple times.

“But I ain't a cat either! Don't try to collar me! I'll burn it right off! Huh...? Wh-what gives? My fire ain't workin'!” He tried doing his little charge up but nothing happened for him, the fire on his ears stayed still and no signs of his magic activating appeared. This calmed Yuu down a fair bit and she relaxed herself letting her shoulders and neck fall not holding them up anymore.

“Until I deign to remove that collar, you won't be using any magic. You're naught but a pet cat now.” Riddle now seemed to calm down a bit and talked more smug and relaxed.

“M-meoWHAT?! I ain't nobody's pet-NOTHING!” Grim shook his head.

“Oh, you've nothing to worry about there. I certainly have no interest in having you as a pet. The collar will disappear once you're removed from campus.” He waved the cat off as if he were nothing but a little grass bug, the maiden could tell he was of high status, a noble definitely with the way he carried home self and the confidence he had in his skill, he must be very well trained.

“Ha-HA! Good show as always, Riddle. You're signature spell locks down any magic. It's quite handy. I've just GOT to have it—ah, I mean, I've just got to have respect for it.” Azul seemed to arise a major suspicion in Yuu, she knows how to point out slip ups in their speech and personality and this guy slipped up.

‘He’s definitely a manipulator, look at how he’s obsessing over riddles magic’

“Yuu! Was I not clear that you are expected to take responsibility for your familiar?” Crowley turned to the girl. “Now discipline your—What's that? It isn't yours?”

“Sir, I’ve told you times before, but this creature is not mine, I don’t even know what he is, I’ve never seen a cat like that, especially one that spews fire” she put the emphasis on the words pointing at Grim and trying not to show how overwhelmed she was with a talking, fire magicking cat.

“Oh...Is that so? *Ahem* Then I shall have it expelled from campus. I shall even spare it from being served as dinner. My, but I AM kind. ...Someone take this away, please.” Dinner, this man was even considering making it dinner

“Nooooo! Let me gooooo! You fools better remember my name! Cause I'm gonna go down in the annals of magic history! Just you wait!” Grim kept yelling on his way out of the room.

“I feel a bit bad for the poor thing..” Yuu mumbled, the boy who she had forgotten she was standing next to also nodded at her statement, a bit of a sad look on his face.

“Well, that was quite the unexpected fracas. I hereby declare that orientation has concluded. Housewardens, please escort your students back to the dorms.” He looked around the room for a second. “...Hm? Come to think of it, I don't see Housewarden Draconia of House Diasomnia anywhere.” Yuu had moved back a bit as the commotion picked up again with the new topic.

“And that surprises you? Dude's a total recluse.” The smug human cat rolled his eyes, obliviously not caring about this Draconia.

“Wait a sec... Did anyone even invite him?” The boy she was previously standing next to looked at the others around him awaiting a response.

“If you're that worried about him missing out, maybe you should have told him yourself.” The pretty boy she had first met told the boy with the red eyes.

“Maybe, but I don't know him too well either...” he trailed off. Yuu moved back another step and suddenly bumped into someone.

“Oh! So sorry sir, I didn’t see you” she apologised looking at the person she hit, to say he looked different from what she’s used to is an understatement, he was a bit short and had choppy hair that reached a bit past his chin and.. pink? In his hair. ‘Is that pink streaks in his hair?? How unusual’ the boy looked at her and giggled.

“It’s alright young one” he observed her for a moment, furrowing his brows for a split second before returning to his normal face. “I just need to get passed you m’lady”

“Oh yea of course sorry!” She moved a bit to the side enough so he could get passed her towards the front.

“Thank you beastie” he smiled at her before walking towards the big group. ‘How peculiar of a man he is, but who is beastie..?’ she wondered.

She heard whispers erupt all throughout the room “Draconia... Like, Malleus Draconia? THAT Draconia?”

“So it's true? He really does go to school here?”

“Yikes.”

“Ah. Just as I'd expected.” It was the boy who she ran into before. I figured I'd come down and see for myself whether Malleus had made an appearance. But once again, he was evidently not informed that his presence was required at an official ceremony.” He sighed and shook his head.

“You have my sincerest apologies. I assure you, this oversight was in no way intended as a snub.” Azul apologised

“I mean, you must admit, he's not exactly the easiest person to strike up a conversation with.” Riddle said.

“No matter. All who were assigned to House Diasomnia, follow me. I just hope he doesn't sulk about this.” He waved his hand, mumbling the last part.

“Well, Yuu. This is a most unfortunate turn of events.” Crowley turned to her “I'm afraid that you will not be attending Night Raven Collage after all. Surely you realize that I cannot very well admit a student with no magical ability to my academy”

“That’s alright sir, I didn’t plan on attending your all boys magic school” she took down her hood that was masking her appearance, as well as making her very hot. She played with her hair a bit, neatening it up from its messiness. She heard the man let out a little gasp.

“Your a girl, my this is an even more reason to not admit you into the school I’m afraid, But worry not. The Dark Mirror will see you safely home.”

‘Home, with the others..’ she smiled at the thought, then went sour ‘home where Baron is..’

“Now, step into the gate, and visualize the place you whence you came.” She stepped up and imagined home, with her 11 other siblings and her parents, her father the king, a man of great power who was soft on his daughters yet stern when needed, and of her mother, oh her dear sick mother that she missed dearly, the woman who raised her, the woman that made her cookies within the royal kitchen, the woman who taught her to dance, the loving mother that held her when she cried, the mother that spent all her free time surrounded by her daughters, the woman who taught the youngest 3 daughters to sing carols on Christmas, who taught the twins to sneak off and participate in the royal guard training, the woman who spent her days personally teaching her eldest daughter Yuu, the mother that kissed them all to bed no matter how old they got she would tuck them in and sing a song or tell a story, the woman who started to get more ill it was like a curse that wouldn’t go away, the mother that mourned her children upon hearing of their curse, the woman she left behind.

Her sisters all 11 of them, all turned into swans because of her, they took her fate along with them and carried it for 3 years rarely seeing their parents, following Yuu around, living there lives on a lake, the sisters that she left behind and now they would befall the fate of her curse. The family she would return to.

“O Dark Mirror! Return this soul to where it belongs!” Crowley commanded, yet nothing happened

‘No..don’t tell me’

“Ahem* L-let us, er...try this again. O Dark Mirror! Return this soul—“ he was cut off

“There is no such place.” The dark mirror stated plainly.

‘No..No, no, no’ her mind started panicking, no such place?!.

“What?” Crowlwy asked

“here is no place in this world where this soul belongs.

None.”

“How can that be? My, but today is a veritable cavalcade of impossible phenomena!” Crowley stressed.

The mirror didn’t respond.

“This has never happended throughout my long tenure. I must confess that I am at something of a loss. Tell me: From what land do you hail?” He turned to her and asked.

“I’m from the Rhodanthe”

“Rhodanthe? I'm afraid I am not familiar with such a place.”

“But how, it’s one of the most powerful kingdoms across the land” she tried to block out the thought that drifted at the end of her mind.

“I am intimately acquainted with the origins of every student who has ever come here, and yet... This mysterious homeland of your eludes me. Let us go to the library and look it up, shall we?”

NOTE: that is chapter 3 YAY! I start holidays on Friday but I am going away for about a week so I’ll try to have something at least in the making, I’m glad other are liking this story so tell me what you imagine odette!Yuu to look like and the clothes she wears.

I also took the sisters thing from barbie and the 12 dancing princesses, it’ll provide for good angst in the future and it also says that Odette has other swans with her so I decided to go with that and make them her sisters. Hope you all like this chapter it takes a while to make these but I enjoy it, we’re getting closer and closer to day time in wonderland so I’m exited to write the swan. Also if anyone wants to drop a name for the sisters mother or father I’ll try and use it so I can build up their characters, it just needs to have a medieval touch yk not TO modern and if it comes with a meaning I would love to know that to.

IMPORTANT!! I think I might make other posts like incorrect quotes and stuff based on odette!Yuu and stuff like scenarios or answering questions so I’ll try to see how an ask box or whatever it’s called works and use it, I might even posts other Yuusonas I’ve got but I’ll mainly try to focus on odette Yuu.

Tag list: @just-here-reading

[always-offended-skeleton]

I love dogs... But keep them on leashes? I've been searching the park for the last two hours after one stole my leg and buried it somewhere. It's hard work, hopping around like a boney pogo stick.

[cloudteawrites]

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

what is hybrid marking

8.2 million results. 

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

“How do I look?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There’s been a change of plans.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown. “Jimin-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you were his attorney.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can’t you just have him apologize?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And his mother?” You ask, quietly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ms. Y/N-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room is a veritable Eden. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I’m not-”

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

“I’m not here to deliver your food.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach turns. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you need time to pack, or-?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fourteen.” He bites out. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joonie-” he pleads. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unknown Sender [7:13 PM] where are you

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

Unknown Sender [7:14 PM] it’s yoongi

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

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

Unknown Sender has been changed to Yoongi 

Yoongi [7:14 PM] can i call

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

“...Hello?”

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

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

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

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

“I’ll see you when you get back.”

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

“...Yeah.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you-?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[hoboal87]

Carry On

Pairing : Sam x Reader, Platonic!Dean x Reader

Summary : One year after defeating Chuck, Sam and Dean are still hunting, but you’ve quit the life. When the boys take a vacation that quickly turns into a hunt, none of you expect it to change your lives forever.

Characters : Y/N, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, mentions of Bobby, Jody, Donna and the Girls

Word Count : 3.1k (I tried to keep it below 3k, but...😕)

Warnings : SPOILERS FOR 15X20, Angst, Feels, Fluff (it gets a little gross at the end), A Sprinkling of Pre-Smut, Pregnancy

A/N : This will keep the canon of the finale, and takes place during and after 15x20, but with an added reader insert. This was written as a sequel to “The Tie” but can be read as a stand-alone.

A/N 2 : This is my entry for @negans-lucille-tblr “6k Roll the Dice Challenge.” My prompt is “I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace,” which is bolded.

No Beta, all mistakes are my own.

Check out my Masterlist here

You pull another book down from the library wall; everything has been relatively quiet since Jack took over Heaven, Rowena has put a leash on the demons, the only monsters you and the boys had to worry about were run-of-the-mill, so to speak. Adjusting to this new life is easier than you thought it would be, using the last year to learn that without the necessity to hunt, you and Sam were finally free to live your own lives. After Chuck was rendered powerless, you decided to give up hunting for good. Sam won't, you know that, Sam and Dean had been hunting their whole lives, but you were thrust into the life.

You make your way back towards your shared room with Sam, twirling the small diamond ring on your finger, passing Dean’s along the way. You peer inside, glad to see that the once mass trove of empty beer and whiskey bottles were gone. Sure, there’s still a few bottles strewn throughout the room, but nothing like it was before. In the months following Cas’ death, Dean had been a shell of himself, drinking himself into an early grave. He never told you or Sam exactly how Cas summoned the empty, or why it took him along with Billie. Dean always kept himself bottled up, until he would explode, letting his grief out by way of yelling and screaming. Cas’ trench was usually hanging in the corner, but it wasn’t there now, Dean must’ve taken it with him. Dean was still in pain, that much was clear.

Sam and Dean are off at some pie fest, and you opted to stay behind. You waved the boys off, asking Dean to eat a pie just for you. Sam and Dean needed this; brother time. It was something that rarely happened since you joined them over five years ago, even before you were with Sam, you, Cas or Jack were always tagging along. You saw it as the perfect opportunity to take some time for yourself as well, figuring out where you and Sam would go from here. Sam talked about going back to school, finishing his degree and applying to Law School again, he even had you buy him books on LSAT prep. You talked at length about taking the next steps in your relationship, you couldn’t ever get legally married, but you starting planning a ceremony anyway. Before Chuck was gone, you were content to just be, never needing more, afraid that it would be ripped out from under you the minute you let your guard down.

As you settle into your and Sam’s bed, book in hand, you feel as the weight that’s been sitting on your chest has finally lifted, you can breathe. It's been years since you've been able to truly relax, and as much fun as a pie fest sounded, you wanted to stay at the bunker, taking comfort in your and Sam's shared room. They’d only been gone a few days, but you already missed Sam terribly, pathetic, you know. Never in your life would you have imagined wanting and needing someone like you did Sam. The next morning you wake up to a text from Sam. The brothers mini-vacation quickly turned into a vampire hunt, a nest John had hunted years ago. The boys could handle it, you know that much, it's a milk run compared to everything they've fought over the years. Be Safe, Love You. You responded and went on with your day.

Sam always keeps you in the loop when he and Dean go on a hunt without you, providing you with a source of comfort knowing that they’ve killed the bad guy or solved the mystery. But now, they’ve been silent for too long, a nest of Vamps shouldn’t take more than a few days, and you start to worry. You’re heading towards the garage, determined to track down Sam and Dean, and lay it on thick about how worried you were when they went silent. You’re about to open the door to the garage when it swings open and Sam’s long body fills the frame. It startles you at first, even causing Miracle to bark in surprise. You throw your arms around Sam, all anger gone now that he’s back home with you.

“Don’t ever do that again!” You scold Sam. “You know how much I hate it when you and Dean stop responding.” You want to be mad, but you’re so focused on the fact that Sam’s back home with you again, that nothing else seems to matter. “If you’re gonna keep hunting you have to keep me in the loop,” you mumble.

Sam’s body stiffens against your touch. It takes him a minute, but he reciprocates your hug, pulling you tight against him. You stand there, waiting for some smart remark from Dean, normally barking at the two of you to get a room, but there’s nothing but the echo of the Impala’s engine filling the air. You try to pull away from Sam, but his grip around you only tightens, this hunt must have been more difficult than he or Dean anticipated. Head pressed against Sam’s chest, you can hear his heart thumping loudly and rapidly. Dean would never let you and Sam hold on to each other as long as you have.

“Sammy?” You whisper, trying to pull away again. Sam’s grip finally loosens, but his hands don’t leave you as you take a small step back. Your eyes travel upwards, finally landing on Sam’s face, his eyes are bloodshot and puffy, almost as if he has been crying. “Sam? What’s wrong?”

Sam shakes his head as tears fill his eyes.

“Where’s Dean?” You ask as you watch Sam slowly break down. His head nods towards the Impala, and you pull away completely from Sam’s embrace.

You run towards the Impala as fast as your legs can carry you, a swing open the back door, hoping to see Dean’s shining emerald eyes. Tears blur your vision faster than you can comprehend what you’re seeing. Dean’s lifeless body lays in the back seat, all color drained from him. You scan him desperately, waiting for some kind of sign that this is all a cruel prank, that he and Sam were trying to get one over you for not coming with them on this hunt.

But, there’s nothing.

You scream out, falling to your knees, Dean was just as much your brother as he was Sam’s, he was your best friend, and now, he’s gone. Your cries fill the otherwise silent garage, he can’t be dead, not like this, not on some vampire hunt, something he’s done a hundred times before. Not when you know that he was looking to settle down, find some normalcy, or at least normal for him. He deserved to live, he didn’t deserve to die at the hands of a monster.

Dean wasn’t going to be there when you and Sam got married, when you told Sam about the baby you were carrying. God, how were you going to tell him that? Dean was going to help you surprise Sam, as soon as they came home, he was going to start dropping hints, see how long it took Sam to figure it out. But now, you stared at his body, tearing streaming down your face, you couldn’t stop crying if you wanted to. Sam’s strong arms wrap around you, holding you close to him, and you both sit on the floor, unable to do anything but mourn the loss of the elder Winchester.

Through your sobs, you can hear Sam trying to offer you some comfort, assuring you that he went down saving the victims. You could barely process anything he was saying, and if this is how you felt, you can’t even begin to imagine how he feels. Dean was the only real family that Sam had left, there had to be a way to get him back.

“No, baby,” Sam murmurs in your ear through his tears, “I promised him. No bringing him back.” You didn’t realize you had said it out loud. “He wants us to keep going, he wants us to live.”

Three days later you’re surrounded by all the family you’d gained through the boys. Jody, Donna, Claire, Bobby and Charlie plus too many people to keep track of. You and Sam had already given Dean his proper send-off, dividing his ashes between the graveyard where Mary and John were buried and keeping the rest for yourselves. Jody told the story of the first time she’d met the brothers over ten years ago and how she’d come to think of the boys as surrogate sons. Claire talked about the time she and Dean went mini-golfing and how offended he was when she didn’t understand his Caddyshack references. The bunker was full laughter, it was Dean told you he wanted all those years ago.

You and Sam couldn’t stay in the Bunker after that. You’d left it open to all hunters, you’d still come back occasionally, but it was no longer home. You and Sam packed up most of your and Dean’s things, fitting as much as you could into the Impala, knowing that the two rooms would always be off limits to future hunters. Sam nearly slides into the passenger seat when you leave, and you can see it hitting him all over again. Dean’s gone.

You drive around the country for a few weeks, unsure of where to make your new home. Neither of you ever had a real home before moving into the Bunker, and you were the only family you had left now. You settle in Sioux Falls, Jody and the girls were there, Donna was close enough, and if need be, you could be back in Lebanon in a matter of 5 hours.

You find a small house close to where Bobby’s used to be, it is still a salvage yard, but Bobby’s house is long gone. As the weeks pass you don’t know how much longer you can keep your pregnancy hidden from Sam. Every time you try to tell him, it feels wrong; you are both still grieving the loss of Dean, and Sam has fallen into a deep depression. You have Jody take you to your doctor appointments, and she scolds you for not telling Sam, but when she drops you at your new home, and sees the current state of Sam, she backs off.

At your next appointment, she laughs and cries with you when you learn that you were carrying a boy, Dean. When you first told Dean that you were pregnant, he immediately insisted that the newest Winchester should be named after him, “boy or girl!” He insisted, “I’m named after a Deanna.”

“I think the world only needs one Dean Winchester,” you retorted playfully. Now, it seems the perfect way to carry on Dean’s legacy.

When you leave the doctors, you finally realize how obvious it is that you’re pregnant, your stomach rounding out perfectly under your shirt. You’re almost insulted that Sam hasn’t noticed your ever-growing stomach and the extra pounds you’ve put on over the last month, but he hasn't been himself since Dean died. You hadn’t been intimate with him since you settled into your new house, and he spends most of his day sleeping or in a fugue-like state.

Jody insists on taking you shopping for baby supplies, and by the end you’ve got a shopping cart onesies, blankets, something called a diaper genie, and many other things you didn’t even know you needed. As you walk through the store an iron-on name display catches your eye, and you make your way towards it. The names are written in large cursive lettering, and you hope that you can find the right one. You nearly squeal when you do, and find a plain onesie to attach it to.

You’re glad that the baby store carries labeless bags, especially when Sam is up and about when you get home. He looks good today, he’s slightly sweaty, and you know that he left the house and went for a run. He greets you with a quick kiss, a sheen of sweat covering his face, and makes for your room. He eyes the bags in your hands, but doesn’t say anything, and a few minutes later you can hear the shower running. Thank God, you sigh and take the bags into an empty room, Miracle following closely behind you. You set the bags down in what will be baby Dean’s nursery, Jody’s right, you think, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.

You find the onesie and the iron-on decal, you place it in the center and carefully attach the decal. After letting it cool you tuck it into a small gift bag. You hear the shower turn off, and make your way back into your bedroom, placing the bag on your bedside table, waiting for Sam to exit the bathroom. You can’t help but stare at him appreciatively when he opens the door, a towel wrapped around his waist. You’re suddenly very aware of how long it's been since you’d been with him. Sam catches you eyeing him, and smirks, sending a jolt straight down to your core. You missed this, not just the sex, but how he takes charge with you, his domineering presence making you melt. He leans over you, and places a tender yet eager kiss on your lips.

You reach for the towel, letting it slide onto the floor as Sam deepens the kiss, and start to work him over in your hands. Sam groans at your touch, and starts to pull at your shirt, pulling his face away just long enough to rid you of it. Sam’s lips are back on yours just as quickly as they were gone. His hands palm at your breasts, and you moan into his hands reach into the overflowing cups, you really loved your pregnancy boobs, but your bras were doing very little to keep them in place. Sam’s hands travel to your back, and undos your bra, letting your breasts fall free. Sam finally opens his eyes when his hands land on your protruding stomach and takes a few steps back.

He quickly pulls on a pair of sweatpants as you pull your shirt back over your head, trying you best not to cry as he starts pacing the floor of your bedroom. You wait for him to say something, anything; you weren’t trying when you realized you were pregnant. You’d just gone off your birth control, and everyone told you it would take at least a few months for your body to get back to its natural cycle. You both knew it was possible but figured you’d have at least 6 months before really actively trying for a baby.

Sam’s face is almost unreadable; you can’t tell if he’s happy or mad, if he’ll tell you it’s too soon, that he’s not ready. He opens and closes his mouth multiple times, as if he can’t figure out what to say. If Dean were here, he’d probably knock him upside his head, telling him this exactly what he’s always wanted.

“How– why–” Sam stammers as you move to the edge of the bed. “Are you– You’re pregnant.” He says it almost as if it’s a question and you nod your head. “How long?” There’s almost an accusation in his voice, you’re sure it’s not intentional, but it doesn’t make you feel any better.

“18 weeks,” you murmur, trying to hold back your tears. “I wanted to tell you sooner, but it’s– it never seemed to be the right time. When you and Dean–” Sam winces at the mention of Dean’s name, you hadn’t said it out loud in almost a month, not since you left the Bunker. “I found out right before you left, I was going to tell you when you got back. But… after… I was afraid that you’d say it wasn’t the right time. That it was too soon.”

“It is too soon,” Sam mutters under his breath, you’re sure it’s not meant to be malicious, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. “You said it would take at least 6 months.”

“It’s different for everyone,” you offer, as Sam runs his hands through his hair, still pacing in front of you. “Please, Sam, can you sit down? You’re freaking me out.” Sam moves to the edge of the bed, and sits down next to you.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Sam whispers, eyeing your belly. “I don’t know how– I don’t know how to be a dad.”

“Yes, you do,” you grab his hand, and place it on your belly. “Dean taught you everything you would ever need to know.”

Sam smiles sadly, “I ever tell you about the night I left for Stanford?” You shake your head. “Dad and me, we got into this huge fight. So of course, Dean steps in– gets between us, attempts to calm us, but we were both just– just too fucking stubborn to listen.” He removes his hand, focusing down on them as he fidgets. “When dad said don’t come back, I called his bluff, and I was– I was so pissed at Dean, I thought he was taking Dad’s side, that I didn’t even say bye to him. I didn’t have it myself to go with grace. I walked away from him, the only family that I had, and I regretted it for years. I- I feel like he should be the one here, that- that we’re moving on too quickly.”

“Dean, he– he wouldn’t want you, us, to live like this, we owe it to him to keep fighting, to live our lives. I know how much you miss him,” a tear slips from Sam’s eye. “I miss him too, but you know what keeps me going everyday?” Sam shakes his head, and you take his hand in yours again, and place it back on the swell of your belly just as little Dean decides to kick for the first time. The smile on Sam’s face is instant, you can’t stop the happy tears from falling as Sam shifts in front of you, and lays his head on your swollen stomach. “Our son.”

Sam cries, truly cries for the first time since the day he brought home Dean’s body. You hold him against you, he’s been so pent up for the last 3 months, bottling up his emotions, he needs this, you both do. You’d been so focused on the baby growing inside of you never realized that you hadn’t realized that Sam had never come to terms with Dean’s death.

“It’s a boy?” Sam asks as his cries cease. “We’re having a son?”

“We’re having a son,” you nod, and hand Sam the gift bag still sitting on your bedside table.

Sam opens the bag, and you smile as he pulls out the green onesie, his eyes lighting up as he reads the lettering.

“You’re sure?” He questions.

“The world lost one Dean Winchester, let’s give it another.”

Please give let me know what you think! Reblog or send an ask

Forever Tags:

@that-one-gay-girl​

@akshi8278​

[fablesrose]

Tell Me a Story 1

Description: The local mafia has served Y/n well previously, but with the way things are going now, enough is enough. Instead of getting out, why not take everything down? So she makes a few calls, but things don’t always go to plan.

Word count: 2,205

Pairing: cop!Dean x mafia!reader

Square filled: fake dating

Warnings: none this chapter

Masterlist ~ Bingo Masterlist

Remaining parts will be in the Bingo Masterlist

A/n: This is for @girl-next-door-writes‘s Make Me Feel Bingo. I wanted to write a specific scene and then made a whole AU in order for this to work and it became infinitely more complicated than it needed to be. Enjoy! 

“Tell me a story.”

Chuck was a dangerous man. He didn’t look it, but he had an eye and a leash where you would never expect it all over the city. No one knew what he wanted, what his end goal was, maybe that was what made him dangerous.

Those words made me nervous. Chuck loved a good story and if the man next to me didn’t tell one up to his standard, then it wouldn’t end well for either of us.

This was all my idea. It was me who got the cops involved. I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Sam, I know you don’t want to hear from me, but-”

“What do you need?”

“The Fallen isn’t doing too hot right now.”

“I can help you get out Y-”

“It’s not as simple as when you slipped between the cracks Sam,” I hissed at him through the phone. I don’t know why I even tracked him down, he had a good life now, but I needed to do something.

“Simple? You know it wasn’t simple.” Sam sounded offended.

“Exactly. It wasn’t when you did it, and like Hell is it simple now. It’s a thousand times worse in every way since you left. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to go.”

“Okay, fine, we’ll figure something out.”

“Thanks- Someone’s coming, don’t contact me in any way for at least four days. You know the drill.” I hung up the phone and went on my daily business.

Four days later I received a text with a phone number in it, “He’s clean. He’ll help.”

I saved the number in my phone and deleted the conversation. I had to tread lightly.

I tried to control my anxiety. If I was found out I wouldn’t be surprised if Chuck burned the whole city to the ground.

So needless to say I did a fantastic job of hiding my anxiety.

Eventually, when I was sure that I was alone I pulled up the number Sam gave me. I guess it was now or never.

The phone rang a couple of times before a man picked up and rattled off his law enforcement credentials and his name. Okay, maybe this guy could help me.

I took a deep breath and spoke out loud the sentence I had been practicing in my head for the last few days which was a risk in and of itself, “I’m a high ranking member of The Fallen and would like to be of assistance in taking down the current, highly wanted, leader of said… organization.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, “Pardon?”

I sighed, my anxiety creeping back in, but what came out was an annoyed clip, “I said I’d like to snitch on my boss, a highly wanted individual, now can you help me get rid of him, or did Sam lie to me?”

“You know Sam?”

“Well, no der.” I tried to calm my beating heart, but the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a mistake, “I’m sorry for wasting your time, this was a mistake.”

“No no, wait.” I heard him swallow, “I’m going to talk to some people, let me see what I can do okay?”

My voice cracked, “Okay.”

The call ended, and all I could think was, Well there’s no backing out now.

Never before had I felt like I was in a dystopian novel more than this chapter of my life. I was nervous, like even the TVs were watching my every move to see if I was thinking traitorous thoughts, straight out of “1984.”

Every meeting, every glance in my direction, every moment of silence, and I swore everyone there already knew what I had done. But I kept a straight face in the serious moments, laughed when it was polite, and I wasn’t dead yet.

The day came when I met him in person. The safest place I could think of was my apartment. I paced back and forth for the whole afternoon constantly watching the clock, then it seemed like ten minutes after four it was six o’clock already. He was due to my doorstep any minute now.

A knock came to the door and I felt stone cold.

Slow steps took me to the sound. I opened the door a crack to see who it was. A tall man stood on the other side, in casual clothes thank goodness. He was casually looking around, but to the trained eye, I could tell he was watching to see if anyone was paying special attention.

“Yes?” Don’t give too much away, don’t volunteer any information. Yet.

He finally focused on me and I took into account the strong structure to his face, one could either call him intimidating or handsome, depending on his mood. Right now he was walking the line while leaning towards the former.

“I believe you’ve been expecting me,” he spoke quietly, his voice sounded very similar to the one I heard on the phone, but one could never be too careful.

“Oh? And what’s the connection between us?” I hoped my face was perfect innocence, but I knew my eyes were calculating and cautious.

“Sam.”

I closed the door to unlock the chain. I quickly let him in.

“I assume it’s safe here?” His eyes scanned the room, looking for anything that could be a problem.

I locked the door behind him, “As safe a place as any. I personally had soundproofing installed. Not many people come here, less chance for bugs. Neighbors are friendly, mostly elderly couples.”

“I was going to say, pretty small apartment for someone in the mob,” he extended a hand for me to shake, “Dean Winchester.”

I huffed, “Yeah, it’s kinda my job to blend in. Not all of us have Hollywood mansions. I glanced at him from the kitchen as I grabbed two glasses, “I see height runs in the family.”

“Somethin’ like that,” Dean sat on the couch in the living room.

I handed him a drink, “So...”

“So indeed,” he swirled the liquid in the glass before setting it on the side table, “I’m currently being transferred from the my current department a couple hours away to the local PD. Once that’s done I will be going under cover. You will be my in. Does that work?”

I drained my own drink, “Swimmingly.” I set my own glass on the floor by the feet of the chair I was sitting in, “I honestly can’t believe I’m doing this.” I spoke it mostly to myself, but he heard it all the same.

“Yeah, why are you doing this? What made you join in the first place only to try and tear it all down?”

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the chair. I guess I should have seen the question coming. “I joined The Fallen when I was a lot younger. Why does anyone join the mafia?”

“Protection, a safe place to do illegal things, they’re desperate?”

I chuckled, “And usually somewhere to belong, but yeah, you hit the nail on the head. I was desperate. Nowhere to go. And let’s leave it at that.” I started cleaning my fingernails, my hands needing something to do. “It was a classic mafia back then. Don’t mess with us, we don’t mess with you. If you do, you better watch your back. It was okay. It was safe. That was under this guy named Nick. He’s in prison now, but you probably knew that already.”

Dean nodded his head.

“In the power vacuum he left behind, I helped get your brother out. Covered his tracks, but there wasn’t anyone to follow them. Sounds like he’s got a nice life now.”

“Why didn’t you get out with him?”

“Still didn’t have anywhere to go. Sam, he’s smart. Got back into school, had a nice girl waiting for him on the other side. I didn’t have any of that.  The Fallen was all I had, figured this was better than being on the run from myself.” I sighed, “Anyway, Crowley comes in. He’s a businessman at heart. He  made the community safer. Kept local businesses afloat. It felt like we were doing something good.”

I smiled to myself. Happier times.

“I guess I got soft.” I looked up from my hands into his serious face, “Now Chuck has the whole city wrapped around his twisted finger. No one knows what he wants. He’s got no honor system-”

Dean scoffed.

“Hey, it might not have been much, but Crowley and Nick? They had their own code that if you knew what it was, then nothing surprised you. Chuck’s a wild card. He’s destroying everything good about this place, and like it or not, I don’t. And if I can do something about it, I’m going to. Okay?”

Dean set his jaw and nodded.

“So how do you wanna play this mister hot shot cop?”

“That’s a good question, one that you are gonna answer.”

I raised my eyebrows, “Oh?”

He shifted to a more relaxed position on the couch, “Yup. You’re the expert, so how are you gonna bring me in? I’ve got to observe, gather information and evidence, and hopefully set him up so we can catch him in the act of doing something ‘life in prison’ worthy.”

“Can we get a death sentence?”

Dean slowly gained a more guarded posture, “And why would you want that?” As Dean relaxed he seemed more personable, but with that one statement he looked suspicious of me and my motives. His eyes gained that hard look that could break steel and I was terrified to see him angry.

I curled in on myself, “Past experience.”

“I’m gonna need to know this kind of stuff sweetheart.”

“Look, we both know life in prison isn’t a guarantee. Nick was supposed to get a life sentence, but he got out. Now Crowley’s dead and Chuck is in power.” There was a pause where neither of us spoke. “There’s always something. You’re in law enforcement. You should know that.”

He sighed before nodding once again, “Fine, we’ll see what we can do and what we can get, okay?”

“Okay.”

“How are you going to get me in?”

I rubbed my temples. How was I going to get him in? “I think our best option is for me to just bring you in as a new recruit. No deals, tell him the least information possible. Whoever brings someone new in becomes their mentor so that’ll work out...” This was going to be hard. Chuck was a difficult target. “We’ll say you’re new in town. You desperately need some extra cash, so you’re willing to join. You don’t really care what you have to do. The trick is to lie the least amount as possible. Chuck doesn’t like liars, and he can always find out information. So I hope there aren’t many people who know you’re doing this.” I locked eyes with him.

“No, not many at all.”

“I hope you’re right, or we’re both dead.”

This conversation ran through my head as we stood in front of Chuck. It was the monthly meeting, where everything you could think of was discussed, including new members.

“So, there’s a new face.” Chuck was looking at the pair of us, a passive invitation.

I stepped forward with as much confidence as I could muster, “Yes, this is new recruit-”

“Officer Dean Winchester, yes I know.”

I nearly choked as my eyes widened in fear and surprise. I glanced at Dean and all I could think was, “We’re dead.”

“Now the question is, why does the new cop in town want to join the local mob?” Chuck stood from his chair and walked around, “Little short on cash, need a little excitement?”

Dean chuckled, but I could tell he was hiding his nervousness, “Yeah, something like that.”

“Good, what’s one more cop on the payroll? You’re in.” Chuck finally looked back at the two of us, and my heart was still pounding out of my chest despite how impossibly well this was going, “Oh, you didn’t know he was a cop did you? Looks like some couples therapy material.”

I swallowed, but couldn’t hide my confusion, couples therapy?

“Oh come on! It’s obvious!” Chuck hesitated, “Well maybe not obvious, but Y/n’s not the hook-up type.”

I blushed, this was getting out of hand, but as long as Chuck wasn’t going to kill me, I would put up with it the best I could.

Chuck clapped and rubbed his hands together, “Oh I love a good romance. So how did you guys meet?”

Dean seemed to snap into it, or maybe it was me who was out of it, I’m not sure, but Dean grabbed my hand and intertwined our fingers.

“I don’t know, sir, I’m not much of a story teller.”

“Come on Dean.” Chuck smiled, a little too eagerly.

I tightened my grip on Dean’s hand, mostly out of anxiousness. I was out of options and stocked up on fear. It was up to him to get us the hell out of here.

“Tell me a story.”

Best Buds Taglist: @kitkatd7 @snarky--starky @confetti-its-an-imagine-blog @kaogasm

Dean: @akshi8278 @msmarvelouswinchester

[doctor-rainbowfoxey]

Renegades Chapter 4 Part 4 The Wheel Part 2

Link to Previous Part HERE

“Uncle Sparky!! Golly, I am just stoked to see you,” the auburn-haired musician put forth, not sounding super excited despite his words stating otherwise. The feral mutant looked at his cellmate with mild concern, having observed his change in demeanor.

Some part of the colorful musician had hoped it had been another man on the other side, a man who had once been like a father to him but alas he was not surprised to be disappointed. Starks assistance was not unwelcome but he it didn't come guilt free. He would have to put up with the pressure and the sales pitch now.

Tony turned to the rookie cop “open it,” he ordered. The young man squeaked and fumbled to comply. As soon as the door opened Stark strode in and to Cyclop's surprise, the Avenger immediately hugged the other Scott. After a minute held him at a distance looked him up and down, inspecting him for injuries and not liking what he saw. He glared at Scott’s feral cellmate accusingly. Logan was quick to step back, hands up in the universal gesture of innocence. Gently the hippie extracted himself from the older inventor’s embrace.

“Christ Scotty, what did they do to you?”

“It wasn't him, Sparky,” objected the paisley hippie ardently. He continued to assure the elder hero, “You know that. It was the long arm of the law that you love promoting.”

“I know. I saw,” ground out the gold suited Avenger wearily with a grimace still looking over warily at Logan.

“Let's go, let's talk about this somewhere without prying eyes,” prompted the avenger attempting to gain command of the situation.

“Right, about that Uncle Sparky,” chimed in the colorful hippie. “I need you to wire funds to pay for my friend here’s release as well,” stated the auburn-haired man matter of factly.

“Him? You barely know the man,” the Avenger exclaimed incredulously. “He could be some kind of ax murdering hooligan!!”

The musician turned to his feral companion, with mock seriousness he beseeched the other, “are you an ax murdering hooligan, Logan?”

“Nooo….?” the shorter mutant slowly mildly offended by the whole affair.

“See? It's fine Sparky,” assured the younger man with a shrug. “I got a good feeling about this guy…”

“But…..fine,” started the richly attired man only to quickly relent when it became clear the other was not going to give in on the matter. Upon seeing his young charge again preoccupied with the pain in his head the older man fumbled to retrieve something from his pocket.

“Here take these. I saw your other pair.. broke,” said Tony gruffly.

The force beamed burdened mutant carefully to the glasses from the other man putting them on with a sigh.

With fond paternalism, the elder Avenger comforted, “That’s much better huh son?”

“Yeah...yeah, it is” demurred the scarlet-eyed mutant, as his headache eased but with a tinge of resentment at the burden.

Stark grumbled, “here’s your jacket and your shoes. Put them on quickly. I feel claustrophobic and I’ve only been in here for 5 minutes. I’d like to leave this hell hole already.”

“Sounds like you should look into criminal justice reform,” commented the hippie as he slipped on his corduroy jacket and sat to put on his shoes.

Cyclops, not wanting to be separated from his counterpart in this universe, dared to jump into the other Scott’s pocket.

Stark stammered uncomfortably, “We can talk about that later Scotty.”

From inside the pocket, Cyclops could hear them talking but he dared not peek out of the pocket lest he risks discovery.

“Here’s his personal effects,” announced one of the police officers to Stark, in a much more respectful tone than he had used before.

“Gaia!” Sighed the passionate man and Cyclops could hear the sound of latches being carefully opened.

“Oh thank god. She’s alright,” breathed the lanky fellow, clearly relieved.

“You still play that old thing?”Asked Tony, mildly surprised.

“Not as much on stage as I used to, but she does perfectly well on the road and among friends,” explained the musician. Cyclops heard the sound of a door closing, he felt the warmth of the sun through the pocket and could smell flowers on the breeze that tickled his whiskers when he dared to sneak a look at the world outside.

“You can’t keep doing this Scotty,” Stark reprimanded sternly.

“Doing what exactly?” replied the younger man with feigned obliviousness.

“These protests and rabble rousing. The sex, drugs, the rock and roll. Take your place back on the team Scotty,” insisted Stark. Cyclops with his mouse senses could tell he was close to the man from the smell of his expensive cologne.

“I’m an adult and not an Avenger anymore. I left that life, objected Scott, with icy controlled coolness as he stepped back from the other man.

“You think you can stop it? That you’re some kind of martyr or something? This has been going on for 10000 years. I’ve tried my best to slow it from the inside but I can’t stop the wheel. This is bigger than us,” argued the greying inventor. Inside his mind, a peaceful man could hear a great wheel turning.

The lanky ex-avenger sighed, “you’re right this is far bigger than us. The peace movement is far more than me alone. If it bothers you that I find I have more luck reaching people with my music than my fists then I’m afraid you’ll just have to let that be Mr. Stark,” stated the peaceful musician calmly and firmly with a tone that broached no query of debate. Cyclops could tell his counterpart was annoyed by over trod on circular arguments that had been rehashed between the two. The pressure of a legacy he could and never fulfill that ground his soul beneath it’s will like a millstone pulverized grain.

The elder hero fretted, “what happened to you on that shield mission overseas?! Ever since then you’ve changed and you won’t talk to any of us about it! If you can’t tell us than please talk to Steve. He’s been worried sick and you owe him that much!” Confided Stark clearly upset and desperate for answers, but in response Cyke could feel his counterpart stiffen.

“Thank you Mr. Stark, for greasing the wheels politically. I’ll wire funds to repay you.” promised the flamboyant musician, his voice sounding hollow and rehearsed robotically as one gets when constantly fending questions you do not wish to answer. Questions that take your mind to places you never wished to return.

“Scott please, at least call and tell him you are alright! Pleaded the seasoned Avenger.

“Fine Sparky I will call him. Will you give it a rest now, you’re being a drag,” remarked the paisley fellow. With effort the hippie willed memories that threatened to break free from their leashes with gnashing teeth and dripping saliva like the feel of hands stained red with blood that could never be washed clean.

“Fine but this is going to be the death of you, mark my words...also is that a rodent in your pocket,” spluttered Stark incredulously.

Suddenly the seasoned mutant hero now in the body of a mouse, felt gentle hands lifting him from his safe space in the pocket. His borrowed body’s instincts urged him to bite but he refused them. Biting alternate Scotts was off the table unless they deserved it.

“Hey little guy. You’re not something I would expect to be in my pocket,” murmured Cyclop’s alternate counterpart amazement. It was a strange sensation looking into the face of someone who looked so much like yourself yet was not you at all.

With a disgusted scowl, Stark commanded, “put that rat down. It’s probably diseased or something,” he elaborated

“It’s a dormouse, Sparky, don’t blow a fuse. I’ll just let him down here in the grass,” assured the lanky man.

Cyke felt himself being lowered to sit on soft moss amongst grasses. Abruptly he realized he should put on a good show of doing mouse things because he was supposed to be a mouse now. Apparently. He ran off deeper into the grass.

“See. It ran away. It’s fine,” replied Scott with confidence. By the time Cyclops had snuck back to where he could watch without being spotted, anything Stark had to say in response had been cut off by the sound of a motorcycle approaching..

“Hey kid, I’m heading down to Cali. You wanna ride?” offered the feral mutant who looked like the picture of the man in black in his long black coat, dark motorcycle. The other Scott Summers in many ways is the polar opposite of this man but they seem to be on the same wavelength as is pulled by the same gravity.

The colorful musician looked invigorated in response to the offer as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Where before he had felt a beast being herded and caged suddenly he saw him a way out, an escape. With calculated impulsivity would seize such an opportunity as he always had before.

“Do I!! You’re a sight for sore eyes ol’man,” declared the groovy man as he approached Logan, smiling broadly as the sun illuminated highlights amongst his auburn hair. In less than he had his guitar strapped to his back and was climbing on behind the other man while Stark stood gobsmacked.

“Scott Summers get off that bike right now!! What the hell do you think you’re doing!!” barked the stately Avenger beside himself.

“Sorry, Sparky gotta keep truckin’ later!” answered the man in paisley.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Stark,” called the man in black politely, if too late.

“Summers!! You get back here this instant! Rogers you’re kid is just as stubborn and troublesome as you! The stress of dealing with both of you is going to give me an ulcer. Damn it!! “yelled Stark to the dust and exhaust fumes that were all that remained of the two vagabonds. All the while Cyclops swore he could hear a voice singing mournfully.

I look at the world

And I notice it's turning

While my guitar gently weeps

With every mistake

We must surely be learning

Still my guitar gently weeps

The whole world around Scott seemed to reverberate around the voice, fading in and out, tilting sickeningly until…

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

Scott opened his eyes. The voice was still singing. Carefully Scott quietly as possible turned his head to see who was singing.

‘I don't know how you were diverted

You were perverted too

I don't know how you were inverted

No one alerted you’

It was the suborn haired man, with the silver bangs and green eyes who reminded Scott so painfully of a perverse caricature of his kind and gentle friend. Held lovingly in his hands was a pair of hexagonal ruby quartz glasses exactly like the ones the Scott from the vision wore.

I look from the wings

At the play you are staging

While my guitar gently weeps

'Cause I'm sitting here

Doing nothing but aging

Still my guitar gently weeps

While Axel strokes the glasses lovingly a single tear fell slowly from the man’s eye as if it the glasses had managed to awaken something long locked away.

“Is that..?” Scott started to ask on impulse, unable to silence his curiosity.

“You!” Hissed Axel with cold fury as if he had intruded in something private and forbidden.

“Back into the depths you go, you poor innocent soul,” the radioactive green-eyed man. Suddenly the darkness was rising thick as London’s fog, and the last thing he saw before all was consumed was the man’s cruel grin dissolving into blank emptiness.

[failedthetopikexam]

[Lyric Translation] NCT U - Misfit

The end of the first part of NCT season is almost with us, so someone asked me if I could translate a song from the album. I chose to do Misfit since it has an MV and I only translated the verses from the MV since its a song PACKED full of new vocabulary. All the tricky vocabulary is under the cut (some really useful new words in there!)

Main vocabulary (in order of appearance)

맞다 = to be correct, to be right

자체 = self, oneself

숨이 턱턱 막히다 = to be suffocating, stifling

숨 = breath

턱턱 = easily, completely

막히다 = to be blocked, stopped

입다 = to wear

느낌 = feeling, sense

지겹다 = boring, tedious

고민 없다 = without worry

고민 = worry, anguish

끌어내리다 = to drag down, to take down, to demote

애써 = with effort, laboriously, with force

재단하다 = to judge, to cut out

됐다 = that’s enough

이대로 = like this, as it is

의심 = doubt

그저 = just

방법 = way, means, manner

맞추다 = to be in harmony, adapt, adjust

어림없다 = impossible, absurd, preposterous

비슷하다 = similar, to be like

모습 = appearance, look, form

더욱 = more, further

거슬리다 = to be irritated, be offended

날아가다 = to fly, to fly away, to be gone

때 = time, moment

마치다 = to be crazy

어차피 = in any case, anyway

마음대로 = as one likes, as you want

언제나 = all the time, always

튀어나오다 = to protrude, stick out, pop out

다치다 = to be hurt, injured

아무도 = nobody

막지 못하다 = to not stop, to not block

막하 = to block, close, enclose, stop

억지로 = reluctantly, forcibly

똑같다 = exactly the same, identical

틀 = mold, frame, framework

끼워 넣다가다 = to put in

끼다 = to stick in, to fasten

넣다가다 = to put in

부쉬버리다 = to break completely

부수다 = to break, smash, destroy

버리다 = to throw away, discard

지키다 = to guard, defend, protect OR to obey, observe

법 = law, act, rule

적당히 = adequately

멈추다 = to stop, halt

규칙 = rule

묻다 = to ask, inquire

따르다 = to follow

듯 = like

채우다 = to fill

목줄 = leash

짓밟다 = to trample, stamp on

높다 = high

조준 = aiming

따분하다 = boring, dreary

늘어놓다 (늘어놔) = to harp on, to speak at length

뻔하다 = evident, clear

닿다 = to reach, arrive

뻗다 = to stretch, extend, straighten

입 = mouth

쩍 = with a smack, crack, split

벌어지다 = to widen, to part, to broaden

분위기 = atmosphere, mood

파악 = understanding, figure out, realise

태도 = attitude

늘 = always, often

이기다 = to win, beat

기분 = mood, feelings

발아래 = below one’s feet

깨버리다 = to break completely

깨다 = to break, shatter

믿다 = to believe

식겁하다 = to freakify

삐딱하다 = to be slanted, askew

마주치다 = to happen to meet, eyes meet

망설이다 = to hesitate

갈 길 = long road ahead

멀다 = to be distant, far off

똑바로 = straight, truthfully

걷다 = to walk

전부 = all, everything

비스듬하다 = askew

Key Grammar

VERB -(으)ㄹ수록 = The more ______ the more ______

ADJ/VERB/NOUN -어/아야 되다 = have to ___ , must ____

ADJ/VERB/NOUN -(으)ㄹ 텐데 = Expresses the expected future state of something

ADJ/VERB/NOUN -(으)ㄹ지도 모르다 = It might...; You don’t know if...

VERB -지 말고 _____ = don’t do ____, do ______

NOUN -뿐 = Nothing more than ____ ; Only / Just

[griffinsandpeacocks]

GET UP & WRITE! Section 3: “It’s a genetic trait, but it’s exceptionally rare.”

Vararis was used to the staring. Even his own clanmates had. Apparently his father had been like him, the pale skin and white silver hair with the striking lavender eyes. He wished sometimes he’d gone to his father’s clan... He wanted to know if his father’s father or mother had the same thing. He wanted to see if he still had family that were alive that shared his looks. He had never seen anyone with his appearance and it bothered him at times. He was an oddity even among the Dalish that reveled in their self chosen outcast lifestyle. He missed his clan though. At least though at times new comers and children would stare at him at least after a time it stopped after some time. 

He was an accomplished clan hunter. He’d chased countless threats off hunted dangerous wildlife and brought in as much as any other hunter as far as food and leathers if not more. He sits on the log looking out over the forest on the small cliff they’d made camp at. It offered a great vantage one way up and it was easy to see the path even in the moonlight. Well... For him at least. The humans might struggle with it. The dwarf would period given he was drunk if he could help it. He tilts his head and keeps watch.

“Can I help you, Crow?” He asks softly and Zevran chuckles behind him.

“I got closer this time.” He teases and Vararis chuckles.

“So you did... Now the question is was it by my grace or by your skill? Even should you come into knife range, you’ll struggle taking me out without a fierce fight. I’ve been on a buck’s horns Zev, even a poisoned blade will not help you against me if my life is on the line.” Vararis says staring out into the night the other taking a seat by him on the log looking out over the trees in curiosity.

“What do you see?” He asks and Vararis smiles softly.

“Freedom.” He says softly a found light in his eyes as he looks over to Zevran.

“In a wild land?” The golden elf asks curious and Vararis smiles and looks back at the camp. He sees Shale watch the path and stands.

“Follow me, I’ll show you.” He says and Zevran trails after him as he walks down the path waving at the golem as he goes past. Shale watches curious but says nothing and keeps watch. The elves go down the path and Vararis takes a deep breath smiling as they enter the tree line. 

“The wild has no humans or any other to tether you by petty laws, the only law in places like this are the laws of the wild. You have no one to master you here, and more often than not it is your skills that keep you alive. This is freedom, dear crow. No cage to cull your wings, no leash keeping you in arms reach. Just trees and the wild beasts under them. No concerns but those of your own.” Vararis says looking up at the moon in a break under the branches of the oaks and pines. His skin and hair glow in the pale light his eyes seem to gleam like a cut gem and Zevran feels a shiver run through him as those eyes meet his.

“You’re coloring is rare, I’ve never seen anyone who looks like you, pale as moonlight with eyes like belladonna.” Zevran purrs moving closer and Vararis laughs softly.

“It’s a genetic trait, but it’s exceptionally rare. My father was like this. I never met him, thus like you I have never seen any other that shares this oddity.” Vararis sighs looking back up at the moon and stars and Zevran hums as he moves closer. Vararis doesn’t tense nor does he so much as flinch when Zevran curls his arms around him. 

“Oddities are not always bad... In this case you are a rare beauty.” Zevran purrs and Vararis tilts his head slightly to look back at the taller elf.

“Bold of you to flirt with someone who has enough reason to hold you at knife point.” He says watching the other gasping as hands slide down to his hips. He can feel the blush rising to his face but keeps focused on the caramel face with wolfish amber eyes.

“Is that a promise, my dear Warden? I would not turn down you holding one to my throat as you put me in my place...” The Crow purrs and Vararis shivers and growls lowly at the other uncertain of what to do. yes Zevran was clearly advancing on him. He’d flirt with Alistair but... He sighs and shakes his head and pulls away he looks at the other elf confused.

“You heard the flustered gush Alistair babbled when he realized I’ve been flirting?” Vararis is confused the other had been flirting with him on and off but it was clear he did that to everyone there’d never been any straightforward advances like that one until now. Zevran tilts his head smirking in that devilish way of his and cocks his hip hand resting on it as he gestures vaguely.

“You mean the poor attempt to let you down gently?” Zevran asks and Vararis sighs and shakes his head.

“He did more damage to his own ego than mine. He just struggled to word it in such a way as to not offend either of us. As he said, I’m pretty but he’s never thought of other men like I have. I can respect that, but now I’m curious, Crow, why are you showing such advances now, rather than before, after seeing I was in fact rather willing to flirt with those of my own gender?” Vararis asks and he circles the Crow who watches him turning his head rather than turning to keep his eyes on the pale shade. 

“You were quite enamored with our other Warden. Who was I to object?” Zevran asks and Vararis stops behind the Crow surprised when Zevran just looks up and doesn't turn to look at him. He creeps closer silent and wonders at Zevran’s trust. He had plenty of reason to kill the assassin, after all who knew if h wouldn’t try again?

“Why do you trust me? I have no reason to fully trust that you won’t try again.” Vararis says softly smirking at the slight jump in the blond’s shoulders. He still had it then.

“You’re too kind in heart.” Zevran says simply and Vararis paused. 

“What makes you say that?” He asks and Zevran look down and at the smaller elf who looks off balance and Zevran knows Vararis is aware of the reason Zevran thinks that way.

“Not only did you spare me, when faced with your old clan mate you couldn’t hurt him. We nearly lost you to an elf falling to The Blight’s madness.” Zevran says softly and Vararis paused and blinks feeling tears start up. He still struggled with Tamlen’s death Zevran had pulled Tamlen off him it had been Zevran who’d killed him but Vararis had been shaking and unable to even speak properly until the day after that night. He’d been silent for a whole day. He’d mourned before but to have seen how much suffering Tamlen had gone through... It was something he’d been unprepared for.

“I never thanked you for saving my life.” Vararis says trying hard not to cry. Zevran shakes his head and lifts his chin.

“Don’t. I had to kill someone you cared about.” Zevran states and Vararis looks away.

“You put an end to his pain when I could not. I do not say thank you for killing him, I say thank you for helping end his suffering when all I could do was cry as I only saw my lost friend. You helped him when I faltered, so thank you. Thank you for doing what I could not.” Vararis says softly and Zevran sighs and places a gentle kiss to the smaller elf’s brow. He had been shown a world of kindness by this smaller elf, who showered him in the same affection and attention as the rest who followed him. Vararis was a fountain of compassion and care though when his ire was stirred his wrath was like a storm. Yet when he was calm he was a passionate care giver. He saw to others needs long before his own. It was intriguing to Zevran who only knew others to be cruel masters holding keys they’d never release. Yet this elf held out his key waiting for him to take it. Yet the decision he would make was still his on how to implement that key.

“You would have died, my life was at stake.” Zevran shrugs looking to the side to divert the tension building. The elf smiles.

“No, Alistair would have let you walk away. I asked him. He admits he would have let you walk away, with the warning that should you try a second time he’d be less merciful. If you think I’m soft at heart Alistair is a damned puppy. Speaking of, hello Fen.” Vararis turns and crouched as his mabari comes trotting up a rabbit clamped in his jaws his stump of a tail and entire backside wiggling as he happily drops it for Vararis and wiggles as he’s given attention. The silver grey dog snorts and trots off with his rabbit directed back to camp by his master.

“So I’m underestimating the bard.” Zevran chirps and Vararis tilts his head and laughs.

“You’ve a point there. I didn’t think about Morrigan nor Leliana. They might not be forgiving, you’ve a point. Yet again, why are you suddenly taking your flirting further? I’m confused. I am not exactly a prime choice, I’m a moody and easily riled wild elf with few manners.” Vararis asks and Zevran chuckles and circles the pale elf and Vararis gets the sense of a wolf again but he’s faced full packs alone and thus this single winged predator does little to phase him he merely watches.

“I enjoy pretty things... Dangerous things... You fill out both of those quite well so consider myself as quite enthralled now that I’ve a glimmer of a chance since your fellow Warden is no longer a competitor as it were.” Zevran says and Vararis wonders at everything. He’d never done anything. Dalish custom was rather strict on such things but he really, really, did not want to die a virgin.

“So now that you don’t have to fight for my attention you’ve swooped in to see if you might get to ravish the pretty little nightshade flower?” Vararis asks and there’s a gleeful flash in those amber eyes.

“Why my dear Warden, if a flower you are, then I am more than entranced! It’s always sweeter to make them melt as those petals fall.” Zevran purrs and Vararis looks away. 

“I do not want to die a flower. Yet I do not like the idea of being that vulnerable... It is something new to me. Being among the trees on my own with wolves on my heels I know full well but this... I am uncertain if I can make such a jump. At least not all in a single leap. If you’re looking for an easy catch I’m afraid I’m not going to be easy to convince to lay down and take it.” Vararis states blushing but Zevran finds he likes the way it looks on the Warden, it highlights the twisting branches in amethyst purple that mark him as devote to Mythal. 

“Then perhaps I could convince you to press me down and let me take it?” He asks and Vararis blinks at him in shock. The confidence and sultry behavior makes the dalish elf off balanced. He thinks about it. Would this even be a good idea? If this was a ploy could he escape it in time? Should he be selfish?

“Perhaps...” Vararis says softly walking further into the woods wondering if the other will follow. Hearing his steps Vararis smiles softly as he twists through trees to a meadow he recalls them passing by. When he breaks the tree line having worked up to a slow jog as he kept just ahead of the assassin. When he breaks the tree line he slides into the grass and wild flowers almost vanishing but breaking Zevran’s sight of him just enough he looses track.

“Ah a test then, my dear Warden? Hunt and be hunted?” He asks and Vararis chuckles having slowly worked his way around he pounces surprised the other turns, though Vararis still won the fight pinning the other elf down with a soft grin on his face.

“You still played it, My crow, and won in a sense. You felt me coming at you and reacted quicker than I thought you would. If, well... If you don’t mind walking me through it I suppose I wouldn’t mind getting a lesson, Master Arainai.” Vararis is bright pink and Zevran chuckles and grins.

“Are all southerners so shy with these things? Though if you would like to call it a lesson I suppose I shall have to be quite thorough, and hands on, yes?” He asks and Vararis coughs softly a blush on his pale face and it stands out starkly in contrast to the pale skin. Which explains the cloth he often has covering most of his face now that Zevran thinks on it. Such pale skin must burn so easily.

“I am not acustomed to talking about it we’ll be among a clan soon and you might see why. It’s a bit... Well to put it plainly no one does anything til they marry alright? I have not a clue what I’m doing, not for lack of trying mind you. I heard you laugh at a few attempts.” He mutters glowering at the elf under him as Zevran cackles head thrown back as a grin makes his face light up in warmth.

“I’m so sorry, my dear Warden, you call those attempts. ‘I admire many things about you...’” Zevran cackles and the other elf rolls his eyes. 

“Yes, yes, pick on me all you like I got my point across. As well as turned down, moving on.” Vararis says and Zevran chuckles and gently traces his hands up strong thighs to run over slim sides to tug the other down to him.

“Shall I walk you through how to take me or shall I lay here and let you ride me?” He asks and the other blushes and wonders what he wanted from the golden temptation he has pinned.

“I’ve never done this, what do you prefer?” Vararis asks and Zevran blinks at him confused.

“I like to take and be taken, lovely Warden. So long as both limp away satisfied I mind little the means to do so.” He answers and Vararis is still pink he leans down feeling hands weave into his hair he closes his eyes and sighs before kissing the Antivan. 

“Just stop teasing me and show me whatever it is I’ve supposedly been missing.” Vararis teases and Zevran smirks.

“Gladly.” Zevran purrs as his hands slide to the ties and clasps of the armor. Vararis paused and leans back.

“This might be a better idea in a tent at camp... We’re too far out to be safe.” Vararis is nervous and he’d admit he might be stalling. Zevran hums softly and nods.

“You’ve a point.” The antivan sighs and Vararis stands and pulls the other up with him. When they get back to camp it’s with no incidents and Fen plops down outside the tent flap and Vararis feels shivers as he sets his boots aside and removes his armor going through the motions. He jumps as a hand trails down his back.

“Quite flawless... I see no scars yet, fascinating...” Zevran purrs and Vararis goes tense he looks back at the bare chested elf. Tattoos swirl over him and they draw in the Warden’s attention.

“I have several they’re at my chest though. One from a buck that charged me and several others from the arrows that nearly killed me in that forsaken tower at Ostagar. You really find the flawless skin that attractive?” He asks feeling oddly nervous and now shamed. Zevran chuckles.

“Scars or no, both hold their own cahrm after all these are scars.” Zevran explains taking the pale hand and placing it on a tattoo showing the raised skin. Vararis traced them, full well understanding the marks.

“Mine are the same... Though we call them something different. Blood writing in common. So... Am I in the lead or are you?” Vararis asks uncertainly. 

“I can, or I can teach you to master me, what do you desire?” He asks and Vararis caves then, the needy side to him he constantly ignores rears it’s head. He doesn’t want to give any more, he needs a reprieve.

“Take me... I want to submit for just a night and forget everything just a moment.” Vararis says softly and Zevran smirks and tugs the smaller elf close and kisses him distracting him so he can unties their pants. 

“Shall we get rid of these then?” The assassin purrs and Vararis blushed but stripped, he isn’t certain he enjoys the oddly vulnerable feeling but forgets his nervousness as Zevran guides him down onto his back and nips at his neck grinning at the soft hiss and slight sting of nails at his shoulders.

“Don’t mark where armor won’t cover... I rather not here the clan berate me...” Vararis growls and Zevran chuckles eyes flashing at the challenge. He nips down along a collar keeping note of the softer pleased sounds and the sharper pained whines as he picks the Warden apart as he explores and teases him. Vararis keeps himself in remarkable control biting his knuckles to silence the most of his sounds and muffle the others.

“Zev... If you don’t do something more than tease soon I’m going to lose my mind.” Vararis gasps after some time of squirming under the crow that teases him. Zevran chuckles and beckons with fingers he’s steadily worked the other elf open with making the man under him twitch with a gasp as he writhes seeking more.

“See...? It’s not that hard, my dear, just give in and let me please you, yes?” Zevran purrs and Vararis gasps just nodding with an eager acceptance. He whimpers and muffles it again wincing as he arched into a sudden warm heat he looks down his face a bright blush as he watched Zevran suck him off.

“If you keep up I won’t be able to... Gah, Creators if you keep that up...” Vararis hissed shivering a hand shakily threading into blond hair. Zevran pulls back chuckling. 

“Alright my dear Warden... I’ll give you what you want.” He purrs and Vararis watches with hazed lavender eyes and Zevran has to admit the Warden looks good tussled up like this littered with bright marks from teeth marking him up. He wants to tattoo the elf mark him deeper than his teeth can. For longer. He is glad that his oil works for this and cleaning his gear and weapons as he slicks his cock and slowly slides into the smaller elf who tensed gasping as his eyes close his brow furrowing as he fights the bodily instinct as Zevran hissed next to his throat about needing to relax. Vararis let’s his nails bite into caramel tan shoulders and he leans up kissing the other needing a distraction gasping at something in his sends out a sudden wave of sensation that catches him off guard.

“Creators...” He whimpers as he tucks his head against the nape of Zevran’s neck gasping softly as he wraps his legs around the slim waist and he bites low on the other’s neck barely where armor will cover moaning softly as that earns him a buck from his bed mate. It dissolves to soft requests for more and soft whines as Zevran encourages the other to bite and claw to his heart’s content. Vararis enjoys it waking up Zevran’s gone already and the pale elf sighs softly having not expected more he was after all not one for attachment. 

He smiles as he dressed even so, he had some bruises he was going to enjoy quite a bit. He skips out and acts like nothing is different even if everything does feel different. 

[omgilostmyshoe]

Sabriel Week 2019. Day Six: Neighbours/Roommates

Waiting for Superman

(title from the song by Daughtry)

Rating: T

Pairing: Sabriel

Wordcount:  2028

Tags and Warnings: Human AU, K9 Unit Officer Sam Winchester, Author Gabriel, Aromantic Gabriel, Tooth-rotting fluff.

@sabrielevents

What to do when you find a stranger in your hallway, trying to get to the neighbor that is no longer there? You can try giving some advice on the cheap hotels nearby or just ignore him. Sam, however, is the officer of the law and cannot just let the man vanish into the night. Especially, such a cute man. So, he might as well offer him to stay until morning... Or until death does them apart.

"Police, freeze! Hands where I can see them!" 

Sam reacts instinctively when he finds a stranger, trying to get into his neighbor's closed door.

The man in question freezes, following the commands, even though all Sam has is the dog on a leash. Which is actually quite a lot, considering that said dog is a trained police animal. 

"Turn around and identify yourself!" 

Again, the man complies instantly, his face changing from slightly concerned to surprised, when he sees the one who was giving out the orders. Sam knows that out of the uniform, without his badge or a gun, all of which are in the apartment, he can't really prove that he's a cop. 

But he stands his ground, just as the dog at his side also stared down a possible foe. 

"I'm Gabriel Novak. Just flew in, planned to crash in with my girlfriend, Ro. She lives there." The man still doesn't lower his arms, just points with one finger at the door he was fiddling with. "But it seems nobody is home..."

"She moved out. About a week ago. Said she's moving to Europe or something. And please, lower your arms... You can relax." 

The more Sam talks, the more Gabriel face falls. He's handsome, but visibly tired, the dust of the road and lightning of the hall accentuating the lines of his face. 

While wondering, what to do, Sam automatically pats the dog at his side, who relaxed as his owner does.

His neighbor was rather adventurous, her apartment always filled with new people, men and women alike. She loved to talk, but never would confess her own name. Her favorite subject of gossip though, when she managed to catch Sam, were her numerous lovers. 

Mostly it was in some odd hours of the night, when after the double shift or an emergency, Sam was returning after a dog walk. The woman would glide out of her apartment--her gait couldn't be described any other way--and just start talking. 

So this is how he knows, sort of, who the man before him is. 

He was one of her more or less steady flames, Gabe, as she called him. Author of some books or something, always on the move, always traveling. Which is why their meetings were very few and far in between, but so hot she could not help herself but to "keep him," as she put it. Except now he wanted something more permanent, settling in New York for at least a year, and in the last conversation, Ro was lamenting how, "Gabe was getting clingy". 

Apparently, her way of saying goodbye to clingy lovers was to move to the other side of the world without warning. Or anything. 

"So... What's his name?" 

Gabriel is the first to break the awkward silence, watching the dog at Sam's feet with a weak smile. 

"Dogmeat." Sam grits out, readying himself for a joke, that he heard plenty, but Gabriel surprises him. He only lightly laughs and nods, winking at the animal. 

"Good choice, and very good look alike. Though I certainly would like your version better if I could pet him." 

It seems surprises would never cease today, as Dogmeat does the maximum his ironclad training allows. He quietly whines and tugs at the leash lightly, indicating that he would very much like to be petted by Gabriel. With a cautious stare, Sam hesitates, looking from the German shepherd to Gabriel again.

"So, no problems with dogs?"

"Is loving them too much counts as a problem?" 

Sam chuckles and releases the dog, giving a freeing command. Dogmeat runs like a torpedo, paws scrambling on the slippery tile floor. 

His furry body collides with Gabriel legs and the dog whines and wags his tail happily as the man immediately starts petting him. 

Soon, Dogmeat is on the floor, all four legs up, his belly exposed for the expert rubs that Gabriel bestows, and Sam is left just to stare in amazement. 

Even though his dog's reactions are the perfect judge of character already he, after getting permission, still snaps a pic of Gabriel, focusing on his face. The man probably thinks it's for a cute moment with the dog--which it is, partially--but Sam also sends the pic to Jody, asking to run an urgent background check and attaches a name. 

In the meantime, Dogmeat having gotten plenty of belly rubs now stands and starts licking all over Gabriel's face, neck and even his hair. 

Sam just got to save the poor man, a quiet call of dog's name enough to stop the shower of slobbery affections, and Gabriel nods gratefully. 

He wisely doesn't speak before getting a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping his face of the worst of the damage. 

"He likes you," Sam announces, perhaps a bit unnecessary, after the clear approval his dog shown this man. 

"Well, at least somebody does, that's good." 

He jokes, and smiles again, but Sam can see the exhaustion that weighs on him, and it's probably not all physical. Going to somebody you care about, expecting to find at least a place to rest and a friendly face, and finding only the closed door... That must be harsh. 

"You don't seem so bad to me either," Sam gives up, smirking, and finally this gets his a more genuine and energetic response. He likes as Gabriel's face morphs and he smirks in return, winking again, now to Sam, which is just as effective as it was on his dog. He can’t say he’s ready to drop on all fours before the man just yet, but it’s a pretty close call.  

"Which is why I'm gonna do you a favor." 

"Oh?" 

As Sam finally goes to unlock his door, Dogmeat glued to his side in the familiar formation, Gabriel tenses. Sam notices but does not comment, just gestures to the couple of suitcases, that are tucked in the corner of the hall. 

"You need a place to stay the night, at least. As an officer of the law, I can't in good conscience simply leave you out in the cold at,” He checks his watch, “4 am." He then opens the door and ushers the dog inside, who promptly lays down at her appointed spot, waiting for the wash and feeding. 

"So, you actually are a cop? Can I see the badge?" 

A curious tilt of the head cannot hide a guarded stare Gabriel levels him with. 

"Sure," that request is easy and actually sensible, making Sam like the man more and more, and with just a half a minute rummaging in the apartment, he shows off his credentials to Gabriel. Who hasn't moved much, though Sam noticed he and his suitcases had shifted a little closer to the exit, ready to bolt if needed with minimum casualties. 

Sam smiles approvingly, wishing every citizen would be as vigilant and careful with their life and health. Perhaps then he wouldn't need to work as much. 

On the other hand, that way, he might have not caught this late shift. 

He might not have met Gabriel. 

Who finally surrenders and rolls the suitcases in, while accessing Sam's home with a curious glance. 

Dogmeat wags his tail happily from his spot, watching two people interact, talk, and touch. 

It's just a random connection, as Sam helps Gabriel to shrug off the tangled coat. 

But as Gabriel lifts his amber eyes, hand not moving from Sam's bare forearms, sending a wave of goosebumps from the contact, he speaks, low and serious. 

"Thank you, Superman." 

"You're welcome... What?" 

And then Gabriel breaks out in a fit of giggles, breaking the moment and the contact, pointing at Sam's shirt, that does bear the symbol of the aforementioned superhero.

"You still haven't told me your name." 

Sam blushes, running a hand through his hair and huffing and embarrassed laugh himself. 

"Sorry. Sam Winchester. It's nice to meet you." 

They shake hands, and there it is again. 

Eye contact, catching, getting a lot longer than necessary, and Sam feels as his palm is enveloped in both of Gabriel's hands now, warm and dry. 

"It truly is." 

Sam turns in the bed, trying to escape the sun shining through the crack in the curtains. 

As soon as he settles back into the warm cocoon of blankets and pillows and blessed darkness however, there is a broad wet tongue on his face, licking him thoroughly. 

"Gabe, leave me alone. Day offff..." Sam mumbled, half asleep, hiding his face below his arms, shoving the loving attention away. Because really, he was promised a good rest tonight with as much sleep as he could handle. 

"Wow, now I feel really offended, you can't even tell the difference between us." 

Mocking remark sounds from the foot of the bed, definitely not from anywhere near his head, and Sam jumps up, eyes bleary, and trying to kick his brain into working mode.  

He relaxes, finding Gabriel, not on the bed, only standing near, a tray laden with dishes in his hands. 

The check of the bed reveals a bouncy Dogmeat, who's blinking happily at Sam. 

"Off the bed! Now!" 

The dog scatters off, properly shamed. For the moment, at least, until Gabe finds another way to sneak some treats to him or something. 

Gabriel stalks closer, settling a tray across Sam's knees above the blanket. It is barely able to fit all the mugs, plates and saucers stacked onto it, all filled with delicious foods, and two main dishes even covered with fancy metallic domes. 

"What's the occasion, Gabe? This seems like a lot." 

He knows the answer, but he just likes to hear it. So he asks. 

"Well, today

the day. It has been whole three years since we became roommates." Gabriel announces dramatically, even finishing off with a flashy shake of his hair, that got a lot longer, brown curls reaching his shoulders now.

"Seriously? Roommates? That's what you're going with?" 

It is hard to keep a straight face while Gabriel does his thing, pouting and staring imploringly. 

"Roommates with benefits?" Under Sam's raising his brows, unimpressed, and him fighting a smile, that probably got his face in a strange twitching grimace, Gabe gives up. 

"Okay, okay. Three years anniversary, my lovely boyfriend Superman. I'm happy you're still with me, and, as astounding that is, still love me." 

Sam ignores the pet name, that of course stuck--Dean laughed his ass off at that one--and pulls his boyfriend into a grateful kiss. 

After a tender and long moment they separate, barely, Gabe smiling softly. Sam though, he looks into the amber eyes deeply, not searching or waiting for anything. He is long made his peace with how they are. 

"Always. Happy anniversary." 

The next kiss is longer, lingering, Sam clutching onto Gabe's thin shirt to tug him closer. They stop only when the tray clangs alarmingly, and both giggle before moving everything around. 

Gabe slides under the blanket, cuddling to Sam's side and--dramatic as ever--reveals the first dish, lifting the dome covering.

The plate is practically drowning in maple syrup that drips from the impressive stack of fresh pancakes. 

"That's... very sweet," Mumbles Sam, eyeing the stack. 

"Indeed it is, which is exactly why I cooked it for myself. Yours is this one, my favorite health nut." 

And with a loud smooch to the cheek, Gabe lifts the dome from the second plate, this one with totally different contents. A bowl with oatmeal--egg, steamed vegetables, and a little cheese on top--front and center, its aroma and sight mouthwatering. It is surrounded by different kinds of toasts: avocado, more vegetables, fresh this time, mixed in with Sam's favorite Italian cheeses. 

"Thank you, Gabe... This is perfect." 

It really is, the tray filled with both of their favorite items, lovingly prepared and carefully arranged. Gabe waves off the gratitude, but his smile says it all. 

Before digging into the feast, Sam steals another thorough kiss from his boyfriend, deep and passionate. 

They even actually manage to eat before falling into bed to satisfy a different hunger and between more kisses, Sam whispers, again and again, 

"You are perfect. I love you." 

[daegudoll-blog]

This is why I don’t socialise

PAIRING : Kim Taehyung x Reader

Word Count : 3.03k

Genre : Who knows at this point but also a hybrid au

Warnings : Some swear words and you are a bit of a trusting dumbass but whatever

The year was 2018 and science had honestly reached a level that it should have avoided at all costs. Some sort of madman who went by the anonymous name ‘JJ’ had managed to fuse together animal and human DNA, creating what was now commonly referred to as hybrids. They were humans with animal-like features, and as of right now, they were seen as the property of normal humans, rather than actual people. It was extremely heartbreaking, and there were many groups of people attempting to change the laws about hybrids so they’d be considered actual citizens rather than property, but many more people in power were fine leaving the laws how they were right now, and the government seemed happy to keep it that way. It meant less work for them, and lord knows the government hated doing actual work.

You were apart of the small minority of people that believed hybrids deserved human rights. I mean, your parents had adopted a dog hybrid that had been the same age as you when you were a mere child, so you had grown up thinking of hybrids as humans with extra appendages rather than the animal's society saw them as. When you had gotten old enough to move away from your parents home, and into your two bedroom house, you decided to volunteer at a hybrid rescue shelter whenever you weren’t working. It was undoubtedly time-consuming, and you can’t remember the last time you’d really had time to yourself, but you couldn’t complain. After all, working at the shelter was extremely rewarding in your eyes. The shelter was run by a couple that also believed in hybrid rights; therefore all the hybrids underneath their care were treated as people rather than animals. Plus, it probably helped that one half of the couple was actually a black cat hybrid. It was amazing, honestly and the hybrids always seemed to appreciate the shelter and the fact that they could live relatively lovely lives in the shelter. There were those occasional untrusting hybrids that had awful pasts involving humans, like the black panther hybrid Min Yoongi, but even they seemed to warm up to the prospect of living in the shelter eventually. I mean, Yoongi ended up warming up to the shelter because of a fox hybrid which he had taken a particular liking to, not to mention he grew to enjoy your company as well.

Currently, you were wandering around the shelter. You had completed all the jobs assigned to you that night and, well, you had a rare bit of free time. So, you decided to head to the room of one of your absolute favourite hybrids. His name was Jung Hoseok, and he was the sweetest fox hybrid you think you had ever met. He was always cheering up those around him, always smiling even if he didn't feel that well himself. He was selfless, and that’s what had drawn you to him. You’d honestly consider him a close friend… Although saying that out loud could be dangerous. After all, you considering Hoseok a friend was extremely taboo in the eyes of society and it was frowned upon.

You knocked on the door of his room, and quicker than you could process, the door was thrown open, and you were pulled inside. A yelp of surprise left you, but quickly you were shushed by Hoseok, the one that had grabbed you.

“Y/N, we have to be quiet. Yoongi fell asleep in my room.” The orange haired male whispered, nodding his head in the general direction of his bed. Upon looking over to the bed, you noticed a mop of black hair and a lithe body curled up rather comfortably, soft breaths leaving the bodies lips. Cute.

“Right, right. Sorry, Hobi.” You responded in an equally as quiet voice, gaze snapping back to Hoseok as you offered a somewhat sheepish smile. Said male’s ears twitched a little, but a bright grin made its way onto his lips.

“What brings you here? Usually, you’re too busy… unless you handed over all your work to the new intern! But you wouldn’t do that, would you?” Hoseok’s head tilted to the side as he spoke in a teasing tone. Your eyes narrowed into slits, and you let out a feline-like hiss.

“That was one time!” You whisper yelled, a childish pout making its way onto your lips. About two weeks ago you were feeling somewhat exhausted, and the new intern Jimin seemed more than happy to do anything to please you so you might’ve… given him a few extra jobs so you wouldn’t have to do them. It only happened once, though! Hoseok had yet to let either of you live it down…

“But I got off early, so I came to visit yo-” Your words were cut off when Hoseok let out a loud gasp. When he realised how loud he had just been, his gaze darted to a still sleeping Yoongi, and he let out a relieved breath.

“You got off early. You have no work… And instead of going home to get some much needed ‘me time’, you decided to instead come here. Tell me, am I missing anything?” He asked rhetorically, shaking his head just a bit, not even waiting for your answer. “Y/N, go home! I’ll still be here tomorrow, but when’s the last time you got some alone time, hm?”

You opened your mouth to protest, only to realise that he was right, so you were left standing there, gaping like a fish out of water. You eventually snapped your mouth closed, puffing out your cheeks a little as you thought of what to say. You could try to argue, but Hoseok was right. You very rarely got time off… hell, you can’t remember the last time you had any time to yourself. You were such a busy person that whenever you got home, you usually just went straight to bed to sleep the night away.

“I hate that you make a good point.” You muttered quietly, turning away from Hoseok, so you were able to open up his door. Just before you walked out, you turned your head to face Hoseok and offered the fox hybrid a small smile. “See you tomorrow, Hobi. When Yoongi wakes up tell him, I say hi.” and with that you walked out, gently shutting the door behind you.

You wandered down the hallway of the shelter, slowly but surely making your way to the exit, bidding goodbye to those you crossed paths with. Once you exited the shelter, you plugged your headphones into your phone, pressing the ‘shuffle’ button above your usual playlist so you’d have some form of entertainment on your walk back to your home. It was only a ten-minute walk, but still, those ten minutes often seemed like an eternity of walking when you had to do it alone.

As you walked home, you passed by many buildings that held signs that all practically said ‘no hybrids allowed unless attached to leashes’. It made you sick, honestly. People believed that hybrids were property- that they were animals instead of intelligent beings.

You picked up your pace, and eventually, you reached the front door of your beloved home. It was a quaint space, nothing too large or too small. It was honestly the perfect size for you, and you even had a spare room for those who wished to visit you! Your home was decorated in a rather minimalistic way, with pictures of you and your family hung up on a majority of the walls. You had a habit of baking a lot too, so there was always a sweet trace of vanilla throughout your entire home.

You paused your music and unplugged your headphones, haphazardly throwing them onto the surface of a little table as you walked past. Now that you were home, you weren’t quite sure what to do. It’d been so long since you had last gotten time by yourself…

You stood in the middle of the hallway of your home, pondering what to do with your rare bit of free time when a loud crash coming from your kitchen snapped your attention away from your thoughts. Oh my god, what the hell? Was someone breaking into your apartment? At 5 in the afternoon? The sun was still out! What sort of stupid ass criminal would even attempt to pull this?

You knew deciding to investigate the source of noise would most likely be your demise in some sort of cheesy horror movie, but unlike more characters in those movies, you decided to take a weapon along with you. Well, not a weapon, but a picture in a rather heavy frame. Hey, if you got attacked at least, you could hit the offender! Blunt force trauma could be quite painful and debilitating if done right.

You began to silently tiptoe towards your kitchen entrance, and upon reaching it, you literally jumped through the doorway, holding the picture frame above you, more than prepared to whack whoever was in your kitchen. Your eyebrows were furrowed in pure concentration, eyes scrunched, and you couldn’t help but let out a small screech. “DON’T FUCK WITH ME, I HAVE THE POWER OF GOD AND ANIME ON MY SIDE!” You yelled at the top of your lungs, about to bring the picture frame down onto the offenders head when a panicked yell stopped you. You almost dropped your picture in shock, but luckily at the very last second, you managed to get a firm grip on it once more.

“Please don’t hurt me!” A deep voice replied, his volume only a few notches lower than yours. Your eyes snapped open and immediately your gaze focused on a… a tiger hybrid. That’s what you thought he was, at least. He had sandy blonde hair that fell over his eyes, and you were sure it was impairing his vision, but he seemed alright- on top of his head, peeking out of his hair were two fluffy ears. On either side of his neck, stripes were adorning his skin, disappearing underneath his shirt. He also had canines that you could only barely see due to the fact he was frowning a little.

“What… the fuck?” You questioned, lowering your frame, but still holding it so if he attacked you could at least attempt to fight back. “Why are you here? How did you get in-” Your gaze travelled behind him as you spoke, realising there was an open window he must’ve climbed through. Usually, there was a vase filled with flowers resting on that windowsill, but now the vase was utterly shattered on the floor, flowers and dirt also making a complete mess you’d have to clean up. So much for time to relax, right?

“I’m sorry! Please, don’t hurt me.” The hybrid practically begged you, eyes wide with a very terrified look in his eye. He flinched a little whenever you moved too. It was kind of… sad to see, honestly. You’d have a bit of sympathy if he hadn’t, you know, broken into your house.

“I won’t hurt you- unless you try to attack me because if you do that, then we gotta get on even playing fields, you know?” You pursed your lips. “Anyways, why the hell are you in my house? And why did you make such a mess? Kinda rude.”

“I…” The hybrid hesitated in speaking, to which you quirked a brow. “I escaped from a hybrid zoo, and this was the only place with an open window.” He blurted out in a single breath, his words blurring together. You were only able to hear a portion of what he had said, but with your brilliant human brain, you were able to understand what he had blurted out.

“You escaped? The hybrid zoo?” Your head tilted to the side, face scrunching up a little in confusion. The hybrid nodded quickly to confirm your words. “I- okay.” You puffed out your cheeks rather childishly, unsure of what to do. “Uhhhh, what’s your name?” You questioned.

“Taehyung! Kim Taehyung.” The hybrid- no, Taehyung answered you. “I’m sorry for breaking in, I have nowhere else to go, and your window was the only unlocked one I could find.”

“It’s… okay, I guess.” You paused. “As long as you don’t try to kill me then we won’t have a problem. You said you came from a zoo, right?” Taehyung nodded his head rapidly. “So that must mean you don’t have a home to go back to… and if you go wandering around again, especially now that it’s getting dark, you’ll probably get attacked.” A drawn out sigh escaped your slightly chapped lips. “You can stay here the night, then in the morning you can come to a hybrid shelter with me.” You decided with a firm nod of your head as if physically approving of your decision.

“A hybrid shelter?” Taehyung questioned, confusion and curiosity melting into one. It was honestly kind of cute- or at least it would’ve been if you weren’t lowkey mad about him breaking into your house.

“Yeah, a shelter. There are loads of other hybrids, and it’s run by this lovely couple named Namjoon and Seokjin. They’re really accepting of hybrids, especially Seokjin because he is a black cat hybrid.” You explained to Taehyung, a small smile creeping onto your lips. God, even talking about that place made you smile. It was kind of sad.

“Oh!” Taehyung seemed to perk up, his previous panic completely disappearing. “That sounds perfect! Thank you…” Taehyung trailed off, remembering that you hadn’t revealed your name to him yet.

“Y/N.” You finished his sentence, moving past him to set the picture on your kitchen bench. Okay, now that was cleared up you had things to do. Well, you had to clean up and probably give Taehyung some food because you genuinely had no idea how long he might’ve gone without eating. You bent down, picking up the shattered pieces of your vase as Taehyung loitered behind you, wide eyes trailing over your kitchen. After a few minutes, you managed to clean up all the mess, including the dirt and ruined flowers. You stood up straight once more, wincing a little as your back emitted painful sounding pops. God, you were like a sixty-year-old man in a young body.

“So, Taehyung, I imagine you’re probably hungry, and even if you’re not, I am. So, I’m gonna order us a feast of takeout. That okay with you? Any requests?” You questioned the hybrid as you slowly spun around to face him. Taehyung simple shook his head, muttering a quiet ‘you decide’ underneath his breath, his attention still not on you. He was too busy scanning his surroundings, and it was rather clear that he was itching to wander around your home, see where he’d be staying the night.

“Okay, well, I’m gonna go order the food online then. If you want you can look around… Just don’t break anything and stay out of my bedroom.” Your eyes narrowed a little, trying to act threatening but it was apparent Taehyung didn’t care because he just absentmindedly nodded and rushed out of the kitchen like an excited child who finally got to go to the playground. It was cute- he was cute. Not like you’d admit that out loud, though. That was embarrassing, and you weren’t here to embarrass yourself in front a stranger. You already embarrassed yourself enough in front of people you knew, you had to look cool in front of someone!

You began to exit your kitchen, pulling your phone out of the pocket you had stashed it in, quickly finding the ‘uber eats’ (not sponsored) app. You ordered a… ridiculous amount of food from your favourite restaurant and once you confirmed the order, all you had to do was wait. While you had done all this, Taehyung had been slowly walking through your home, keen eyes inspecting every little detail with childlike wonder. He’d mutter things underneath his breath, talking to himself and you just let him be because everyone spoke to themselves from time to time, right? At least you talked to yourself a lot…

You shook your head a little to clear your mind before you wandered down the odd rabbit hole that was your mind. To distract yourself, you decided to turn on your television to some trashy reality show that you only watched to judge the people who starred in them, despite the fact you’d probably act the same way if a production company asked you to be in a reality show. After all, drama makes good television, right?

You stretched out across your couch, eyes fixated on the television when your show was suddenly cut off in the middle of a scene. What the hell!? Were people really so money hungry that they were now putting ads right in the middle of sentences to keep you watching?

But, this wasn’t for an ad, no. It was an urgent news broadcast. You perked up a little, annoyance slowly draining from you as the news anchor spoke.

“Your program has been cut short by this urgent announcement- please, listen in. This could affect your life.” The anchor spoke, but their voice was dreadfully monotone, which was quite ironic considering how urgent they were trying to make this broadcast seem. “A dangerous tiger hybrid as escaped Seoul Grand Park, leaving behind a trail of destruction. He killed one staff member, and injured a further three before fleeing the scene.” An image flashed up in the corner of the screen and, yep, that was Taehyung.

Oh my god, that was Taehyung. They were talking about Taehyung! The hybrid you had just let into your home!? He was dangerous!? He was a fucking murderer!? What were you going to do? What if he decided to add you onto his list of bodies? Good job, Y/N, you always let such great people into your life, don’t you? And you left your picture frame in the kitchen too! You were weaponless!

Fuck, what were you going to do? Taehyung was wandering around your home right now… You had to call someone.

[punishandenslavesuckers]

Mollymauk Tealeaf wakes up in a grave by the road ten years after he died. Things have gone a bit wrong since then and he might be the only one who can set things right… since it’s the Mighty Nein themselves who’ve gone wrong. AU: Where Molly comes back to yell at his super-powered Level 20 friends. (AO3 - part1) (AO3 - part 2) (AO3 - part3) (AO3 - part4) (AO3 - part5) (AO3-part6) (AO3-part7) (AO3-part8) (AO3-part9) (AO3-part10)

Mollymauk is getting accustomed to this teleporting thing.

He’s getting accustomed to a lot of things, really, like the dying. Like the constant apprehension painted in a thin, burning layer across the inside of his lungs. Like the taste of blood in the back of his throat and the way resurrection magic slithers through his body – like a climax but turned horribly inside out. Molly’s getting used to this dissociation now between his physical self and his soul as he’s pulled through reality from point A to point B. That tooth-click that keeps happening when he stops being nothing and exists again suddenly. That weird ‘pop’.

Molly pops back into being standing in what looks like a dim and unkempt professor’s study.

It’s a big room. There are long wood tables scarred with chemical and arcane fire. Books stacked and laid out everywhere, papers scrawled with shorthand that seems to slither on the parchment when Molly looks at it. The place smells of burnt ozone and there are fading white runes painted onto the flagstones beneath his boots. Suggesting to Mollymauk that Caleb’s pulled him somewhere very specific. He’d hazard it’s Caleb’s personal workshop by the vaulted ceilings literally top to bottom and wall to wall bookshelves stuffed and stacked with tomes.

Caleb Widogast is still gripping Molly’s hand. Like a man might have hold of a handle.

On immediate instinct, Molly tries to extract his hand. But Caleb doesn’t let go so they just stand there. Caleb is still just a little bit shorter than him, but his eyes are still lit from the inside by whatever power lives in him like a star dying behind his irises. He’s staring at Molly and as Molly watches, the blood and gore and the crushed pieces of dead insect that coat his skin begin to flake away, floating and peeling off like embers off a log until Caleb is whole and healed and his hand is hot around Molly’s knuckles.

Through his teeth, Molly says, “Let go of me.”

Caleb’s eyes seem to focus then, like he’d been staring at some other layer of reality until Molly’s voice brought him. His fingers unfurl and he watches Molly instantly back away three paces, massaging his hand where the wizard touched him, rubbing off whatever lingers in the ink and scarring. If he’s offended by this, he gives no outward sign.

“Don’t touch anything. I can’t promise the items here won’t hurt you.”

Molly tells him to go fuck himself in Infernal.

Caleb blinks, then says, “You say that a lot, ja?”

“Well, you haven’t listened to me yet and I really think you fuckin’ should,” Molly snaps, frantically looking around the room. There’s no visible exit, just a strange constant convergence of walls and shelves and acute to obtuse that don’t seem to quite follow the laws of geometry as Molly understand them. It makes the room simultaneously bigger and more claustrophobic. Molly finds breathing harder all at once. “What do you want from me?”

“To talk,” he says, “for now.”

Molly processing that for a minute.

Then snarls, “Are you out of your bloody mind?” When Caleb knits his brow, Molly waves his hands around. “Kidnapping me? You think holding me hostage is gonna do shit? I’m the magic undead teifling, you dumbarse. You can’t threaten me. I’m literally the most useless hostage you could take. What’re ya gonna do?” He puts on a sarcastic voice. “Kill me?”

“I don’t plan on it.”

Molly’s still got one hand around his own wrist, rubbing restlessly at the tattoo run over his knuckles. His fingers dig tight until the bones in his hand pulse with his own rabbiting heartbeat. His entire body feels wound too tight to take. Shaking to bolt or battle, but his hasn’t got any weapons now and he’s standing near enough to touch to a man that kills with one word. He consciously slows his breathing. Tells himself to stop bloody shaking while Caleb studies him head to foot. Incrementally. Like he’s committing details to memory.

“Will Caduceus be alright?”

“That cell has more air, if that’s what you mean.” Caleb circles to Mollymauk’s left. “I wouldn’t use a fire-based spell otherwise.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Molly steps right to keep the same distance between them.

“He won’t die,” Caleb says, still circling, forcing Molly to move so they’re slowly orbiting one another. Caleb never breaks eye contact and Molly’s heart keeps racing, panic telling him that, and just that, could be some somatic component in a spell. Caleb shrugs. “I don’t know if he’ll be okay. That’s a bad enchantment. It can, ah, affect people.” He waves a hand vaguely at his head. “You know, that way.”

“Torture spells are traumatizing?” Molly snaps. “Fascinating. Who knew?”

“You think Caduceus is so gentle.” Caleb’s brows lift. “So soft, ja?”

“No, he skewered a dragon and trades in man-eating beetles. I’ve met trolls that were less scary. That doesn’t mean I’m on your side.”

“Of course not.” Caleb stops to face Molly full on. “You’re on the side of those who raised you. It’s understandable.”

“Oi, bite me, Mr. Widogast. I was on your bloody side until you killed me on a whim and word.” Molly squares himself to the wizard. “Don’t try to play victim when you bring up demons and attack your friends without a kindness of warning. If you mean to make me see your reason in all this, I’m tellin’ you now it’ll be a hard fuckin’ sell.”

“I know,” say Caleb. “Mollymauk, I’m going to show you something, but you need to do a few things for me.”

“Ha!” Molly didn’t mean to laugh that loud, but he’s a little hysterical at this point. “I’m not doing fuck all. You can drag me around on a magic leash first.”

Caleb sighs, then waves a hand… and Molly starts to glow. Or rather, his mithril-chain shirt and his bracers start to glow. Also, the rings on his index finger and thumb. Also, the half-dozen charms hanging around his neck and the clasp around his right horn, and the empty sword sheathes at his hips. Molly is lit up all over, glowing from every magic source on his body which is – with Nott’s insistence – quite a lot of magical aid.

“Take all that off,” Caleb says, hand still shimmering with the detect magic charm.

Molly doesn’t move.

“I’m not identifying any of that shit,” Caleb says evenly. “Take all of it off.”

“Nott gave these to me.”

Caleb’s expression cracks. A slight widening in the eyes suddenly – not of surprise but hurt. Then it’s gone under a stern indifference and he tilts his head a little and raises his other hand, thumb pressed to his middle and index finger in the precursor to a snap.

“Last chance,” Caleb says.

“Nott gave all this to me,” Molly whispers, “to protect me from—”

Caleb snaps his fingers and the air behind him displaces as something massive just materializes in the space directly behind him. Molly jerks back, his hips hitting a worktable. The thing behind Caleb sort of… unfurls. A broad, muscular back shifts as gargantuan leather wings arch up and flare over the wizard’s tawny head. Blue hide, riddled in plates of scale, shimmers in the torch light. A long serpentine neck arches up and up until the beast turns giant predator-gold eyes to fix on Molly. Its skull is the size of a battle shield, its jaw long, draconic, and toothy. Talons big as coat hangers clack and scrap on the floor as what appears to be a bull-sized blue dragon rises up behind Caleb the way a hunting dog comes to quarry.

“Blue dragon wyrmling,” says Caleb, reaching up to pat the beast’s horrifying jaw. “They like magic. Frumpkin doesn’t get to play with anything magic in this form, you see. My work is too dangerous.”

“Caleb,” Molly starts to say, fingers, digging into the table edge behind him. “Don’t—”

Caleb says a word in Zemnian. On that command, his hulking familiar looses a joyous predator scream.

Then it lunges at Molly.

It tears past Caleb, so smooth it barely disturbs the wizard’s fine black and gold robes. Molly, to his credit, immediately hurdles the table, dive rolls, and comes up sprinting on the opposite end of the table. Frumpkin hits the table, missing Molly by inches, then it hits the ground behind him, claws scrabbling on the stone like an off-balance Labrador. Molly feels it on instinct when Frumpkin swipes at his back. He ducks right, going low, skidding, razor-sharp claws whipping through the air over his head.

But then he’s on the ground and Frumpkin is huge.

Frumpkin’s jaws snap closed on the back of Molly’s tunic and with a whip of his head, the hurls Molly against another long table like a cat slinging a mouse against a wall. He crashes through a pile of books which – wondrously – take flight and scatter like a flock of disturbed pigeons. It would be neat if a small dragon didn’t then slam Molly like a battering ram. The beast pins him under massive claws, landing so the pads of its feet are crushing Molly’s upper arms flat, his spine bent back over the edge of the table as Frumpkin the blue dragon wyrmling start to bite excitedly at the mithril chainmail beneath Molly’s tunic.

“CALEB!” His tunic shreds under eager dragon teeth. “FUCK! WHAT THE FUCK!?”

Frumpkin drives his massive bony head against Molly’s chest and instantly cracks two ribs. Molly still manages to scream. Then Frumpkin is grinding an anvil-heavy skull against him like a cat might shove its face in a pillow of catnip except it’s his fucking ribcage and stomach. Frumpkin snuffles at Molly’s skull, chewing lightly at the clasp clipped to his horn before giving that up as a back job and rearing back to study him.  

Then Frumpkin’s jaws start to open, crackling with blue static, a long tongue lashing with sparks. Molly sees it coming but he can’t stop it. Frumpkin licks Molly’s neck which… you know, fucking electrocutes him. Molly chokes as a short, agonizing current rips through him, lashing every muscle in his body into a garrote-wire of tension before the current dispels into the wood and it’s over.

Molly isn’t conscious of Frumpkin getting off of him, only of hitting the floor and rolling onto his side, his entire body throbbing and his neck searing where the dragon-thing licked him. He smells burnt skin and ozone.

“Okay, ah, that was a bit much…” Caleb is saying. “Bad cat.”

“Fuck you,” Molly snarls, but it’s undercut with a sob. His entire chest pulses red rivers of fire with every breath.  

He curls his one arm around himself and just lays there in a heap with his forehead pressed to the cool stone, tail wrapped around his body at the knee. He has one palm pressed to the floor near his waist, but he can’t find the strength to get up. Through the feverish glow of pain, he feels a hand touch his neck and that cold palm smooths from the hinge if his jaw, down the line of muscle to his clavicle. A slow bleed of magic slides through the gash, like pouring liquid salve into the wound and from there it travels down, down, spreading out inside his chest until the hairline cracks splintered through his ribs go cold as well. Soon, there’s no pain left. Just a numb buzzing in the nerves.

Molly lifts his head.

Pale blue eyes stare back.

“Are you going to take off your enchantments or do you want Frumpkin to try again?”

Molly shoves Caleb in the chest.

This knocks the wizard onto his butt. He didn’t seem to have expected that, because he just kind of drops on his ass and blinks. Surprised while his gigantic wyrmling familiar sniffs at his hair. Molly levers himself into a sitting position. Then he starts pulling the rings off his fingers, palming them, before reaching up to remove the clasp from his horn and the earrings that stave off cold. He unstraps the bracers, pulls the charms from around his neck and sets all this aside. Then he glares, gets to his feet, and turns his back on Caleb while he reaches up and tugs his shirt off over his head from the shoulders.

That way no one can see it while he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.

Molly puts his ruined shirt on the table while he pulls the chainmail off, leaving on nothing but the thinner, sleeveless under-shirt he’s been using to pad the chainmail. The rings are still leaving marks in his skin. He’s not used to armor. Molly starts to pull his shredded tunic back on over his head when he feels Caleb start to move toward him again and –

Molly whips around, snarling, the words going Infernal in his throat: “Back off!”

Frumpkin the wyrmling starts to growl, but Caleb waves his quiet. There’s pause. So, Molly turns back around and finishes pulling his clothes back on. There’s an ache in his bounding heart now, a low panic like a current in his blood that makes him want to double over and start screaming for the frustration of it. The fucking unfairness and stupid cruelty of it. He straightens his shirt and pushes his hair out of his face, then turns to look at Caleb.

“What now?”

“That wasn’t intentional,” Caleb says.

“You sicced your giant bloody cat on me.”

“I warned you.”

“Oh. Well. Alright then. All’s forgiven.”

There’s a tense silence.

Then, “Follow me. Don’t try to run or Frumpkin will sit on you again.”

And then quite suddenly there’s an obvious doorway on the wall to Molly’s right. Caleb crosses the room and opens it, going through, not stopping to check if Molly follows. Probably because Frumpkin is now standing directly behind Molly, breathing static on his neck. Molly pauses to glance back up at the giant familiar. He literally has Molly’s cursed sword sheathes between his jaws like a grinning dog with a stick.

“Your boss is a bastard,” Molly says.

Frumpkin just blinks and nudges him in the shoulder.

“Fine.”

Molly follows Caleb.

Through the door is a long hallway, mostly featureless and should be cold for all the empty stone space, but the air seems to be magically regulated to a comfortable room temperature. The silence is broken only by the soft slap of boots against the floor and the terrible scraping clack of Frumpkin’s talons. They walk through the hall. Caleb keeps surreptitiously checking a dark metal pocket watch as they walk, but the face of it is blank and makes Molly’s eyes hurt to look at it directly.

“The others are looking for you,” Caleb says.

“You don’t seem worried. I would be.”

“I have time,” he says, pocketing the weird watch. “Jester’s young god still needs time.”

“Famous last words.”

Molly glances at a hanging tapestry on the wall nearby – a map of a land he doesn’t know. He’s certain now that he’s passed it a few times. He’s getting the impression that Caleb’s lair really does not obey any laws of physics and the only reason they’re moving through it at all has to do with the wizard himself. Frumpkin, once more, nudges at Molly’s shoulder. Like a border collie keeping a flock of one in line, confirming this really isn’t his first time playing guard dog to visitors.

“The others have told you I’m trying to end the world,” Caleb says.

“No.” Molly folds his arms across his chest, tail lashing anxiously around his boots. “They were very specific that’s not what you’re trying to do, just a possible side effect of what you’re trying to do. That’s what they told me.”

“Hmm,” Caleb says.

Molly feels a heat flare in his throat. “What?”

“I thought they’d lie a little more. I’m surprised.”

“Maybe you just think all your friends are against you when really they’ve been busy – you know – being crazy with grief or kidnapped by demi-gods. Which, by the way, I’m curious, did you try to get Fjord out of there?”

Caleb looks over his shoulder. “Of course. Did they tell you I didn’t?”

“No.” Molly rolls his eyes, leering for effect. “But you’re such a jackass right now…”

“No one could reach Fjord,” Caleb says plainly, blinking. “None of my magic meant anything in the face of that. Nothing short of a god could get close and the only god we had was Jester’s. Fjord was gone so long…” Caleb pauses. “I thought he’d be insane by the time we got him out or thralled to the Serpent.” Caleb’s eyes are unfocused, looking sidelong and away. “It seemed impossible he might still be him.”

Molly hesitates before saying, “Fjord’s stronger than you gave him credit for.”

“Maybe, or maybe he’ll turn on the others in due time. Jester has a blind spot for him. Always has. She would not accept that Fjord might be gone. She obsessed and no one could talk her down from it. Not Nott or Caduceus or anyone. Maybe Beau could have talked her down, but Beau was gone and Yasha was gone and so…” Caleb shrugs and looks forward again. “She was taken too.”

Molly tilts his head. “You say ‘taken’.”

“Yes. There’s a difference.”

“You sure?”

Caleb glances again at Molly. “Caduceus left me. He promised he’d never do that, but he did. He wasn’t taken by anything. Neither was Nott, but I don’t blame her. She was scared. I scared her.”

“You’re a moron,” Molly says.

“Thank you, Mollymauk. Nice to have you back.”

“You’re both morons,” Molly insists, bending at the waist a little to put some emphasis on it, really enunciate. “Caduceus stuck by you because he’s an optimist who couldn’t see you’ve got your head so far up your own asshole there’s no fuckin’ sunshine. Caleb, I’m here to tell you.” Molly cups his hands around his mouth. “Pull it the fuck out, mate! You’re going to end the world because you feel bad about Beau dying.”

“You act like you’re the first to tell me this.”

“I know I’m not the first, but since you won’t listen to literally anyone else, the gods brought me back from the bloody dead specifically, I think, to tell you to stop being a bastard stuffed bastard in bastard sauce and just stop.”

“I can see why the gods in their infinite wisdom decided to intervene and raise you from the dead.”

Molly spits. “I didn’t come back from the dead to persuade you of shit.”

“Apparently.”

“I’m not your conscience, Widogast.”

“You’re saying that like I ever thought that was the case.”

Molly folds his arms again, gripping his elbows in his hands and swallowing, glaring at the wall to distract himself from the slow crush of panic and futility coiling around him. It seems impossible he was in the Blooming Grove less than an hour ago. That he was laying in the grass, chatting with Caduceus. That he’d been surrounded, however briefly, by familiar faces and there was a plan, however, tenuous, as to how all this was going to end and now… he’s here. The shock of loneliness stings his throat and eyes all at once.

“You know, I’m not sure what I am, really.” Molly drags a palm across his face, pulling his hair from his brow again, wiping his eyes. “I thought my job was to get everyone together to, I don’t know, dogpile you until you stopped being a lunatic, but that doesn’t seem to be working.” He glances at Frumpkin who bares horrible fangs around belt and scabbard set in his mouth. “I don’t think I’m doing this right.”

“You got Fjord out,” Caleb says.

Molly blinks but Caleb doesn’t look at him, just keeps walking.

“It’s not your job to save us. You’re your own person. You don’t serve our purposes, Molly.”

“You can’t say that and hold me hostage, Widogast.”

“I know, but I’m a terrible person. Imagine someone better said it. It’s still true.”

Caleb’s hand is pressed against the wood of a heavy looking oak door. Molly can’t say when it was that the distance between the infinite hallway suddenly started to close, but it’s closed now and Caleb looks over his shoulder to meet Molly’s eyes. The wood beneath his hand is complex with runes and sigils, cut with some kind of arcane formula. It, like so many things in this place, ripples and changes before his eyes just looking at it. Caleb keeps staring at him, his burning stare inhuman and bright.

“Have they told you about Beauregard?” he says.

Dread drives a rod straight through Molly’s gut. His pulse rabbits fast.

“They told me a little. Like what she did, how she went down.”

“I don’t mean that. I mean have they told you about her. Do they talk about her?”

Molly hesitates. “If you mean, do they tell me funny stories about her, like what a shithead she was or the time she, I dunno, snorted oatmeal up her nose laughing at breakfast… no. They didn’t.”

“Ja. It’s hard for them.” He kind of looks away. “I remember her. I remember everything she ever said to me, actually.”

“Beauregard… she was pretty important to you.” Molly looks meaningfully around the giant mage-lair around him and the miniature dragon leering over his shoulder. “You’ve done a lot to save her. You’ve, well, you’ve pushed away everyone else who cares about you to do this. I can tell you’re dedicated but, speaking as a formerly dead person… you sure Beau would want to come back like this?”  

“They didn’t tell you she became our leader, did they?” Caleb doesn’t wait for Molly to answer or acknowledge his previous question. “She told me once, that she had a reoccurring nightmare. In this dream, she’s standing on that cart on the Glory Run Road. She can’t move, her boots are frozen to the wagon wood while Lorenzo kills you.” Caleb’s looking at him with this strange expression, unreadable as a wall. “I don’t think she ever stopped having that nightmare.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Molly says.

“She called you ‘the best of us.’”

“Wow, okay.” Molly managed an exaggerated laugh. “That’s just because you didn’t know me very well and your bar was low back then. I should have told you all about this one time, in this port town, there was this thing with noodles –”

“It doesn’t matter,” Caleb cuts him off, visibly irritated. “It doesn’t matter that you’re an obnoxious, loud, carnival man that we barely knew. It doesn’t matter that we never really understood you, that you kept secrets, and died before we knew them. None of it matters because when you died, Beauregard regretted that it was you, instead of her.”

Molly stiffens a little, shoulders tensing. “Look, that’s a nice notion and all, but from what I’ve seen over and over, none of you much remember me like I was.” A beat. “Like I am.” Another beat. “Like I was before? Ah, fuck it…”

 “Stop being flippant.”

“Sure. Stop holding me hostage.”

The wizard shakes his head, looking tired all at once. “You’re not going to listen to a word I’m saying, are you?”

“Caleb,” Molly says, “If you want me to listen, I would do that. You wanna sit down and have a cup of tea and talk? Great. I’d love that. Gossip is my thing. But I don’t think you’re trying to convince me of anything. I think you’ve already made some godawful decision and you’re just thinking out loud in my face.”

Caleb says nothing.

Just… stares at him.

It’s so strange. It’s Caleb, like it’s always been Caleb, just five degrees off Molly’s memory of the man – cleaner and more put together. He’s had a haircut and a proper shave. He looks like he should be on a council to something important somewhere, telling people to do things… but through every bit of that there’s still the fucking eyes. Just… empty and sad and resigned in exactly the same way he remembers but so much fucking deeper and blacker than that.

“I can’t talk to you,” Molly says softly, “if I’m a spell component and not a person to you.”

Caleb stares. “I don’t think you’re a spell component.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want to know if you want to kill Beauregard.” He says it so blankly, so hallowed with exhaustion that it feels impossible that he’s been able to mask it until now. A deep festering despair in his voice that goes all the way down to the core of him as he laughs a little. “Because it seems now that everyone else in our little family has decided to kill her and it occurs to me that you, Mollymauk, might be the only one undecided on the issue.”

Molly doesn’t say a goddamn thing.

“Would you answer me?”

“It’s not as simple as –”

Caleb cuts him off saying, “Until I’m done asking questions, you should tell me the truth, Molly.”

And the suggestion takes hold of him. Gently. Not dominating but it slides over his tongue with such an easy familiarity Molly’s swallowed it before he can make even a token resistance and his shoulders kind of relax, tension easing out of his limbs for the first time since he was torn from the Blooming Grove. Caleb’s hand, holding something nonobtrusive at his hip, opens and he reaches up. It’s familiar. Molly lets him pat his cheek and thinks, unbidden, about Hupperdook and a very fucked up Caleb slurring, “Yeah. Th’only magical thing here… is you, friend.”

There’s something sticky on his palm. Smells like honey or…

“Just tell me what you think,” Caleb says.

“Okay.” Molly feels… strange, a little drunk almost but in a nice way, a mild anxiety in his breast that compels him say, “I don’t wanna kill, Beau. Bloody hell, of course I don’t.” It’s such a relief to say that, he goes on a little urgently. “Everyone is saying this is the right thing to do, but it makes my whole fucking body ache to think about. I don’t want to do it.”

“Do you think you can do it, if you had to? If it was down to you?”

“No.” The admission physically hurts to say aloud. Molly clenches his eyes shut. “I can’t.”

Caleb’s quiet for a moment.

Molly feels a hand on his head, pressed over his left ear, beneath the curl of his horn and he looks up at Caleb.

He looks strangely relieved. “Me too.”

“I’m not on your side, Caleb. It’s the wrong thing that I can’t do it. I can’t do it because I’m selfish and I don’t want to live with doing that to my friend… but I know it’s wrong.”

“I know.” Caleb laughs a little. “You feel poorly about that. I don’t. I’m not willing to kill Beau to save the world.” He shrugs. “I know its not fair or right, but she was… she really was the best of us. I can’t let her go like this.” He shakes his head, a wry smile suddenly on his lips. “This mistake. I don’t have to let it stand like the others.”

“Good people die all time,” Molly whispers. “The world’s not a fair place. It’s our job to make it fair as we can, but you can’t bloody do this.”

“My people don’t have to die,” Caleb says. “Not this good person.”

“Caleb, just stop—"

“You cared about Beau, yeah?”

“I died for her, didn’t I?”

Caleb studies his face and in his stare, Molly sees it – the bald-faced fact of it: He’s not looking at a man expecting to get away with anything. He’s not looking at someone with a tomorrow in mind. Then Caleb waves a hand and Molly feels the enchantment release its hold on his thoughts. It’s a cruel hand pulling a warm blanket off his shoulders and he’s standing in the sudden cold aftermath of the spell. All the compelled words sour suddenly on his tongue and a ripple of rage and grief lances through him simultaneously.

“I’m sorry. I needed to know where you really stood.”

And Caleb pushes the door open.

When he does, the air in the room rushes out. It’s freezing cold, turning Molly’s breath to fog instantly and penetrating him to the bone. He shivers, arms jumping up to tuck around his chest, his teeth chattering almost immediately in the artic chill. There’s light coming from the other room, cold and blue and anti-septic. It’s a large circular chamber, empty of everything, just stone walls etched in the same magical formula as the door except all the runes here glow gently blue, humming a slow two-two beat. Like a pulse.

Which makes sense because sitting the in the middle of the room, legs crossed, and facing them… is Beauregard.

She’s seated on a low stone dais. There is a barrier of blue light around the platform. The air glows around her, a vertical shaft of cold azure magic from floor to ceiling. She’s sitting as if in meditation, back straight, hands in her lap, eyes closed. She’s wiry and dark. Small and dense with muscle. Denser than he remembers. Her arms are probably bigger in the bicep than his now. Around her arms are silver bracers, smithed in the symbols of Ioun. There is blood on her fingers, on her knuckles, her lip split, her eye darkened with bruising and that… that makes her so familiar it turns something tense in Molly’s stomach.

Beau with a black eye.

Beau standing on the back of an ice-cracked wagon.

Beau screaming his name, her blue eyes wild in the dawn light, as Lorenzo –

“Why is she bloody?” Molly manages.

“She’s been like that since the day she struck down Oblivion,” says Caleb. He’s still got his hand on the door, his eyes on Beau. “Nothing touches her except divine magic. Caduceus and Jester used to heal the wounds, but they always return. Nothing we do stays. She always… goes back to the way she was in the moment she killed the Oblivion.”

Molly moves into the room. With every step toward Beau, the temperature drops, until Molly’s shivering so hard, Caleb must see it because he taps Molly on the shoulder and warmth slides through his clothes and insulates him in a thin layer of heat that makes his skin steam slightly in the freezing air. Molly moves close enough that he can see the light around her is not just light, but a thin, runic barrier – a magic layer of transparent blue writing so fine it looks like mist moving up and down the surface of the barrier wall.

“You can touch it,” Caleb says. “It only contains.”

Molly cautiously presses a palm against the magic and his hand cleaves lightly to it, like glass, like Beau’s a thing in a shop window he’s trying to see.

Molly can see now that the stone where she touches it is calcified and cracked, frozen as if by a spill of liquid nitrogen. Frost cakes the ground around the platform in shimmering white. The air near her is… humming. Shaking in Molly’s bones, buzzing down to the atoms that compose him. It feels awful and familiar all at once.

But he can see Beau clearly.

She is dressed in battle attire, or what remains of battle attire. The kind of thing you wear when you go to war for the gods.

Her long sleeveless jacket is shredded along the hem and shorn as if by a blade. The royal blue fabric is dark with blood which does not appear to have dried somehow. Her tunic is shredded open to the athletic small clothes beneath. There are etched and glowing bands around her arms, around her wrists, obsidian studs in her ear lobes that shimmer with enchantment. Her dark hair looks exactly as he recalls: shaved along the sides then knotted up at the top. Molly recognizes Yasha’s touch in the beads woven there in braids and plaits. There’s a tattoo of a posie beneath her right clavicle.

Molly’s throat knots up.

“Yasha and Beau…” Molly says, only after her gets his voice working. “Did Yasha—?”

“Marry Beau then lose her?” says Caleb. “Yes. On the same day in fact.”

Molly’s eyes burn. He clenches his hand shut against the barrier magic, leaning his weight against it. He can feel Caleb moving to stand at his right shoulder, watching him react but he doesn’t care. Frumpkin’s heavy footfalls place the dragon creature to his left, hovering protectively as Caleb touches Molly’s arm.

 “Yasha won’t survive it.” His voice is certain and indifferent as sunset. “Losing her completely after Zuella—”

Molly knock his hand off his arm, yanking away. “Don’t!” Infernal heat laces his breath. “Don’t you try to use her—”

“You know I’m right.”

Molly pulls his hand from the barrier. “You want me to help you, don’t you? You’re trying to get me to help you.”

“No.” Caleb sounds sorry. “Just… confirming some things.”

He snaps his fingers and there’s a flare suddenly from the light barrier and the color of the runes, glowing faintly from every stone surface, changes suddenly to a deep, seething purple. Black steam immediately begins to burn off the sigils and Molly lunges back from Beau’s alter, hands up like he can defend himself from anything Caleb is doing. The wizard is ignoring him. He has some kind of crystal in his right hand suddenly and he’s drawing signs in the air with the fingers of his left hand. The signs stay there, like ghost writing, shivering with terrible potential energy. Like a bow string pulled taut except pulled through the whole fucking universe.

Frumpkin bumps into Molly’s back, his tail lashing in a sudden half-circle around him, penning him in suddenly, wings flaring up over head.

“I think the gods are on my side,” Caleb says, still casting his spell. The crystal in his hand disintegrates to dust and he waves a hand. Summons a blade from somewhere and uses it to slice open his left forearm, but doesn’t stop casting. “I was hasty before. I didn’t see it.” Blood splatters the floor. “All the spells to bring Beau back are so complicated without sentient sacrifice. Willing sentient sacrifice. I’ve had to build workarounds. So time consuming but now it’s so simple…”

“I’m not dying for your bloody spell!” Molly snarls.

“You already did.” Caleb looks over his shoulder. “You died for Beau ten years ago and not just a little; you died a true death. You were dead of a different kind. The kind that matters and makes gods intervene.” There’s a smile then, on Caleb’s lips, both sad and victorious. “That magic is forever, Mollymauk.”

Light flares blinding from Caleb’s fingers, igniting the blood on the flood so it burns white and evaporates into a red steam. Caleb closes his eyes. He breathes in and the crimson effluvium disappears down the wizard’s throat and when he opens his eyes, they’re burning red as a blood-letting sunset. He turns and presses both hands against the barrier wall that holds Beauregard in. Red light injects itself into the magic, spreading out like a cancer along the surface of it.

Molly feels a pull. Not on his body but a pull he’s come to know in the transition between life and death. Every time Vax’ildan sends him to and from the plane between realms– something is pulling on his soul.

“Caleb!” Molly feels that pull again, hideous and cold and Molly hits the floor on his knees, clutching uselessly at his chest. “Fuck! Stop! Stop!”

“It’s okay, you won’t lose your soul,” Caleb says. “I just need it here…”

There’s a flare from the barrier wall and Molly screams as the light seems to shove himself out of his flesh and the sliding back in feels like falling into a solid slab of screaming nerve and blood and it hurts. It hurts. Molly’s doubled over on the floor, arms knotted around his body, tail curled around himself. This spell has no guiding touch on it. No raven knight errant gentling the transition between astral and material and its like dying a little over and over. Nauseating and awful.

“I’m sorry. Most sacrifices are dead when this is happening.”

“Oh really?” Molly grits, getting one knee under him.

“Just a little longer,” Caleb murmurs. “It’s just a little farther—”

Molly doesn’t let him finish. He snaps his fingers.

Instantly, there’s a flash of light from Frumpkin’s mouth as the empty scabbards in his jaws ignite with conjuration magic. Frumpkin’s head jerks back, the dragonling snarling in surprise. But before anyone can lift a finger, Molly pivots around and lunges at him, faster than he can remember moving in his life… and his fist closes around something solid. He dive-rolls past the familiar, tearing the scimitar from its scabbard. Molly spins up, sword in hand, breathing frantic.

Caleb is glaring at him.

“Stop fucking around.” There is a dark and throaty edge to his Zemnian accent. His eyes flare in his skull, burning brighter, fixed on Molly. “You think you’re going to fight me, Mollymauk?”

“No.” He shakes his head, breathing fast and shallow. “No, I can’t fight you.”

“I know this has been… confusing.” There’s blue flame gathering in the man’s hand. “It’s an admirable instinct, but—”

Molly reverses the sword. An easy, almost casual flip of the blade in a two-handed grip, and sets it point-first against his own sternum. No hesitation. No time. The hit at first: like being punched, the breath driven from his body, then the pain (the feeling Lorenzo taught him ten years ago on the Glory Run Road). Mollymauk shoves it through his ribcage and—

He wakes up standing on a hill beneath the shining moon.

He’s clutching his breastbone, fists stacked where the hilt of a blade was driven in the Material plane. The moonlight is shining, shimmering on his skin like a sheen of diamond dust on his knuckles. Molly stumbles. His knees give out but before he can fall, he’s suddenly tackled as a blur of blue and skirts and arcane light bursts into existence and lunges at him. He collapses against them, arms seizing instinctively around their neck and their hair is silky, chiming with silver, and smells like carnival caramel when he breathes in.

“Jester!” Molly clutches her, fingers sinking into her hair, hooking his elbow around the back of her neck as she laughs and hugs him back. “Bloody hell.” He plants a big kiss in her hair, catching the curve of her ear. “Fools flock together huh?”

“Molly! Molly! Fuck! Shit!” She’s kind of crushing his ribs. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you? How’d you—?”

“Caleb didn’t kill me,” Molly whispers. He hugs her more tightly. “I did it myself.”

Jester freezes. Her fingers dig more tightly into his shoulder.

“S’alright, Jes.” He tries to laugh, but it’s not very convincing. “I’m a one trick tiefling.”

“Can you go back?” Jester whispers. “Molly, were you with Caleb? I can break through another way, but if you can go back–”

Molly pulls back, lets Jester cup his face in shaky fingers. “Caduceus put the Death Ward on me.”

Jester nods. Her eyes brim bright with tears, her pretty white teeth biting at her lower lip. Molly carefully mirrors her, fitting his hands around her dark, heart-shaped face. She starts to say something, but it comes out a sob, so Molly just drops his brow against hers and stays that way for a moment. Feels her tail lash protectively around his right knee, her fingers sink a little more deeply into his hair.

She murmurs, not words, but a low Infernal subvocalization that has no translation into the common languages of the realm – it just means… sadness, sadness, rage, regret.

“Tell me about it,” Molly says in kind.

Jester moves her hands down his neck, to his shoulders, his arms, taking his hands in hers.

“I’ll do it, Molly.” She squeezes tight. “I can stop him.”

“I know.”

A voice over his shoulder says, softly, “You will have half a moment.”  

Molly smells dust, old soil, the faint scent of decay – not of flesh but some older less transient material. Jester tucks herself close to his side, gripping his arm tight and it hurts how much strength he can draw from that. Molly turns. Vax’ildan stands again on the hill with them, beautiful and familiar, but unlike every time before… Molly can feel the eeriness in the Raven Queen’s champion. The size of him suddenly astronomical behind his physical presentation.

There’s darkness rising from his shoulders, a strange canopy that stretches up from his back and spreads out in translucent gloom. Molly hears the rustle of wings, of feathers, of a thousand, ten thousand ravens taking wing. When he looks up, he realizes the darkness is merely the massive arch… no… just the shadow of two leviathan wings. Vax moves forward and the moonlight avoids him where walks. Molly doesn’t flinch, even when he fits both palms to either side of Molly’s face and lifts his eyes.

 “ I can give strength you don’t remember, Mollymauk. But that’s all I can do. Are you ready?”

Molly pauses, then, “Kiss for luck?”

Vax’ildan – wreathed in darkness, gaze holding the mass of collapsed stars, the voice of the Raven Queen on his tongue – gives him a look. Then rolls his eyes and says, amused, “Fuck it. Kiss for luck.”

Then he leans down, tilting his head and kisses Molly gently on the mouth.

And Molly opens his eyes.

He’s standing in the same room, holding the scimitar point first against his chest, in the precursor of killing himself. There’s blood all over his forearms, his hands, and soaked through his tunic. But he’s still on his feet and Caleb is staring at him with this… startled expression. Eyes wide, mouth open as if in the middle of saying something. He’s still got one hand against the burning red magic that’s holding Beau, the other hand kind of raised in the attitude reaching or casting.

He looks frightened. That fades though as Molly releases his grip on the blade and it clatters to the floor. Molly exhales, his breath a silvery cloud and he backs up a little, shaking his head at if to clear it.  

“Why did you do that?” Caleb says blankly. “Killing yourself won’t make a difference.”

“It did to me,” Molly pants.

“Please, don’t do that.”

Molly stares at him. “Caleb, I wish I could I say I’m sorry about this… but you’ve been an asshole.”

And that’s when Jester – stepping out of the ether like a woman stepping through a door – grabs the wizard from behind and punches him. It’s not, like, a ‘how dare you slap’. She snatches his collar in one hand, rears all the way back, and cracks him across the jaw with the other. Caleb staggers, shoulder slamming against the barrier wall. He scrabbles at the wall, visibly struggles to stay conscious through what is certainly a concussion and a broken jaw. Jester doesn’t give him the time. She raises one hand over her shoulder. A massive lollipop bursts into existence – pink and white and brilliant with ribbons. Then she takes the handle in both hands and she swings.

She hits him like a kid playing stick ball.

There’s an arcane flare – of magic hitting magic and Molly feels it as unmovable object meets unstoppable force. The lollipop hammers a defensive spell Molly has no understanding of and the impact ignites the air in blinding radiance. Molly is knocked to one knee by the shock wave alone. A body launches from the center of the room like a rachet ball and then slam into the far wall like a rag doll. It’s definitely Caleb. He hits the floor in a heap, a swirl of passive magic siphoning around his body.

Frumpkin, by then, has finished tearing across the room and lunges at Jester, jaws full of lightning –

“Bad kitty!” she screams.

Her eyes flare white and Frumpkin poofs out of existence.

Caleb seems to be regaining consciousness. He shudders and levers himself up on one elbow, head hanging low as he sways dizzily. He coughs blood, red splattering the flag stones. There’s blood in his hair at the back of his head. He can’t seem to orient himself or speak, suggesting that his skull might be cracked so badly its costing him basic functionality. He tries, with difficulty, to lift his head. His eyes are flickering erratically, brightening and dimming, like a circuit is shorting in him.

Jester, again, does not wait. She disappears then reappears standing directly over him.

She doesn’t say a damn thing.

She just raises a hand and with a flare a soft orb of pink magic blooms around her, encasing herself and Caleb. Immediately the passive magicks moving around Caleb go dormant and disappear. Over her shoulder, the massive lollipop rests like a mace in her hand. Invisible winds disturb her hair and skirts. Her eyes burn green in the iris and she just… waits. Because Caleb is bleeding out at her feet, fast losing consciousness in the neutral bubble of her anti-magic field.

Still he manages, “Jes…ter…?”

“Where is Caduceus?” she says. But when she speaks, her voice quavers. Water drips from her chin. “Did you kill him, Caleb?”

“Nev… I’d never…”

He can’t finish the sentence.

Jester covers her mouth with one hand, eyes squeezing shut, and Caleb slumps unconscious on the floor. For a moment, there’s just silence. Blood freezing on the cold stone floor. Then Jester dismisses the spiritual weapon and drops to her knees. She fits her hands to Caleb’s bleeding head. She combs the bloody hair from the ugly split in his skull and magic begins to sink gingerly into the wound. She’s whispering something softly, like a refrain.

Eventually, Molly moves to kneel with her inside the dome.

“He’ll be okay,” she says, attempting cheerfulness as tears overrun her eyes. “He’ll be okay. I’m asking the Traveler to break some of the… the forbiddance spells around the keep. The others will be here soon. We’ll be okay.” She chokes a little on her own voice. “Everyone’s back together.” Her fingers close in the back of Caleb’s robes, the magic dissipating from her fingers, and that’s when Molly loops his arms around her. She grabs his shirt, clinging suddenly, something building in her chest until she blurts, crying, “What did we do wrong, Molly?”

“Nothing.”

He cradles her head, rocking a little as she starts to sob.

“We tried so hard!”

“I know.”

Jester is wailing now, just gut-wrenching heaves against Molly’s shoulder. “I miss her so much!” She can’t seem to breathe, giving in entirely to ugly crying, almost hiccupping. “I miss Beau! She said we needed to take care of each other and we didn’t.”

“Hey, the world asked a lot from you. S’not your fault if you didn’t do every damn thing on the list.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Shh, stop it. It’s over,” Molly murmurs, hugging her closer. “It’s over, Jes.”

Jester just keeps crying until it seems like she may never stop, but even as he begins to think this, there is a sudden rush of warm wind and the scent of… of somewhere else. Somewhere green and summer-y, sap-sticky, and hot against the skin and Molly feels someone step into the space to his left and kneel. There’s no one there of course, but Molly sees it when Jester’s hair moves a little, an invisible hand tucking strands behind her ear and only then does her wailing become a sniffle.

“I know, but I didn’t want it to be this way,” she says loudly to no one.

Molly feels that murmur of wind again, so comforting it wipes away the cold of the room.

“You promise?” Jester says, looking up at the empty air.

And there’s a chuckle, resonate and deep. Molly gets the impression of the ‘yes’ and a whisper like a cloak against his shoulder, passing by.

And Jester turns to Molly and says, “It’ll be okay. I’m okay.”

Molly gives the room a wary once over. “You sure?”

Jester starts to smile. “We can fix it. It’s… it’s going to be—”

“Finally,” says a voice.

The word splits through Molly’s skull like a nail through the roof of his mouth. He’s on the floor before he can process anything farther, his every limb locked up around a sucker punch that didn’t happen. Dizzy, he struggles to lift his forehead from the ground, but the voice goes on like a tuning fork jammed inside his brain.

“Hey, man. Don’t run, I have some questions for you.”

Molly manages to lift his head. His vision is splitting, going dark around the edges. It hurts to look.

But, there in the middle of the room, Beauregard is standing. The barrier spell around her is gone. She’s stepped half way down from her dais, one foot sill up on the platform, the other on the floor in the attitude of descending a short flight of stairs. Her body is on fire. A pillar of blue and black flame sheathes her skin, billowing the torn edges of her jacket.

She’s looking at something forward and slightly to her left.

Her left arm is extended and her fist closed around something Molly can’t see. Her arm jerks slightly, like something is fighting her hold but she’s smiling this kind of confused, mildly annoyed smile. Like someone is being a little rude at a dinner party or something and she steps down fully. Ice bursts across the floor where her feet touch the stone, the temperature in the room going sub-zero and Molly knows without knowing that if the anti-magic field drops, they’re going to get the brunt of it.

“Wow. Stop spazzing out. I just want to talk,” Beau is saying in that awkward friendly-but-I’m-kind-of-faking-it voice she does when she’s working at being a person to someone she’d rather punch. “Hey. Listen, buddy. This isn’t like before. I’m something else and I need to ask you some stuff.”

And suddenly there’s someone standing in front of her. They’re struggling to get away from Beauregard, who has one iron-fingered grip viced relentlessly around their wrist.

They’re the size of a regular person, tall, slender, arguably a male build. Their skin is strange and iridescent and glowing faintly with a dim greenish warmth that penetrates the cold around them. They are dressed in adventurer’s finery – good boots, a clean blue tunic… and a long, long forest-green cloak that’s pulled up over their head and shadows everything but the lower half of their face.

Jester, seeing this, screams in horror.

But Beauregard doesn’t seem to hear. Her focus is entirely on The Traveler. She uses her free hand to grab a fistful of their cloak and drag them closer.

“I’m trying to be nice here,” she says, exasperated when her captive shoves a hand against her chest. “I’m a new god too, you know. We should stick together.” The Traveler doesn’t say anything, just bares their teeth and light flares through their body, snapping through Beauregard like a blow that knocks her face to the left. “Fucking. Rude,” she says, glaring down at the other god in front of her. “Stop it.”

“I don’t have answers for you,” says the Traveler. His voice cuts through the disharmonics from the other god, dragging a swath of relief through the room allowing the mortals there to breathe again. “I didn’t kill a god to become one.” A smile pulls briefly at his mouth, wry, and fiercely proud. “I found a faith stronger than any in the world and she believed in me. I don’t know what you are, half god. You are not like me.”

Beau-Who-Is-Not-Beau thinks about that.

Her eyes, Molly notices now, are pitch black hollows full of nothing.

“You’re right. Duh. I need to talk to her.” She thinks about it some more, then looks suddenly toward the two tieflings huddled together against the wall. “Hey, Molly. You know Vax’ildan, right?”

“Oh no,” Jester whispers.

“I wanna talk to his boss,” Beau says. “Can you tell him that?”

Then she smiles at Molly… and of course it kills him instantly.

[gutterdreams]

Undercover [Zach Dempsey]

For as long as he could remember, his friends were giving him grief about being a virgin. Zach had never confirmed or denied it verbally to them, but it was obvious to them in how he couldn't always follow their conversations when the topic of sex came up as well as his general naivete on the subject. You had only asked to borrow his notes from English when you had been out sick for a couple days and Bryce was already air humping past you in the hallway. There was never any doubt that there would be pressure if you and Zach made it past exchanging notes

The transition from classmates to dating was quicker than either of you expected. Zach was generous enough to take notes for you again when you had missed class again the following week in order to write a make up test for chemistry in the library during that period. After that he was out of excuses to talk to you and had to just come right out and ask if you wanted to see a movie which you followed up by saying, "Only if the movie is proceeded by breakfast." You were not about to go sit in the dark silently with some guy you hardly knew outside of the fact that he had nice penmanship and liked the assigned reading of Watership Down.

Now, you two had a pretty solid tradition of having breakfast together Sundays and then seeing an early movie. Sometimes you two ate at your place with your family and other times his little sister, May, joined you at the theater or in the basement where you took turns picking something to watch. It was a cornerstone of your relationship and it had turned you into Zach's girlfriend fast. There was nowhere you wanted to be more than under his arm and in front of a waffle.

"Breathing break..." Pulling your face away from his, inhaling as soon as your mouth was free, you said to point out that you needed a moment without him grabbing at your sides and kissing you as if it his only source of oxygen.

If it was up to Zach, he would always have you horizontal on a bed, disheveled and horny, but with the constant taunting of his friends, it was hard for you to settle in enough to be comfortable with being intimate with him.

He held himself up beside you, head and chest still half hovered above, as he chuckled at you checking your cheeks and chin for lip gloss stains. It was always all over your face once he was done with you.

"Did you finish your project for Mr. Simmons class?" Breath finally caught, you asked.

"Close. I'll do it later." He swiped his hand through the air, unconcerned.

"I could help. I did it last semester and...it was my best grade." You weren't trying to brag. It was usually you asking for Zach's opinion on homework, but when it came to psychology class, you were a star. Plus, it was something the two of you could do with your clothes on.

"I'd rather stay here..." Leaning in, he kissed you again, lips making a loud smack as they met. "With you..." More, he kissed you with your bottom lip tasting like peppermint gloss agaisnt his mouth. "On. This....bed." Zach moaned, his one hand sliding up your stomach underneath your plain red shirt. His other hand still had a firm grip on your thigh as he manuevered himself over top of you again.

He was challenging to resist and, with your eyes shut, you fell back into the comfort of making out with him on his neatly made bed. It wasn't as if you didn't love his hands all over you. It was just everytime you started to melt into his touch and felt your body crave more, you would hear Justin snort in your head or one of Bryce's sexiest questions and you would feel disgusting. As your own hands fondled their way into the back pockets of Zach's sweatpants, you somehow urged him to grind against you and his erection was more obvious than it had been last time you were making out. It occurred to you that with a small tug of his pants, you could have him hard out in the open, but as you contemplated asking for more, Bryce's voice chimed annoyingly in the hallways of your head.

"Are you sure you don't want to work on your project?" With great haste, you asked him and gasped for air beneath his carefully placed body.

"Yes." Zach lightly chuckled in place of showing any frustration. "When I have the house to myself and my gorgeous girlfriend on my bed, I don't want to do homework." He was telling you this as if it was a new law so you needn't ask him anymore. "What's going on?" He wasn't dumb and reading you came easily to him. It had since the first time you hung out and pretended you weren't disappointed in the diner's small juice selection.

"Nothing." Eyes wide, surprised he asked, you denied. "Nothing."

He wasn't buying it and his raised brows made sure you knew that.

"I just...I want to have sex with you." If he wasn't going to believe your weak lies, you figured you might as well come right out and tell him. It had been on your mind lately and you could feel your chest tighten over your racing heart whenever he touched you now.

Zach was thrilled at your confession. A puppy who just heard their leash jingle in the other room. You waited before speaking again just to see if he would jump up and down. He didn't.

"But..." Just like that, he fell into himself with a soft pout that he didn't realize he was making. It was probably the same disappointment a puppy felt when the leash sound came from loose change or keys shaking together in a pocket. "Every time I start to feel like this, I think of your friends and the stuff they say."

Sighing, Zach rolled away and laid beside you on his back, long arm folding behind his head like an extra hard pillow. He reached down with his other hand and adjusted his pants. While he knew the jeers of his buddies didn't sit well with you, he never really encouraged them to knock it off. Sometimes, he laughed along, but usually he just squeezed your hand under his and let the moment pass. It was the path of least resistance and that was his style.

"I can't control what my friends say." He sighed again.

"You could ask them to chill." Of course, you had a hunch that it wouldn't go over very well, but you still always wished that Zach would stand up for himself and you. They were his friends after all.

"It's just ribbing. Don't let it bug you." 

"I can't help it. They just see me as a vagina and I'm really uncomfortable at the idea of you guys talking about what we do. Or don't do." While you had meant for your thoughts to come out more eloquently, they were out of you now and they were Zach's now to do with whatever he wanted. You turned into your stomach and laid there, trying to make sense of his difficult to read expression. He looked annoyed, but also deep in thought.

On one hand, Zach knew you were right. You are just a body to his friends and that didn't sit right with him. On the other hand, he was offended that you thought so poorly of him. He didn't see Bryce like you did, Zach was blind to what a douchebag his buddy could be.

"I won't tell them then."

You didn't believe him and your face couldn't help, but show that.

"If you're telling me not to, I won't." Defensively, he swore. "I might be friends with some dickheads, but I'm not one." He prided himself on being kinder. "Don't you know by now that I care about you? I am not talking about you in the locker room and shit like that." By how sincerely cross he seemed, you understood that he was being honest and nodded.

"Thank you. That's really nice to hear."

"It's true." He nodded at you through his pout that had made a fast return. Zach turned closer to you, his chest against your side and pushed some of the strands of hair that were in your face away. "Obviously, I don't want to be the virgin of my friends anymore...but, like, I'm glad I'm with you." Genuinely, he had been so happy in the last couple months. Even his mom mentioned it and she was not a woman who just handed out compliments. "I'm glad it's going to be with you and I'm glad I'm your first time too." Making you giggle out of embarassment, he softly told you before bringing his face low to kiss your lips, then your cheek, then down your jaw, and onto your clavicle. You hissed organically and then sighed, squirming as he located a new tender spot that caused goosebumps to form down your arms.

"I want you so bad." Zach grumbled into your skin and hooked an arm around your waist, pulling your body as close to his as it could be.

[daddyslittlejuliet]

Is Your Dog Eating Poop? It’s Called Coprophagia and Here’s How to Fix It

The post Is Your Dog Eating Poop? It’s Called Coprophagia and Here’s How to Fix It by Sara Reusche appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

Is your dog eating poop? Well, there’s a scientific name for a dog eating poop — coprophagia. I first noticed something was amiss when Mischief, my youngest dog, didn’t come in after her last potty break of the night. When I called her, she took a couple quick, habitual steps in my direction, then darted back to swallow something in the snow before running in. My suspicions about her out-of-character behavior were confirmed at 3 a.m., when she woke me out of a sound sleep by vomiting up three large puddles of … poop.

I’ll spare you the details of my early morning clean-up, other than to say that I left a window cracked for a couple hours, heating bills be damned. Instead, let’s skip over that awful night and speak of more constructive things. Namely: Is your dog eating poop? Why do dogs eat poop, and how can we stop coprophagia in its tracks?

First, why do dogs eat poop?

Why in the world do dogs eat their poop and what can you do to stop it? Photography by ©LeoPatrizi | Getty Images.

Is your dog eating poop? It’s not as weird as you think. While coprophagia is disgusting to us, it is a normal behavior for dogs. Some experts theorize that this behavior is the root of domestication. Wild canids would eat human refuse outside of settlements, and over time these animals came to resemble our domestic dogs more and more. Mother dogs eat their puppies’ excrement until the pups are about four weeks. Dogs like poop, and their digestive systems are designed in such a way that they can often gain nutrition from the waste products of other animals.

All that said, a dog eating poop is not a behavior most of us will tolerate in our companion dogs. There are some health risks to a dog eating poop, such as an increased risk of parasites (some of which are zoonotic, which means that people can get them, too). If your dog has allergies, as one of mine does, the undigested remnants of allergens in the poop of animals fed certain diets can trigger an allergic reaction.

As soon as I realized what Mischief was up to, I sprang into action. There are two important aspects to any treatment plan dealing with a dog eating poop: management and training. Let’s start with management.

How to stop a dog eating poop, or coprophagia

The more your dog practices any behavior, be it a dog eating poop or sitting politely to greet guests, the better the dog gets at that behavior. For a dog eating poop, this means preventing him from “practicing” that poop-eating behavior is of vital importance. There are several ways to do this.

One of the first things I did was to thoroughly clean my yard. This was difficult, as nearly a foot of freshly fallen snow meant it was difficult for me to find old piles, but easy for Mischief with her talented canine sense of smell. I resolved to pick up each new pile as soon as it happened.

Since there were still likely to be some dog poop hidden under the fresh snow, I also needed a way to prevent Mischief from gobbling up anything new she found. For this purpose, I conditioned her to happily wear a muzzle.

Management in place, I could get down to training to stop the coprophagia. While there are several food additives on the market that claim to make the dog’s poop unappetizing, these options were not available to me due to Layla’s severe allergies. If you go this route, it’s important to treat every dog in the household, or the offending dog will learn to just keep trying in order to find an unadulterated pile to munch on. These additives are not completely effective, although they can work for some dogs.

Training your dog not to eat poop

Mischief already had a pretty reliable “leave-it” cue, where she would back away from whatever she was interested in when asked. I reviewed it with her, setting out toys and treats, so that I could make sure her self control was where it needed to be. If she couldn’t ignore an open container of hot dogs on the ground while she heeled, how could I expect her to ignore dog poop on the ground when she was running around in the backyard?

We practiced lots of moving leave-its, and she was able to successfully recall and heel past all sorts of distractions. We didn’t bother to practice stationary leave-its (where the dog is sitting or lying down before the distraction appears), since these didn’t have anything to do with the real-life situation she’d be placed in.

I am now going outside with Mischief every time she goes out. She wears her muzzle if she’s going to be off-leash or if I can’t completely supervise her. If she starts to scrounge in the snow, I say “leave it” and reward her compliance with her favorite treats (a little piece of blue cheese or roast beef).

Since my goal is for her to be responsible without my help, I jackpot her with several pieces of this food and lots of praise any time she chooses to pass a pile of poop without my prompting. Over time, I will start allowing her to go out on a long leash while I supervise from the doorway, and then gradually progress to allowing her off-leash freedom again.

The final word on a dog eating poop

A dog eating poop is undoubtedly disgusting, but like all other behavior problems, it can be solved. And as anyone who has ever had to clean up a mess of the sort Mischief presented me with the other night can attest, it’s well worth the effort to coprophagia in its tracks.

If you need little extra help solving a tough coprophagia problem with your dog, don’t be afraid to call in an expert. I frequently help families with this issue through private consultations.

You may also want to try these Stool Eating Deterrent Soft Chew Supplement for Dogs by Healthy Solutions for Pets >>

Tell us: Is your dog eating poop? Share your tips and stories about coprophagia in the comments!

This piece was originally published in 2013.

Thumbnail: Photography by WilleeCole Photography / Shutterstock.

Read more about dog poop on Dogster.com:

Is Your Dog Eating Cat Poop Out of the Litter Box? Get Him to Stop

Go Eco-Friendly With Your Poop Bags This Earth Month

Is Your Dog Pooping Blood? What to Do Next

The post Is Your Dog Eating Poop? It’s Called Coprophagia and Here’s How to Fix It by Sara Reusche appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

[stiles-wtf]

Is Your Dog Eating Poop? It’s Called Coprophagia and Here’s How to Fix It

The post Is Your Dog Eating Poop? It’s Called Coprophagia and Here’s How to Fix It by Sara Reusche appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

Is your dog eating poop? Well, there’s a scientific name for a dog eating poop — coprophagia. I first noticed something was amiss when Mischief, my youngest dog, didn’t come in after her last potty break of the night. When I called her, she took a couple quick, habitual steps in my direction, then darted back to swallow something in the snow before running in. My suspicions about her out-of-character behavior were confirmed at 3 a.m., when she woke me out of a sound sleep by vomiting up three large puddles of … poop.

I’ll spare you the details of my early morning clean-up, other than to say that I left a window cracked for a couple hours, heating bills be damned. Instead, let’s skip over that awful night and speak of more constructive things. Namely: Is your dog eating poop? Why do dogs eat poop, and how can we stop coprophagia in its tracks?

First, why do dogs eat poop?

Why in the world do dogs eat their poop and what can you do to stop it? Photography by ©LeoPatrizi | Getty Images.

Is your dog eating poop? It’s not as weird as you think. While coprophagia is disgusting to us, it is a normal behavior for dogs. Some experts theorize that this behavior is the root of domestication. Wild canids would eat human refuse outside of settlements, and over time these animals came to resemble our domestic dogs more and more. Mother dogs eat their puppies’ excrement until the pups are about four weeks. Dogs like poop, and their digestive systems are designed in such a way that they can often gain nutrition from the waste products of other animals.

All that said, a dog eating poop is not a behavior most of us will tolerate in our companion dogs. There are some health risks to a dog eating poop, such as an increased risk of parasites (some of which are zoonotic, which means that people can get them, too). If your dog has allergies, as one of mine does, the undigested remnants of allergens in the poop of animals fed certain diets can trigger an allergic reaction.

As soon as I realized what Mischief was up to, I sprang into action. There are two important aspects to any treatment plan dealing with a dog eating poop: management and training. Let’s start with management.

How to stop a dog eating poop, or coprophagia

The more your dog practices any behavior, be it a dog eating poop or sitting politely to greet guests, the better the dog gets at that behavior. For a dog eating poop, this means preventing him from “practicing” that poop-eating behavior is of vital importance. There are several ways to do this.

One of the first things I did was to thoroughly clean my yard. This was difficult, as nearly a foot of freshly fallen snow meant it was difficult for me to find old piles, but easy for Mischief with her talented canine sense of smell. I resolved to pick up each new pile as soon as it happened.

Since there were still likely to be some dog poop hidden under the fresh snow, I also needed a way to prevent Mischief from gobbling up anything new she found. For this purpose, I conditioned her to happily wear a muzzle.

Management in place, I could get down to training to stop the coprophagia. While there are several food additives on the market that claim to make the dog’s poop unappetizing, these options were not available to me due to Layla’s severe allergies. If you go this route, it’s important to treat every dog in the household, or the offending dog will learn to just keep trying in order to find an unadulterated pile to munch on. These additives are not completely effective, although they can work for some dogs.

Training your dog not to eat poop

Mischief already had a pretty reliable “leave-it” cue, where she would back away from whatever she was interested in when asked. I reviewed it with her, setting out toys and treats, so that I could make sure her self control was where it needed to be. If she couldn’t ignore an open container of hot dogs on the ground while she heeled, how could I expect her to ignore dog poop on the ground when she was running around in the backyard?

We practiced lots of moving leave-its, and she was able to successfully recall and heel past all sorts of distractions. We didn’t bother to practice stationary leave-its (where the dog is sitting or lying down before the distraction appears), since these didn’t have anything to do with the real-life situation she’d be placed in.

I am now going outside with Mischief every time she goes out. She wears her muzzle if she’s going to be off-leash or if I can’t completely supervise her. If she starts to scrounge in the snow, I say “leave it” and reward her compliance with her favorite treats (a little piece of blue cheese or roast beef).

Since my goal is for her to be responsible without my help, I jackpot her with several pieces of this food and lots of praise any time she chooses to pass a pile of poop without my prompting. Over time, I will start allowing her to go out on a long leash while I supervise from the doorway, and then gradually progress to allowing her off-leash freedom again.

The final word on a dog eating poop

A dog eating poop is undoubtedly disgusting, but like all other behavior problems, it can be solved. And as anyone who has ever had to clean up a mess of the sort Mischief presented me with the other night can attest, it’s well worth the effort to coprophagia in its tracks.

If you need little extra help solving a tough coprophagia problem with your dog, don’t be afraid to call in an expert. I frequently help families with this issue through private consultations.

You may also want to try these Stool Eating Deterrent Soft Chew Supplement for Dogs by Healthy Solutions for Pets >>

Tell us: Is your dog eating poop? Share your tips and stories about coprophagia in the comments!

This piece was originally published in 2013.

Thumbnail: Photography by WilleeCole Photography / Shutterstock.

Read more about dog poop on Dogster.com:

Is Your Dog Eating Cat Poop Out of the Litter Box? Get Him to Stop

Go Eco-Friendly With Your Poop Bags This Earth Month

Is Your Dog Pooping Blood? What to Do Next

The post Is Your Dog Eating Poop? It’s Called Coprophagia and Here’s How to Fix It by Sara Reusche appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

[buynewsoul]

Is Your Dog Eating Poop? It’s Called Coprophagia and Here’s How to Fix It

The post Is Your Dog Eating Poop? It’s Called Coprophagia and Here’s How to Fix It by Sara Reusche appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

Is your dog eating poop? Well, there’s a scientific name for a dog eating poop — coprophagia. I first noticed something was amiss when Mischief, my youngest dog, didn’t come in after her last potty break of the night. When I called her, she took a couple quick, habitual steps in my direction, then darted back to swallow something in the snow before running in. My suspicions about her out-of-character behavior were confirmed at 3 a.m., when she woke me out of a sound sleep by vomiting up three large puddles of … poop.

I’ll spare you the details of my early morning clean-up, other than to say that I left a window cracked for a couple hours, heating bills be damned. Instead, let’s skip over that awful night and speak of more constructive things. Namely: Is your dog eating poop? Why do dogs eat poop, and how can we stop coprophagia in its tracks?

First, why do dogs eat poop?

Why in the world do dogs eat their poop and what can you do to stop it? Photography by ©LeoPatrizi | Getty Images.

Is your dog eating poop? It’s not as weird as you think. While coprophagia is disgusting to us, it is a normal behavior for dogs. Some experts theorize that this behavior is the root of domestication. Wild canids would eat human refuse outside of settlements, and over time these animals came to resemble our domestic dogs more and more. Mother dogs eat their puppies’ excrement until the pups are about four weeks. Dogs like poop, and their digestive systems are designed in such a way that they can often gain nutrition from the waste products of other animals.

All that said, a dog eating poop is not a behavior most of us will tolerate in our companion dogs. There are some health risks to a dog eating poop, such as an increased risk of parasites (some of which are zoonotic, which means that people can get them, too). If your dog has allergies, as one of mine does, the undigested remnants of allergens in the poop of animals fed certain diets can trigger an allergic reaction.

As soon as I realized what Mischief was up to, I sprang into action. There are two important aspects to any treatment plan dealing with a dog eating poop: management and training. Let’s start with management.

How to stop a dog eating poop, or coprophagia

The more your dog practices any behavior, be it a dog eating poop or sitting politely to greet guests, the better the dog gets at that behavior. For a dog eating poop, this means preventing him from “practicing” that poop-eating behavior is of vital importance. There are several ways to do this.

One of the first things I did was to thoroughly clean my yard. This was difficult, as nearly a foot of freshly fallen snow meant it was difficult for me to find old piles, but easy for Mischief with her talented canine sense of smell. I resolved to pick up each new pile as soon as it happened.

Since there were still likely to be some dog poop hidden under the fresh snow, I also needed a way to prevent Mischief from gobbling up anything new she found. For this purpose, I conditioned her to happily wear a muzzle.

Management in place, I could get down to training to stop the coprophagia. While there are several food additives on the market that claim to make the dog’s poop unappetizing, these options were not available to me due to Layla’s severe allergies. If you go this route, it’s important to treat every dog in the household, or the offending dog will learn to just keep trying in order to find an unadulterated pile to munch on. These additives are not completely effective, although they can work for some dogs.

Training your dog not to eat poop

Mischief already had a pretty reliable “leave-it” cue, where she would back away from whatever she was interested in when asked. I reviewed it with her, setting out toys and treats, so that I could make sure her self control was where it needed to be. If she couldn’t ignore an open container of hot dogs on the ground while she heeled, how could I expect her to ignore dog poop on the ground when she was running around in the backyard?

We practiced lots of moving leave-its, and she was able to successfully recall and heel past all sorts of distractions. We didn’t bother to practice stationary leave-its (where the dog is sitting or lying down before the distraction appears), since these didn’t have anything to do with the real-life situation she’d be placed in.

I am now going outside with Mischief every time she goes out. She wears her muzzle if she’s going to be off-leash or if I can’t completely supervise her. If she starts to scrounge in the snow, I say “leave it” and reward her compliance with her favorite treats (a little piece of blue cheese or roast beef).

Since my goal is for her to be responsible without my help, I jackpot her with several pieces of this food and lots of praise any time she chooses to pass a pile of poop without my prompting. Over time, I will start allowing her to go out on a long leash while I supervise from the doorway, and then gradually progress to allowing her off-leash freedom again.

The final word on a dog eating poop

A dog eating poop is undoubtedly disgusting, but like all other behavior problems, it can be solved. And as anyone who has ever had to clean up a mess of the sort Mischief presented me with the other night can attest, it’s well worth the effort to coprophagia in its tracks.

If you need little extra help solving a tough coprophagia problem with your dog, don’t be afraid to call in an expert. I frequently help families with this issue through private consultations.

You may also want to try these Stool Eating Deterrent Soft Chew Supplement for Dogs by Healthy Solutions for Pets >>

Tell us: Is your dog eating poop? Share your tips and stories about coprophagia in the comments!

This piece was originally published in 2013.

Thumbnail: Photography by WilleeCole Photography / Shutterstock.

Read more about dog poop on Dogster.com:

Is Your Dog Eating Cat Poop Out of the Litter Box? Get Him to Stop

Go Eco-Friendly With Your Poop Bags This Earth Month

Is Your Dog Pooping Blood? What to Do Next

The post Is Your Dog Eating Poop? It’s Called Coprophagia and Here’s How to Fix It by Sara Reusche appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

[jeffreyrwelch]

Is Your Dog Eating Poop? It’s Called Coprophagia and Here’s How to Fix It

The post Is Your Dog Eating Poop? It’s Called Coprophagia and Here’s How to Fix It by Sara Reusche appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

Is your dog eating poop? Well, there’s a scientific name for a dog eating poop — coprophagia. I first noticed something was amiss when Mischief, my youngest dog, didn’t come in after her last potty break of the night. When I called her, she took a couple quick, habitual steps in my direction, then darted back to swallow something in the snow before running in. My suspicions about her out-of-character behavior were confirmed at 3 a.m., when she woke me out of a sound sleep by vomiting up three large puddles of … poop.

I’ll spare you the details of my early morning clean-up, other than to say that I left a window cracked for a couple hours, heating bills be damned. Instead, let’s skip over that awful night and speak of more constructive things. Namely: Is your dog eating poop? Why do dogs eat poop, and how can we stop coprophagia in its tracks?

First, why do dogs eat poop?

Why in the world do dogs eat their poop and what can you do to stop it? Photography by ©LeoPatrizi | Getty Images.

Is your dog eating poop? It’s not as weird as you think. While coprophagia is disgusting to us, it is a normal behavior for dogs. Some experts theorize that this behavior is the root of domestication. Wild canids would eat human refuse outside of settlements, and over time these animals came to resemble our domestic dogs more and more. Mother dogs eat their puppies’ excrement until the pups are about four weeks. Dogs like poop, and their digestive systems are designed in such a way that they can often gain nutrition from the waste products of other animals.

All that said, a dog eating poop is not a behavior most of us will tolerate in our companion dogs. There are some health risks to a dog eating poop, such as an increased risk of parasites (some of which are zoonotic, which means that people can get them, too). If your dog has allergies, as one of mine does, the undigested remnants of allergens in the poop of animals fed certain diets can trigger an allergic reaction.

As soon as I realized what Mischief was up to, I sprang into action. There are two important aspects to any treatment plan dealing with a dog eating poop: management and training. Let’s start with management.

How to stop a dog eating poop, or coprophagia

The more your dog practices any behavior, be it a dog eating poop or sitting politely to greet guests, the better the dog gets at that behavior. For a dog eating poop, this means preventing him from “practicing” that poop-eating behavior is of vital importance. There are several ways to do this.

One of the first things I did was to thoroughly clean my yard. This was difficult, as nearly a foot of freshly fallen snow meant it was difficult for me to find old piles, but easy for Mischief with her talented canine sense of smell. I resolved to pick up each new pile as soon as it happened.

Since there were still likely to be some dog poop hidden under the fresh snow, I also needed a way to prevent Mischief from gobbling up anything new she found. For this purpose, I conditioned her to happily wear a muzzle.

Management in place, I could get down to training to stop the coprophagia. While there are several food additives on the market that claim to make the dog’s poop unappetizing, these options were not available to me due to Layla’s severe allergies. If you go this route, it’s important to treat every dog in the household, or the offending dog will learn to just keep trying in order to find an unadulterated pile to munch on. These additives are not completely effective, although they can work for some dogs.

Training your dog not to eat poop

Mischief already had a pretty reliable “leave-it” cue, where she would back away from whatever she was interested in when asked. I reviewed it with her, setting out toys and treats, so that I could make sure her self control was where it needed to be. If she couldn’t ignore an open container of hot dogs on the ground while she heeled, how could I expect her to ignore dog poop on the ground when she was running around in the backyard?

We practiced lots of moving leave-its, and she was able to successfully recall and heel past all sorts of distractions. We didn’t bother to practice stationary leave-its (where the dog is sitting or lying down before the distraction appears), since these didn’t have anything to do with the real-life situation she’d be placed in.

I am now going outside with Mischief every time she goes out. She wears her muzzle if she’s going to be off-leash or if I can’t completely supervise her. If she starts to scrounge in the snow, I say “leave it” and reward her compliance with her favorite treats (a little piece of blue cheese or roast beef).

Since my goal is for her to be responsible without my help, I jackpot her with several pieces of this food and lots of praise any time she chooses to pass a pile of poop without my prompting. Over time, I will start allowing her to go out on a long leash while I supervise from the doorway, and then gradually progress to allowing her off-leash freedom again.

The final word on a dog eating poop

A dog eating poop is undoubtedly disgusting, but like all other behavior problems, it can be solved. And as anyone who has ever had to clean up a mess of the sort Mischief presented me with the other night can attest, it’s well worth the effort to coprophagia in its tracks.

If you need little extra help solving a tough coprophagia problem with your dog, don’t be afraid to call in an expert. I frequently help families with this issue through private consultations.

You may also want to try these Stool Eating Deterrent Soft Chew Supplement for Dogs by Healthy Solutions for Pets >>

Tell us: Is your dog eating poop? Share your tips and stories about coprophagia in the comments!

This piece was originally published in 2013.

Thumbnail: Photography by WilleeCole Photography / Shutterstock.

Read more about dog poop on Dogster.com:

Is Your Dog Eating Cat Poop Out of the Litter Box? Get Him to Stop

Go Eco-Friendly With Your Poop Bags This Earth Month

Is Your Dog Pooping Blood? What to Do Next

The post Is Your Dog Eating Poop? It’s Called Coprophagia and Here’s How to Fix It by Sara Reusche appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.