#fingers crossed I can keep up this project for longer than a week.

[themediadoctor]

Welcome!

This is a silly little gimmick blog where I attempt to fix plots, characters, worldbuilding and others of media that I think could be improved.

Totally open to suggestions for new patients - bear in mind it may be in less depth if I've never engaged with the media in the past!

How It Works

Each media is ranked on a prescription dose in milligrams based on how much improvement I think it needs! I'll explain why I think it needs improvement and what I'd improve. Medical reports are tagged with the #media cured tag.

This blog contains major spoilers for literally everything! I will warn you about spoilers at the top of each post.

I'm critical of a lot of the media I talk about in here, and I would prefer not to be yelled at about it. Anon asks are on, but play nice. Use this as an exercise in open-mindedness.

[kyoukorpse]

Hmm.!

So... I'm just gonna address these all in one go. cracks all my fingers.

First of all, ascended!Chirin is technically one of like... four solid different endings I've thought of for them in their AU. i think they're all fun to play with, but the first three I've thought of are definitely not so great in regards to them ever getting better or gaining back their full autonomy, or even a semblance of normalcy.

I'll try and answer the questions real quick before I mention the fourth and most recent ending my brain came up with.

"Does Chirin ever regain their mind?"

"Ascended"? No. in "Bliss"? Not really either. in "HttC" they do after their son usurps them but it's a really rough process that leaves them resentful and full of anger for a long time.

"What happens to their relationship with Narinder? How is he throughout this?"

In the endings where Chirin ascends and leaves the cult it obviously puts a somewhat loose split to their relationship. It doesn't formally end, but obviously their relationship can't continue with one of them being GONE lmao also the fact that as Chirin lost their mind they lost connection to their emotions as a mortal and their feelings withered regardless. Narinder doesn't fare too well through out this but in the endings where Chirin leaves they have a child that he's taking care of and his priorities are there. To me he doesn't have the spoons or skills to help Chirin and doesn't know what they need, but who would.

In "Bliss" their mind degrades a bit but only so much so they're able to live relatively "happy" as a family and with Chirin still around and leading, but it's iffy because it doesn't leave Chirin whole and there's progress and growth they'll never have because they more or less stagnate as a person. It's not the best ending to me because someone who can't move forward or move on in general doesn't really get the best ending. Life involves progress and there's none in this ending.

"What does Narinder think of the changes? Does he try to stop it?"

In "Ascended" and "HttC" it's one of those gradual changes that shows slight differences here and there over centuries and by the time he notices how far it's gone it's too late. It's also hard because Chirin has a savior complex and they do and say odd things that seem to come out of nowhere all the time. The little changes over time concern him and he takes note of them but the sudden changes happen so few and far between that they seem like isolated incidents until their overall altered personality is more than noticeable and by then there's not much that can be done, and what could be done, he isn't sure he wants to try and risk the consequences doing something that might backfire on Chirin and their psyche.

When he realizes Chirin is becoming a person he no longer recognizes it's gutting, but what can you do. How do you reverse such a thing?

"Would the bishops be alive during this period?"

Yes, they are alive through this in "Ascended" and "HttC" they decide to keep their golden skull necklaces to be with Narinder and Azriel after Chirin leaves. In "Bliss" they live a normal lifespan.

"Has his positions/duties changed over the years? How has his relationship with Chirin evolved?"

THIS question I won't answer right now, because I can actually answer this eventually with something I'm working on that I've started this week.

So... rubs my little hands together. The fourth and most recent ending I've come up with is actually what I would consider a good ending for them and everyone involved. I honestly didn't see a way out for Chirin for a while given the circumstances I gave them but, ykno... Rambling and talking headcanons with friends always gets the gears turning (:

So the good ending is what I'm working with on this new project that I'm actually having a lot of fun with already and am very excited to continue with for as long as I can. I genuinely want to see it through to the end, fingers crossed for hyperfixation brain.

With that in mind, keep an eye out!! Should have the first part up soon!! Maybe within the next week, or even this weekend!

[quillthrillswriting]

i love writing sokka, so i've thrown some of my favourite lines of his from my fanfic "the teenager in the iceberg" together, so that they can be properly appreciated <3 >:)

---

Sokka continued, his voice both indignant and commanding.“We don’t even know your name, Mr. Walking Ice Cube! What were you doing in there? Were you trying to mimic a snow-man and you got too carried away?” 

---

“So, you’ve brought a monster to invade the village, then? You’re some incognito Fire Nation soldier sent in as an undercover scout? Well, I’ll have you know that I’m the village’s strongest warrior, a-”

“The only warrior,” Katara chimed in, lightly elbowing Sokka’s side, earning herself a responding glare. 

“The strongest warrior.” Sokka reiterated. “And I don’t much like firebenders.” He added the words pointedly.

“Ah.” Aang titled his head. “That’s a shame. Some of my closest friends are Fire Nation.”

“Of course they are,” Sokka glared, hunching over into a defensive position and adjusting his fishing spear until it pointed directly at Aang.

---

“Appa can give us a lift?” Sokka said incredulously. He gestured at the sky bison, sprawled across the ice and looking as though he could sleep for weeks longer. “If anything, he looks like he needs us to lift him up off the ground.”

---

Naturally, Sokka was still a skeptic. “A pulley system! Hot air from a hidden firebender! Secret underwater sea-vents! Or maybe we all ate something funny and all of this is all in our heads… ” He finished off his sentence by wiggling his fingers as if he was ready to cast a spell.

---

Sokka nodded sharply. “He’s our responsibility, no matter how much I berated him when we met earlier. We need to find that sky monster of his, it’s the only way we’ll be able to catch up with the ship.”

“Aang called it a sky bison.”

“He also didn’t tell us that he was the Avatar, so I’m not sure if we can take everything he says at face value,” Sokka pointed out as Katara rolled her eyes. He cocked a grin. “C’mon, let's go get the little guy.”

“Aang’s taller than you!” Katara called after him, rushing to keep up with Sokka’s longer strides.

“Sure, in his dreams !�� The decidedly-shorter-than-Aang boy called back. 

---

“Here’s the deal, bucko.” Sokka said matter of factly, accompanying his words with sharp gestures and exaggerated syllables, as if Appa was deaf. “Your friend needs your help, and WE need YOUR help to get to him. You get the picture?” Without waiting for any kind of affirmation, Sokka nodded briskly then scrambled up to Appa’s back, settling into what appeared to be the driver's seat. 

Appa did not move, didn’t even blink.

Sokka blinked, utterly bewildered. “How do we get him to, y’know, go ?”

---

“He’s not gonna-” Sokka started, but as Katara slid onto Appa’s back, they felt him begin to levitate. Sokka huffed, crossing his arms dramatically. “Spirits, I hate when you’re right and I’m wrong.” Too concerned to snap a retort back at Sokka, Katara just settled down into her seat, anxiously picking at the leather of her coat. 

---

Katara awoke to the loud shout of her brother. 

“Wakey wakey, lovebirds!” he yelped, chucking a rock-hard stick of seal jerky at both of them. 

“Ouch, Sokka!” Katara snapped at him, rubbing her head at the spot where she had been hit, before realising that she was leaning against Aang and immediately jumping away, blushing furiously. 

---

he's so sassy and funny i love sokka so much

♥ find the rest of the fic here!! ->

[eksvaized]

Simon ’Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader render by: @661ave

part EIGHT

[ Previous 〡 Next ]

Eventually, no matter how much you would like to hide in your apartment for the rest of the year, you must return to work. You fall back into your old routine. In the mornings, when you wake up and locate your phone, which is usually tangled in between the sheets, you are no longer afraid to check your messages. As promised, Ghost took care of everything, and Soap has ceased texting you.

However, despite Soap leaving you alone, thoughts of him persistently occupy your mind. You become increasingly aware of his presence everywhere. Even in enormous crowds, your eyes can spot him faster than Ghost, who is usually stuck to his side.

You scarcely noticed Soap before discovering he was behind the unknown number, and if you did, your eyes would skim past and you wouldn’t spare him a second glance. To you, he was just another soldier, someone who was a part of Captain Price’s crew, and friends with Ghost.

Ghost advised you to be prepared for the possibility of Soap seeking you out to apologise in person.

“Just tell him to stay away. He can be persistent, but if you ignore him, he will leave you alone.” Ghost said when you expressed your concerns about not wanting to even be in the same room as Soap and talk to him when there are just two of you.

But thankfully, Soap hasn’t tried to corner you so far.

After everything that happened, you assumed that you and Ghost would go back to staying away from each other. Yes, you kissed once, but the following week, after the kiss, nothing more happened and you expected it to stay this way. However, lately, he started showing more attention to you, and you were too weak to resist his affection.

He even insisted on giving you his number and started texting you at least three times a day to ask you how you were doing or what you were up to. The overwhelming amount of attention and constant focus on you made you feel uneasy, as you were not accustomed to it. However, since all of it was coming from Ghost, you kept your mouth shut about wanting to take things slow, and let him set the pace, which turned out to be quite fast…

***

You were cleaning tables in the dining hall, quietly humming to yourself the song that has been stuck in your head, knowing that after you finish wiping all the surfaces, you will be able to go home.

“Sorry to bother you…”

You raise your head when you hear a voice. But when your eyes land on Soap, the world stops spinning and you freeze. He is talking; his mouth is moving, but you are so shocked to see him that the pounding of your own heartbeat drowns out his words, and his voice sounds muffled as if he’s speaking to you through a thick fog.

“Are you all right?” He moves closer, extending his hand. His fingers wrap around your arm. You assume he meant this gesture to be soothing, but it only makes your body recoil as you take a big step back, jerking his arm away.

You think it’s ironic that he asks you that question, considering everything he has done.

“Yes. No… I- I don’t know.” When you try to speak, your words become a chaotic tangle, and you are unsure whether to feel afraid or furious as your emotions blend into one.

He looks puzzled.

“Just stay away from me.” You say after taking a deep, shaky breath.

Soap continues to stare at you. With a perplexed look, he scratches his neck and shifts his weight uneasily from one leg to another, as though confused by your fear. You can’t believe how simple it is for him to act as if nothing happened, as if he didn’t spend over a month taunting you and making your every day feel like hell.

You keep your back straight while crossing your arms over your chest, attempting to project confidence and conceal your anxiety. But your eyes keep darting around, you can’t hold eye contact, and as if sensing your reluctance to be near him, Soap sighs and leaves you.

The next time you bump into Ghost, you tell him about your interaction with his friend.

“Soap talked with you? What did he say?” He asks, taking a step closer and trapping you between the wall and his body. When you look into his wide eyes, you can't help but notice the worry and nervousness that fills them.

“Not much. And he didn’t do anything.” You remark quickly, attempting to calm Ghost down, figuring he is concerned about how Soap may have acted when you two were alone.

A sigh of relief eludes him. His body relaxes, and he unclenches his jaw. You continue talking for a while longer. The conversation shifts from Soap to the question, which you have yet to answer.

“I know you don’t want to rush.” He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear and brushes his fingers under your jaw before his hand falls back to his side. “But I’d really like to take you on a date.”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, sinking your canines in the soft flesh as you fiddle with your fingers. You are hesitant to answer for no reason and when you realise that, you smile and nod your head, muttering a quiet fine.

“Sunday. My place. Dinner.” You add and Ghost nods; even if he is wearing the mask, by the way the fabric shifts on his face, you can tell that his lips curl into a grin.

Each day seems to fly by faster than the last one because you have something to look forward to this week. And before you know it, Friday evening comes; you are getting ready for your date with Ghost, trying to convince yourself that you are not totally freaking out about it. You hop in the shower after ordering takeout from your favourite restaurant. The food arrives later than expected, but instead of panicking, you use the extra time to do your hair and put on some makeup.

When the doorbell finally rings, alerting you that Ghost has come, you practically sprint towards the front door. For a moment, your body becomes paralyzed because you expect to see Ghost, and you do; he is standing right in front of you, holding a bouquet of blood-red roses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. However, he is not wearing his skull mask.

He observes you gawking, but says nothing, giving you some time to compose yourself and perhaps finally say something instead of just ogling at his face.

“I couldn’t show up on our date wearing full gear, and when I ditched it, the mask had to go too.” He cracks a cheeky grin before a playful smirk forms on his face after he realises you’re unable to tear your eyes away.

You invite him in, and while you put the roses in a vase, you order him to settle down in the living room. At first, neither of you talk much and you eat in silence. Ghost attempts to initiate the conversation a couple of times, but you can hardly hear him since, although your focus is on him, you are not paying attention to what he is saying.

You can’t get used to seeing his face, no matter how long you gaze at him. His hair, which is a dirty shade of blonde, is slightly ruffled as if he was constantly running his fingers through it before coming here. His brown eyes look brighter than usual, and you can’t take your eyes off his lips. You want to brush your finger under his jaw because it looks like it could cut your flesh, and you want to feel if it is as sharp as it appears to be.

Tonight is the first time that you pay more attention to his face instead of his body, which you usually fawn over.

“You have to stop.” Ghost lifts his brows and playfully pokes your side. Warmth envelops your body. An electric shiver races down your spine as a result of his touch.

“What? I’m not doing anything?” You giggle and move your gaze up his lips to meet his eyes.

“Mhm.”

He continues to tease you, and you continue to act as if you don’t understand what he’s talking about.

“Stop it.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Make me.” You grin and lean in. But as soon as he moves closer to you, you leap on your feet and flee away from the couch.

Ghost watches you. His tongue wets his lips before smirking. You see a playful twinkle glimmering in his eyes. You know what you’re doing, even if you appear to be naïve, and you’re thrilled that he seems to be down to playing whatever silly game you have in mind.

“How am I supposed to make you do anything if you run away from me?” He slowly rises to his feet, and you take back a few small steps, shrugging and smiling, holding back the giggles that are building up in your chest.

You bat your dark lashes at him and bite inside your cheek, toying with your fingers, attempting to look as innocent as possible while planning your next move in your head.

“Catch me.”

You whirl around and dart forward, leaving Ghost standing in the living room, watching as you try to vanish out of his sight.

He catches up to you faster than you would like him to. But you manage to evade his arms when they try to sneak around your waist. After you run out of the living room and into the bedroom, you realise you made a mistake and trapped yourself.

“If I were you, I’d be on my knees right now, begging me to be lenient with your punishment and to be gentle with you.” Ghost leans against the doorway, blocking your only way out.

An aura of danger exudes him, and every bone in your body urges you to put more distance between you and him. But you can’t force yourself to do so because you’re drawn to him like a bee to honey.

You click your teeth and your eyes dart around. You don’t want to give up so easily, but you know that your fate is sealed and that you doomed yourself the moment you decided hiding in the bedroom was a good idea.

He strides closer to you, and your body automatically moves back till your shins brush up against the edge of your bed. The distance between your body evaporates faster than you can realise what is happening. He gently pushes your shoulders, causing your back to hit the soft mattress before placing his hands on each side of your head, trapping you under his frame.

“Is it too late to beg now?” When you pose the question, his piercing gaze, and sly smirk cause your cheeks to heat up.

You feel your heart pounding loudly in your chest as your thoughts swirl, conjuring up the scenarios of how this fake fight between you may end. More than half of your fantasies include all the clothes being ripped off and thrown on the floor, as you and Ghost make a mess of the sheets, and your desperate whimpers and his greedy moans blend together.

“It is.” Ghost replies and grins. “But you can still try.”

He leans down and his nose nuzzles against your collarbone, making you squirm because his touch tickles. His lips ascend to your throat, leaving a trail of wet kisses. He nibbles at your delicate skin, trying to locate the sweet spot on your neck as his hands glide along your curves.

He squeezes your ass, kneading the soft flesh through your jeans, prompting a desperate moan to slip past your parted lips. Then he wraps his hands around your hips, flipping your body on top of his in one swift motion as if you weighed no more than a feather.

[princesskenny1998]

Ghostbusters | Trevor Spengler x f!confident!reader ~ Or both?, PT.3

The afternoon light streamed through the blinds in your small lab space, casting a warm glow on the half-finished projects and scattered blueprints. You were leaning against your workbench, idly tinkering with a new prototype in an attempt to distract yourself from the fluttery feeling in your stomach. Trevor was coming over. Again.

It had been going on for a few weeks now—these late nights and “casual” visits, the flirtation that had sparked during your first "hangout" quickly escalating to something much closer, much more... well, complicated.

Every time he came by, there’d be laughter, teasing, and at some point, you’d find yourself tangled up with him on the couch moaning his name. But despite all the incredible chemistry, all the shared inside jokes and fleeting glances, he was still just your friend with benefits. A technicality. Yet, somewhere along the way, your heart had decided to ignore that little detail.

Your stomach knotted as you fiddled with your latest project, trying to ignore the longing you felt for something more with him. After all, how could you be sure he felt the same? What if, to him, it was just a convenient setup? The thought made your chest tighten, and you found yourself wishing he’d just get here so you could stop overthinking.

As if on cue, there was a knock on the lab door. You took a deep breath, putting on your most casual expression as you opened it to see Trevor standing there, his lopsided grin already making you feel a little dizzy. He looked slightly disheveled, as usual, with that ever-present, endearing awkward charm.

“Hey, you,” he greeted, his eyes lighting up as he stepped inside.

“Hey yourself,” you replied, letting the door close behind him. “Decided to grace my lab with your presence again?”

“What can I say? Your lab’s starting to feel like my second home.” He flashed you a grin, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than usual.

You couldn’t help but chuckle as he dropped his bag by the door and crossed the room, his arms finding their way around your waist with the ease of familiarity. His closeness was exhilarating and comforting all at once, and you knew you could spend every day with him like this.

After a few moments of silence, he pulled back, grinning. “So, what’s on the agenda today? Something techy? Or...?”

You shrugged, trying to keep it light. “I was just finishing up a little ghost trap upgrade. But I’m more interested in what you’re here for.”

“Good,” he replied, his voice dropping as he leaned down and closer, lips grazing your neck in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a comfortable haze, your hands and lips finding each other in moments stolen between laughter and whispered words. You forgot about your worries when he finally pushed himself inside you, letting yourself get swept up in him, in the warmth and joy that he brought so effortlessly into your world.

It was later, when you were lying together in the quiet afterglow, your head resting on his bare chest as his fingers traced gentle patterns on your naked back, that the gnawing ache in your heart resurfaced. You wanted to stay like this forever, but the truth loomed over you like a shadow—you wanted more than this, and every second that passed only made that want stronger.

Trevor, seemingly sensing your shift in mood, tilted his head to look at you, his brow furrowing slightly. “Everything okay? Did I hurt you?”

You bit your lip, hesitating for a moment before finally speaking. “Trevor, I... I need to talk to you about something.”

His face shifted to a look of curiosity, and maybe a hint of nervousness, as he nodded. “Of course. What’s up?”

Taking a deep breath, you sat up and turned to face him, your hands twisting together as you tried to gather your thoughts. “This... this thing between us. It’s been... amazing. Really. But, um...” You hesitated, feeling a pang of vulnerability. “I just—Trevor, I want something more. I don’t want this to just be... casual anymore.”

For a second, the words hung in the air, and your heart thudded anxiously as you searched his face for any sign of disappointment or hesitation. But instead, his eyes softened, and a slow, almost relieved smile crept across his face.

“You mean... you want us to be official?” he asked, his tone tentative yet hopeful.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice barely a whisper as you nodded, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest. “I really like you, Trevor. More than just... this. And I was kind of hoping that maybe... maybe you felt the same.”

Trevor’s face broke into a full, genuine grin, and he let out a quiet laugh, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you close. “Are you kidding? I’ve wanted to be with you since that first time you gave me your number. I was just... well, you’re kind of amazing, and I wasn’t sure you’d want...”

He trailed off, his cheeks flushing slightly as he looked away. “I mean, I just thought I’d take what I could get, y’know?”

You laughed, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Trevor Spengler, you’re ridiculous. Of course I want you. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

He let out a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck in that endearing, nervous way of his. “So, does this mean you’re my girlfriend now?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging him. “Yes, Trevor. That’s exactly what it means.”

His face lit up, and he leaned in to kiss you, his touch filled with a warmth and sincerity that made your heart race. This time, it felt different—more meaningful, more certain. Like you’d finally found the place you were meant to be.

When he pulled back, his eyes met yours, a playful glint in his gaze. “You know, I’m actually glad you said something. I was about to confess my undying love for you any day now.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, grinning as you poked him in the chest. “Undying love already, huh?”

He laughed, pulling you back into his arms. “Hey, when you know, you know.”

For the rest of the evening, the two of you stayed tangled together, talking, laughing, and stealing kisses, finally feeling like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[antimonyandthyme]

martian inception au

In Seb’s notebook, in his scratchy scrawl Mark has grown very accustomed to reading:

Side effects – no dreaming

That’s it, no dreaming. Seb doesn’t write, Failure differentiating reality and dream, because any dreamer worth their salt should know which boundaries they strictly do not cross. They create and shatter worlds in their heads and the one thing they give up is the ability to do this without being hooked to a PASIV. That’s not too bad, considering.

But if you bothered to flip the page:

Sub side effects

Entire paragraphs dedicated to specific complications for each role, extractor, chemist, architect, point man. Under forger:

Loss of self

The first time Mark realizes it’s happening, Seb walks by him in a dream. Seb walks by him and ignores him, as if Mark were merely a projection of the dreamer.

Bewildered and irrationally hurt, Mark goes, “Seb?”

His voice is the safety click off a gun. Seb flinches and looks around wildly. Projections aren’t supposed to speak.

It takes a moment before Mark looks down at his hands, and realizes they’re the wrong ones. He turns his back to Seb, and changes to what he assumes—hopes—is the appearance he should be wearing.

“There you are,” Seb snaps. He only gets like this when he’s worried. “I couldn’t find you.”

Mark makes up some ridiculous excuse. Got turned around in the maze, or something like that, as if any of them would ever get turned around in a maze.

Seb looks at him. “Don’t let it happen again.”

Mark doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t make promises he can’t keep.

--

Ironically, it’s Seb who notices last. He’s not being careless. His faith in Mark is just so unshakable that he doesn’t look back when he hears the fall of Mark’s footsteps behind him. Among the hardest things to forge is a person’s gait. Distributing weight and sound according to the target’s walking habits is an intricate and tedious task. Seb can always tell it’s still Mark, even when he wears a different face.

So Seb doesn’t look back.

Jenson does, though. Coming out of a dream, all of them nearing the final kick, and Jenson looks back.

Mark is wearing a stranger as his skin.

Jenson waits until Seb’s gone on ahead. And then he punches Mark so hard Mark will probably feel it for a week in reality.

“Are you trying to break his heart?”

Mark looks down at his hands again.

“Get your shit together,” Jenson demands.

Mark shifts back, and when he wakes, he places two fingers on his own face, and is surprised to see them appear correct.

--

He forgets his totem once. Forgets it, because the last person he was forging doesn’t have one. So he leaves it behind when he goes to get groceries. Chocolate chips and bananas, because Seb wants to make chocolate chip banana bread.

When he gets back, Seb is waiting for him. He has Mark’s swiss army knife cradled in his hand.

Seb knows every stitch of Mark’s totem. Seb helped create Mark’s totem, reasoned that they could custom the knife so elaborately that no extractor would be able to recreate the exact version which belonged to Mark. Sometimes Mark thinks his totem is better off residing in Seb’s hands. These days he shifts so often he doesn’t need it any longer. In reality his hands stay the same. In dreams, his hands change shape and size and colour.

There, no totem needed. Seb doesn’t even need to worry.

“Mark.” Seb’s voice is wobbly. He’s gone and figured it out. Because of course he has.

Mark places the grocery bag on the table. The veins running atop his hand are as unfamiliar as the hundreds of dendrites splitting out from the Indus River.

“Side effect,” he says.

“No more jobs until this stops,” Seb says. Mark can hear him trying to be authoritative, brave. Seb comes close, and wraps Mark’s fingers around his totem. “Don’t ever leave this behind again.”

Seb’s hand above his. Mark tries to memorize the image, but he’s not sure if it’ll take. Almost trickier than an Inception.

--

Jenson puts his research skills into good use, and finds an island off the coast of Victoria that houses a population of zero. He arranges transport and food and beer to last Mark a month at least. Mark spends the first two days drinking his way through the supplies, and considers radioing Jenson to send more.

He holds up his hand to the sun. It’s gotten severely tanner. Jenson forgot sunscreen. But the shapes are good. The knuckles aren’t sewn together by someone playing at god. The angles won’t cut him open.

Mark drinks away the sting of abandonment. The team’s in Toronto for a job. He wonders who their forger is. He drinks some more.

In the third week he dreams.

Real dreams—they’re confusing. There’s no story, no plotline. There’s no job. There's no point. Mark’s falling down a chasm of mirrors. The faces reflected back are not his own. Mark’s smashing every mirror with his bare hands. Mark’s watching the blood run down in rivulets, real enough to taste.

On second thought, maybe these dreams are the ones that make the most sense.

--

Even after an alcoholic induced state lasting three and a half weeks, Mark’s still capable if he wants to be. He finds a way to get off the island. And then he goes to find them.

More specifically, he goes to rescue them from some botched mission.

“I leave for one month,” Mark says. He’s allowed to be dramatic, and a little smug. He pulls them out of the third layer, and then the second layer, and then the first. Each time with his own goddamn hands. It’s as if he has the strength to bend steel.

Seb doesn’t let go. Refuses to let go even as they exit the dream. Mark looks down at their joined hands. Seb’s hand fits perfectly in his, as it has always done.

Yeah. That looks just about fine.

[temporalhiccup]

Can you please give an update on the Twilight Throne? It's been 2 and a half years

Two and a half years, omg.

So context before the update:

When I first announced pre-orders for Twilight Throne I was in a dangerously confident state: I had been playtesting the game for about two years almost every week, and even under different GMs the game worked great! I thought, surely, I just need to lay this out and it'll be fine!

It's not an excuse (well, maybe it is) but becoming so terribly disabled by several things in my late 30s and being ravaged by its effects in my early 40s sucks. I have no medical/financial support. I have not managed to procure a single diagnosis. I am pretty desperate in what I've had to do to get minimal support. (It's better than nothing!)

I wasn't prepared for how quickly one can become more disabled—and recovery can never be counted on. I always thought "Things should get better soon, they have in the past" but they never did. Months, then years, passed as I struggled and my mental health was eh, not great.

On top of that, the laptop that had the Twilight Throne layout file died horribly, and I did not have the mental capacity to try to retrieve the files (I have been trying for, apparently, years now, augh)

The good news is that I somehow survived the intense requirements for top surgery (along with actually having the money for it, basically everything I earned from Apocalypse Keys and other work). Top surgery helped with the demons of gender dysphoria that were impacting my disabilities and mental health...

...but I got more disabled as a result. Yay!

Among other complications (I had to go in for a second emergency surgery for example), the worst was an intense PCOS flare up that lead to the nerves in both thighs getting severely damaged, resulting in constant mind-searing pain. It's hard to describe the domino effect that had. I haven't found a doctor who takes it seriously. After six months, it's uh, sometimes tolerable, which I hope is a sign that the nerves are healing! Fingers crossed!

Basically it got to the point, across these years, that I could no longer sustain several things: patreon, almost all my projects, etc. I couldn't keep up with Twilight Throne, among many things that are important to me. I'm also not doing well money wise, because of years of not being able to work as much, whoo!

So! The Update!

Twilight Throne is still complete in its current version, missing the GM sections/support.

Despite the nerve damage and other things, I am doing much better. My mental health is improving. I'm still uh really disabled but (and this may be hubris again) on some days I can manage more work than the bare minimum.

Because Twilight Throne still works well if you're at least somewhat familiar with Forged in the Dark, my current plan is to forego the unfinished fancy layout I had worked so hard on and create a simpler PDF based on the Google doc.

People will get the game, and that's what matters!

The plan is to upload the simple PDF in early 2025, hopefully around January-March! Please be gentle with me if I can't do this, I really want to and I think about Twilight Throne all the time.

I am still actively working on the next version of Twilight Throne when I can, and I do have a publisher for the game, so it will reach a finished state at some point! I just can't say when that is.

I know this is long, but can you believe I left out so much? I tried to stick to the pertinent details.

I really am grateful for everyone who supported and believed in Twilight Throne. I know there are people who are understandably upset. I don't expect "I'm trans and disabled" to be a good enough reason for folks, but it's the only one I have.

If you are upset with me about it, I get it. Just trust that I am, on a daily basis, upset with myself for my limitations and weakness. The chronic pain is a constant reminder of what I am not capable of. It is what it is, and I understand that my best will often not be good enough.

It would be nice to live in a world where I had easier access (or in a lot of cases any access) to the support I need, but, well. And I unfortunately enjoy making ttrpgs and art, and still want to try doing it.

So I will continue to fail, to let myself down, to keep hoping that I can keep making things. I keep trying.

But because of what happened to Twilight Throne, and many other projects, I don't share much of my work online anymore.

[crowpricorn]

7 for wesper😴🐔

questions

7: to shut them up

hi!! here it is 💗💗

D&D nights are a nightmare, and Wylan wonders why on earth he still goes. He should be back at his dorm polishing his last project due tomorrow night but, instead, here he is.

Wylan agreed to one trial night months ago, and somehow he found himself stuck to a every other week night session of role-playing. Not that he hates it — he loves it and he is also fairly lucky with dice. It's just that D&D nights are a mess of yelling young adults that can't accept the fact they are unlucky with dice. 

Namely, that's Jesper. 

They play because he and Kaz had wanted to try something new rather than watching Moana for the fifth time in a row or playing Risk — "It lasts an eternity," they always complain. Not that Dungeons & Dragons lasts any shorter — on the contrary. But it's way more fun and dynamic. That is, until Jesper throws his dice and it never goes over a five or six. 

"It is unfair," Jesper yells now, pointing his finger against Kaz's master book. "I'm sure you're tricking us."

"I'm not tricking you, Fahey. You get a three, you fall into the pit full of snakes. Wait for someone to save you and shut up."

"But I don't want someone to save me," Jesper whines.

"Then you stay down there and shut up." 

They keep bickering for a while longer, and Wylan loses himself in chatting away with Inej and Nina, while Matthias tries to back Kaz up. 

"Jesper, stop being a kid and let us play," Nina yells after a while. 

Jesper pouts, crossing his arms before his chest and darting hostile gazes all around. "Fine, but you'll have to drag your asses here and save me. Again," he spits, eyeing Kaz in hopes of a reaction. But Kaz is already face back into his manual, ignoring Jesper on purpose. 

Wylan's mind swarms during the dullest moments, all focused on the project he has not finished and how annoying it is to be here during such a bad Jesper day. Which means that he is insufferable every bit of the way, a constant litany of complaints about Kaz's directions and his dice numbers and that thing Nina's character got as a gift that he would have liked for himself. 

Wylan shoves his face into his character sheet the umpteenth time that Jesper interrupts the game to complain. Inej pushes her chair back and stands up with a groan, circling the room and then heading to grab some drinks from Kaz's fridge. 

"Bring me a beer," Nina yells after her, surely desperate to wash the night away with a bit of alcohol rather than keep listening to their friend's antics. 

Ideally, they all know about Jesper's gambling past and how he shouldn't be encouraged around bets and dice. They also know how little self control he has. That's why they spend their nights around safe board games easy to enjoy without further addiction. That's how D&D nights began. 

Wylan watches Jesper stand as well and mutter a choked Going to the bathroom and, before he even realizes, he is strolling behind him. 

"Are you alright?" Wylan asks as soon as Jesper opens the bathroom door. Jesper jumps, surely unaware he has been followed until Wylan speaks. He turns, with a sour and sad smile that doesn't reach his eyes. 

" 'Course," he dreads. 

Wylan sighs, leaning against the wall. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks. He would never prompt Jesper into talking more, but he also knows his friend and he can see that he has one of those days. Jesper does start talking, like he had been waiting for nothing else than permission to. 

He complains about Kaz's leading ways and about this stupid campaign and about his dice throwing luck. He also complains about his character — a half-orc paladin — that he found so brilliant at the beginning and that now he has grown tired of. Inej once told him that they are campaigning just for fun — nothing is involved except their friendship and the intricate worlds that Kaz loves to throw them into. But Wylan knows that Jesper can't stand losing, feeling less than the others, staying behind. And whenever a dice lands on a one, or two, he sees his friend retreat into a shell of self dread and despair. 

"We don't have to keep playing if it affects you this much," Wylan whispers. 

"But I like it. I just wish I could… be lucky? Or, or be as chill as the rest of you," he mumbles. 

Wylan stands there and lets him talk, and talk, and as he speaks his own focus shifts from Jesper's words to his gorgeous face, his bright eyes, the shape of his mouth. The way his hands and body move to bring his words out with more clarity, the way his brows dart up or down whenever he says something he likes or doesn't like. 

Jesper is a machine full of clogs for Wylan to uncover and discover, and now he lets himself follow every gear to his heart's content. Until it becomes annoying again to hear all these hasty, complaining words about this or that Kaz behavior or gaming strategy or luck, until Wylan— 

He doesn't think, that's the thing. 

He is leaning against the wall one second and shoving his mouth against Jesper's but a moment later. 

He realizes just as soon as his lips press against Jesper's, but it's too late to do anything other than stiffen right there where he is, eyes stubbornly closed because if he opens them the truth of this will shower over him.

It has the desired effect, though, because Jesper was talking too much and now he is not talking at all and he is as stiff as a stone. 

I broke him, Wylan thinks, and he starts to push away, finally defeated by the fact that he will have to face his friend. His friend that he just kissed. On the mouth. To shut him up — even though he is the one who encouraged him to start talking to begin with. Maybe shutting him up was just an excuse that his mind found for him to finally act on this stupid crush he has been restraining for quite a while now. Whatever it is that prompted him to kiss Jesper, he knows he fucked up. Jesper was having a moment, and he ruined it with something selfish like a kiss of all things. Besides, they are friends. Friends don't go around kissing friends. 

Just as he is about to push back, though, Jesper presses forward, making sure that Wylan feels that the kiss is being reciprocated. A choked whining sound surges from Jesper's throat when Wylan opens his mouth to exhale a held back, surprised breath and then deepens the kiss. 

Jesper moves into the kiss also, leaning closer, hands grasping Wylan's arms and his waist and his curls — but he is ever moving, so it doesn't come as a surprise. On the contrary, Wylan likes it. 

He is the first one to break the kiss, pushing his forehead against Jesper's and opening his eyes only to be met by Jesper's impossibly wide gray eyes. Wylan smiles, and then starts laughing against his friend's face, gently brushing his nose with Jesper's. 

"Holy shit," Jesper exhales. Then, pushing Wylan back by the shoulders so that he can look at him, "Holy shit. You kissed me."

Wylan smiles again, feeling euphoric and dizzy with joy. He did! "Mh," he answers. 

"No, I mean… you kissed me. You are like," Jesper flushes, and if his skin was any clearer Wylan is sure he would see splotches of furious, red blush all over. "You are beautiful. And amazing and gorgeous and I've had this massive, stupid crush for like… And I'm just…"

Wylan grabs Jesper by the collar and kisses him again. And again when Jesper starts to show signs of wanting to talk again. And again until Jesper is reduced to a pathetic puddle, letting himself be pushed closer and hugged tighter and kissed better. 

"But what do you… Mh," Jesper moans around the umpteenth kiss. 

"Stop talking," Wylan complains. "Just," he blushes, "shut up and kiss me." 

And Jesper does. They kiss for what feels like ages but shouldn't be more than ten minutes, until someone comes knocking on the bathroom door — Matthias, who really urgently needs to use the toilet and that won't even notice how entangled they are in each other. 

When they go back, Wylan watches Kaz sourly shove a five kruge bill in Nina's already waiting hand. "I told you," she sing-songs, eyeing the two of them with a knowing look. 

Wylan blushes, but he also glares her way because "Betting on your friends kissing is fucked up. How do you even know we were?"

"It's written all over your faces," Inej whispers from her chair. 

"At least now Jesper might play without throwing a tantrum," Kaz adds. "You can kiss him every time he tries. I am not above some pda when it's needed."

And Wylan — well, he is not above some pda to shut Jesper up every now and then, either. If anything, their D&D sessions get all the more interesting and fun from that moment onward. 

[melodygatesauthor]

Weekly Update - 06/04/2023

(Just realized I forgot to post this yesterday hehe)

As a reminder, I do weekly updates. You can see the original post here for details on what will be in these!

Updates Below the Cut:

Long/Chaptered Fic Updates

Currently I'm working on A Bit Dodgy, as many of you know. There WILL be an update tomorrow! 06/05/2023. We have chapter 11 incoming!

----

Mini-series Updates

Blue = out this week

Pink = In progress actively

Red = Backburner Fic

Worth the Risk I had wanted to put out Part 3 last week but between the Pride Event and working on my celebration posts, ABD and requests, it just got to be too much! It's going to sit back for just a short bit while I finish up some stuff. - No updates this week.

The Fractured Moon I'm always chipping away at this one. I'm actually adding some adjacent parts to it so it will be a little longer than I originally thought which is exciting! - No new updates this week though.

Feeling You Can't Fight is coming out this week on Wednesday! My goal will be to put out a chapter a week for the next 6 weeks for this one (fingers crossed - will post more often if I finish the chapters sooner than that) but we will see! This is for the @flightlessangelwings pride event, and the summary is as follows:

You are the new staff manager for the National Art Gallery in London, replacing the prior manager who you'd heard was unpleasant to work for...and that was putting it kindly. When you meet the nervous, but friendly, gift shop clerk, you can't help but fall for him almost immediately. When it becomes clear that you can't shake this desire to give Steven everything he deserves and more, you can only hope that he feels the same way about you in return.

It WILL include the other two boys as well. - Coming this week

Working on a secret series based on a series of artwork done by an artist in the community. Hoping to have that out this week! - Coming out this week! (I hope)

Requests

1K EVENT REQUESTS HAVE TAKEN PRIORITY OVER REGULAR REQUESTS. THEY ARE SHORTER AND I CAN GET THEM DONE FASTER. - There are still 13 to go but I'm tearing through them quickly.

I still have a sizeable amount of regular requests. REQUESTS ARE STILL CLOSED CURRENTLY.

(I didn't manage to get to any of them last week but I am planning to work on some of them this week for sure).

If your request is in blue, that means I'm going to try to work on it this week (06/04-06/11). If it's in pink, I'm going to try to work on it a different week. It's taking me a while to get into the headspace for some of them so thank you for your patience. Green means it's done I'm just working on editing now.

Blue Jones X f!Reader requested by @saraicus

There are 2 prompts in particular that I liked from the list you sent so I'll be doing them. - His eyeliner running down as he’s banging you against his desk - You’re a new patient and he just grows overprotective towards you. Doesn’t want you to meet other men and keeps you in solitary confinement for his jealousy sake.

Moon Boys X f!Reader by @simpforbritgents

Asking for something like Feeling Flustered where the moon boys are doing guided phone sex.

Moon Boys X f!Reader by @mercuryrosesixx

Moon Boys w/ a f!Reader w/ nipple piercings.

Marc Spector X f!Reader by @blueflowerhat

Marc shower sex based on AI prompt.

Steven Grant X f!Reader by Anon -

Steven and Reader are both virgins. Marc is guiding/coaching Steven.

Doctor Marc Spector X Patient Reader by @burnincrown

Role Reversal (sort of) of Not a Doctor - Marc is the doc, reader is the patient and he takes advantage - Dark Fic

Nathan Bateman X f!Reader by @campingwiththecharmings

This is the prompt that hit me like a Nathan-shaped mac truck! -> “if you don’t like my teasing why are you moaning”

Nathan Bateman X f!Reader by Anon

Cam girl reader x Nathan - Nathan turns to a cam girl, he's been kinda stalking her. (Excited hehe)

That's it for right now. I'm a busy lady as usual but I like having a few different projects going at once! More coming soon! Thanks for always being so awesome and supportive. Love you all!

[arrow-guy]

Within the Ashes (4/??)

Summary: You’ve spent your life working for someone else. You watch their back, you protect them, but you’re left feeling empty and unfulfilled at the end of the day. What happens when a freak accident transports you to a different dimension, very nearly identical to your own?

A/N: Alright, friends, back to the chaos! A little more sad than the last chapter, but not all around unhappy, I promise. Please enjoy!

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong

Pairing: StevexReader, background Spiderytorch

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Reed’s an ass, sad boys

part 3

"Are you honestly still cleaning the lab?" Sue asks. "It's been a week, Reed. Whatever's not clean can wait until you get (Y/N) back."

"I've been trying to pinpoint where it was she could've been transported to," Reed explains. "Those programs take time to work. I don't see why cleaning up in the meantime is a problem." Sue crosses her arms. "Besides, it's going to take longer to rebuild the machine than it did initially because (Y/N) isn't here. I won't be able to work as fast as I might normally be able to."

"You worked just fine before you had an assistant."

"I was taking on smaller projects. Of course I was working just fine."

"Why haven’t you asked Ben for help, if you need an extra set of strong hands?”

“No offense to Ben, Sue, but he’s not exactly suited to delicate work.”

“You never said you needed someone to do delicate work, dear. I've only ever seen (Y/N) pull you out of danger and lift things too heavy for you to manage on your own.”

"She did more than that," he mutters. After a moment of consideration he adds, "Sometimes."

"Uh-huh. Maybe there's a reason she was interested in finding another job."

"She's been saying that for years. She never followed through."

"Because she'd feel bad about leaving a job Johnny got her. You know they're close."

"Because of Peter."

"No, not just because of Peter. They met when she was still in college. (Y/N) mixed up the day she was supposed to meet Peter at a coffee shop and Johnny accidentally ran into her and spilled his drink down her sweater. They've been friends ever since."

Reed frowns. "What year was she?"

"Sophomore." His mouth forms a silent "oh" and Sue shakes her head. "She's been part of our lives in one way or another for the better part of a decade."

"I hadn't realized."

"I know." She sighs and turns on her heel. "Get to work, Reed. We need to put our family back together."

She doesn't stick around to hear whatever her husband mumbles at her back.

“Oh, Steve!” (Y/N) grins when she sees Steve poke his head into the room. “Didn’t think I’d see you today.”

“Figured I should give you the news,” he says.

“News?” He steps up to the edge of the bed and she sits up at attention.

“Yeah, I was talking with Tony and Natasha and we agreed that since you’re mostly recovered, it’s time to move you into a more comfortable room.”

“Oh?” The corner of her mouth quirks up. “Need to make room in the infirmary?”

Steve laughs. “No, it’s just clear that you’ll be here for a while. There’s no point in making you live in the hospital forever.”

"Oh, well thank you." She glances around before looking at Steve. "Is there anything I have to do in order to be discharged? Deadlift five hundred pounds? Run ten miles?"

Steve shakes his head and makes no attempt to hide his smile. "Nothing as strenuous as that. As long as you can walk in a straight line, I'd say you're good to go."

"I could do that drunk," she jokes.

"Can you even get drunk?"

"Not easily and not for very long." She hops off the bed on the side opposite where Steve stands. “But the amount of booze it’d take would be incredibly expensive, so it’s pointless, really.”

As a joke she walks across the room, arms straight out on either side. She then turns to Steve and touches her index fingers to her nose, one after the other. He presses his lips together to keep from laughing, so she raises her eyebrows and touches her nose again, this time while standing on one foot. When she wobbles dramatically, he reaches out and steadies her with his hands on her shoulders.

He laughs and says, "Okay, you passed, you can stop that."

"Are you sure?" she asks, eyes comically wide. "I could always recite the alphabet backwards."

"Can you do that?"

"Not that I know of, but I could give it a go." He rolls his eyes and she grins. "I'd offer up more drunk tests, but the only other one I know is a breathalyzer, and I'm pretty sure that one would be useless in this situation."

Steve chuckles. "Are you always this dramatic?"

"Only when the boss isn't looking," she says. "So yes. Most of the time."

“Somehow I don’t find that surprising.”

“I wish I could be offended, but I am fully aware of who I am.”

(Y/N) doesn’t miss the way he bites the inside of his cheek to hide his smile as he turns to go. Steve gestures for her to follow and she shoves her hands into her pockets and trails along behind him out into the hall. The entire time spent walking behind Steve (Y/N) can't help but compare everything she sees to the Baxter Building. It's eerily similar, but entirely different at the same time. Every bathroom matches up and occasionally there’s a potted plant in the same place as the Baxter Building. She mentally ticks off everyone’s rooms as they pass until Steve stops at an all too familiar door, two doors up from the end of the hall. She stops, looks around, and confirms that she is, in fact, exactly where she thinks she is,

“This is where you’ll be staying,” Steve says. She just stares at the door. “Is something wrong?”

(Y/N) shakes her head. “It’s just that this is actually my room.” At his immediate confusion she clarifies, “In my reality, I mean. From what I’ve seen of the building so far, it’s the same there as it is here. I’ve been counting the doors. This is my room.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah…” She jerks her thumb towards the door. "Should we go in?"

“Right, yeah.” Steve clears his throat. “Of course.”

He reaches past her and opens the door.

Peter sits at the head of the bed and watches Johnny pace the floor at the foot. He doesn’t want to say anything before his boyfriend gathers his thoughts. Eventually, Johnny flops, face down on the bed and groans.

“What’s on your mind, hot stuff?” Johnny mumbles something that’s further muffled by the comforter. “Try that one more time.”

Johnny visibly sighs. He then folds his arms under his chin and meets Peter’s eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“I know.”

“Reed literally blew her up. There’s no trace of her. How can he be so calm?”

“I don’t know.”

“How are you so calm?”

“I’m not,” Peter admits. “I just know that it’ll set you off if I’m freaking out non stop.”

“Aw, Pete…”

“She’s the closest thing I have to a sister, y’know? If Reed’s wrong and she’s not out there somewhere-” Johnny’s face blurs, obscured by the tears in Peter’s eyes. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

“I know. We wouldn’t be here right now, if it weren’t for her.” His face crumples and Peter immediately reaches out and wipes his tears away. “And she wouldn’t have even been here if I hadn’t asked her to take the job. Like I just wanted to keep her around because I’m selfish and now she could be with people who want to kill her, or floating in space somewhere, or dead.”

“It’s not your fault though. It’s not like (Y/N) never learned to say no. She wanted to take the job. There was no way for any of us to know it’d suck as much as it does.”

“If we get her back, she’s gonna quit.”

“Probably.”

“I wouldn’t blame her.” Very softly he adds, “That doesn’t mean we’d never see her again if she left.”

“I know.”

“But you have to admit, she kind of has to leave for her own safety, at this point. I mean she’s been stuck healing from injuries she never should’ve gotten, simply because Reed doesn’t listen to her.”

“Sue’s had a talk with him.”

“Yeah, she's had several "talks" with him. But when has he ever listened?”

“Good point.” Peter squeezes Johnny’s hand. “If she’s out there, we’ll find her. I’ll make sure of it.”

“You’d better.”

“Your crush is disturbingly obvious,” Natasha says.

Steve rolls his eyes. “It’s not a crush, Nat.”

She raises her eyebrows. “It’s not?”

Steve scowls. “Not yet.”

“Mhm.”

“She’s interesting. That’s all.”

“That’s all?”

“She’s clever, funny, and dramatic-”

“And pretty.”

“Natasha.”

“And strong. Physically and emotionally. And it seems like she likes you-”

“Nat!”

“What? I’m only stating the facts. You know I’m right.”

“She’s still recovering. And I doubt she’ll be with us long, especially if her boss is as smart as she says he is.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t flirt while she’s here.”

“That assumes I could ever flirt to begin with.”

“You do a passable job.”

“Passable doesn’t mean it’s effective. And I’m not gonna flirt with (Y/N). Especially when what she needs right now is a friend. Not a nuisance.”

"Whatever you say."

"Have you even talked to her yet?"

"No, but I've been watching her."

"Yeah, not the same."

"Never said it was. I'm just waiting for the right time."

"There is no "right time", Nat. She's been here for over a week."

"We don't know her, Steve."

"No, but we're not strangers to her. She won't be surprised to see you around the tower. If anything, she'll be more surprised if you wait until whatever it is you define as the perfect time. Usually that winds up turning into an ambush."

"It's effective though."

"It's terrifying."

"It's supposed to give me the upper hand, not comfort the target."

"Yeah, no ambushing (Y/N)."

“You’re no fun.”

“Nat.”

“I won’t ambush her.” Natasha pushes herself up from the couch. “I promise I’ll just talk with her.”

“Thank you.”

“If she can handle me, she can handle just about anyone in this tower.”

“She held her own against Tony.”

“Then she should be just fine.” Before she walks away, Natasha says, “You’re allowed to like her, you know.”

Steve nods. “I know. But that’s where it ends.”

Natasha just skirts around the couch, pats Steve on the shoulder, and heads to the elevator.

Ooo, Stevie has a crush! Can any good come of it? Who knows, but hopefully it’ll be a good time

As always, I’d love to know what you thought of this chapter! Do you think Reed is an ass, or is Sue expecting too much of him? How do you feel about Peter and Johnny preemptively mourning their friend? What do you think of Steve’s crush on the Reader character? Is Natasha getting ahead of herself teasing him about it? Be sure to reblog, comment, and/or shoot me an ask and tell me all about it!

Tag List:

@ghostlyhamlet, @claws-of-vibranium, @imagine-assembling-the-avengers, @buckysendoftheline, @ptprocrastination, @1950schick, @amayasymone23, @arfrona-and-marvel, @ek823, @fanaticfangirl001, @furrywerewolfcollector, @kissofvenom922, @dawn-phantomhive, @fangirlwithasweettooth, @mairhof1, @starryeyesbadguys, @trap-house-homiecide, @buckywhitewolfbarnes, @kaepm981, @howdoesoneadult​, @pcdmesamidala​, @thefandomplace​, @sian22redux​, @skeletoresinthebasement​, @lady-thor-foster​, @feelmyroarrrr​, @jazzcutie​, @gaytonystark​, @hermionie-is-my-queen​, @darling-loki​, @geeksareunique​, @nyxveracity​, @lemonadeorange73​, @sad-darksoul​, @tofeartheunknown​, @queenoftheunderdark​, @avengerscompound​, @patzammit​

This Fic:

@brattymum96​, @vicmc624​

[emoticonheart]

i'm so sorry this has taken me so long, but chapter five of my burp soulmates story inspired by @moraygrotto is FINALLY here!! it's honestly super poorly written, but i hope you all enjoy anyway!! as always, you can either read the chapter by clicking on the link below, or by just reading below!!

"Ah, hello, Sierra." their detention supervisor said as the two of them walked into the empty classroom. "I haven't seen you here in a while."

Sierra just sighed.

Ms. Jensen then made eye contact with Conner and her eyes went wide. "Oh, and Conner. I never would've expected to see you here."

Conner could feel heat rushing to his cheeks once again as he looked away in shame. "Hello, Ms. Jensen."

The two of them took their seats in the two middle front desks. One tapped his fingers nervously against the surface, the other glaring at the floor, arms crossed.

"Well, it seems like it's just you two today, so I'll keep it simple," she ducked under her desk and dropped a huge storage bin full of Expo markers on top of it. "I'll have you two sort through these and see which ones are actually still good. If they work, put them back in the bin. If they don't, just throw them in the trash."

Sierra gave Ms. Jensen an incredulous look. "Why do you have so many markers?"

"And any attitude like that will earn you an extra week's worth of detention. Got it?"

Sierra just scoffed as Conner nodded vigorously.

Ms. Jensen nodded in satisfaction before continuing, grabbing her lanyard from off her desk. "Now, I have a meeting to go to, so I should be back in an hour. If I come back to find that you are no longer here, that will result in immediate suspension. I trust..." she eyed Sierra before turning to Conner, "one of you to do the right thing."

Sierra just rolled her eyes.

And with that, Ms. Jensen walked out of the classroom, leaving just the two of them.

"Did you wanna-"

"Shut up."

Conner immediately shut his mouth. Normally, he wouldn't put up with that kind of attitude, but considering the situation, je figured a little anger was justified. He imagined how he would feel if someone had gotten him put in detention. He had to admit that Sierra was taking it a lot better than he would've. Even so, he couldn't help but feel guilty about what he had done. After all, he didn't mean to get anyone in trouble!

But he figured if they weren't gonna talk, they should at least try to get some work done. So, he walked over to the giant bin of markers, grabbed one out, and began to test it out on the whiteboard.

Sierra didn't join him at first, deciding instead to remain seated, glaring at the ground with her arms crossed in front of her. Conner didn't mind, though. The work was easy, and he didn't want to punish her more for his actions.

And so, twenty minutes went by in complete silence, with Conner writing on the whiteboard over and over and over again, and Sierra doing absolutely nothing to help.

As the minutes ticked on, Conner began to feel more and more antsy. He didn't like how silent it was, with the only sounds being the squeaking of the markers on the whiteboard and the clicking of Sierra's fingernails on her phone.

So, he began to do what he usually did when he needed to relax: he started to sing. It was quiet, just barely audible under his breath, but it was already starting to help him feel better. So, he continued to sing. It was the same song that he had sang at his unfortunate audition for Julliard, but despite the awful memories attached with the song, that didn't stop him from singing.

In fact, if anything, it was starting to help him feel better. Because while the memory was embarrassing, the song was still the same. The beauty of the song never changed, with its beautiful lyrics, its change in rhythm halfway through, and of course its high note at the end. By singing it now, it was almost as if he was erasing that terrible memory where he-

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Conner was snapped out of his trance when he heard Sierra's voice. "Huh?"

Sierra rolled her eyes. "Can you stop singing?"

Conner blinked. "You could hear me?"

Sierra rolled her eyes as she looked back at her phone. "I'm sure the whole school could hear you."

Conner shook his head. Surely he wasn't singing that loud. He was just singing under his breath! Except, he had been known to get lost in the music while singing that song.

"Sorry," Conner said awkwardly. "I didn't realize I had started singing so loud."

"Whatever."

Well, it looked like it was back to awkward silence. And since singing was no longer an option, he was stuck with the awkward tension and his own thoughts. Basically torture.

"I will admit that you have a beautiful voice, though."

Conner blinked as he looked at Sierra, who was actually looking up at him from her phone. "Really?"

"Yeah," she chuckled. "I can see why you would want to show off."

Conner blushed. "I didn't mean to show off. I just... got carried away, I guess."

"Sure."

Conner wanted to continue to defend himself, but he immediately shut his mouth as Sierra actually stood up from her seat and walked up to the front of the class. She grabbed a marker from the bin and began testing it.

Conner smiled. Was it his singing that helped lighten the tension? It had to have been, because it wasn't like there was much else going for him.

"I didn't catch your name," Sierra said without making eye contact.

Conner smiled, even though he knew she couldn't see it. "I'm Conner Eve. And you are?"

"Sierra Watson."

There was another pause as the two of them continued to work, before Sierra finally turned to face him.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you," she said. "In case it wasn't already painfully obvious, my temper usually runs a little hot."

Conner shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. The only reason you're in detention is because of me."

"Nah, I'm actually kinda glad you did."

"What?" Conner stared at her incredulously.

Sierra sighed. "Yeah. I'm trying to make my stepdad as pissed at me as possible, so this'll definitely help."

Conner wanted to ask more about what that meant, but he figured it wasn't his place, so he just hummed a response as he focused back on the task at hand.

Conner seemed to get lost in the process of checking the markers. It helped that there was now someone alongside him, because now the tension was almost gone.

"Thanks for the help," Conner said after a while.

"Don't thank me. It's not like I'm doing this willingly."

"True, but it's still--"

Conner's eyes widened as he slapped a hand over his mouth, just in time to stop a belch that began roaring behind his closed lips. He clasped that hand tightly, holding on for dear life as the air continued rushing out of him. After several long seconds, it finally stopped, and he dropped his hand with a sigh of relief.

However, while he was mostly distracted by keeping it all in, he still noticed something. His own belch started right as Sierra opened her mouth and let her own roar right out of her. And it ended right when hers petered out, smiling in satisfaction.

"Ah, that felt good."

Conner's belch started and ended at the same time as his own did.

"Now, sorry, what were you saying?"

Which meant--

"Sierra Watson!"

Both she and Conner gasped as Ms. Jensen stormed into the room, nostrils flared and eyes burning with rage.

Conner gasped, stepping back in a panic. Sierra, however, was unfazed, staring right back at the teacher with a smirk.

"Yes, Ms. Jensen?"

"Don't play innocent! I could hear that belch from all the way down the hall!"

Sierra crossed her arms. "You have no way of proving that was me."

"Oh, please, don't act like you don't have a reputation around here." Ms. Jensen pulled out the detention slips from her skirt pocket. "Congratulations, you just won another week's worth of detention."

Sierra took the slip handed to her. "I could complain, you know. After all, you don't really know which one of us burped."

"Alright, then," Ms. Jensen turned to Conner. "Conner, was that belch I heard from Sierra?"

Conner opened his mouth, ready to tell the obvious truth, but he paused. He had just discovered something huge, something that connected him to Sierra in some way, and he needed time to explore that. And maybe more time in detention would do just that.

So, he shrugged. "I can't seem to remember."

Sierra's eyes widened minutely, as if she wasn't expecting him to have her back, before smirking back at Ms. Jensen. "See? No proof."

Ms. Jensen looked disappointed as he looked at Conner. "Are you lying to me, Conner?"

He just shrugged. "I don't know, am I?"

Ms. Jensen looked at him one last time, as if giving him one last chance, before ripping off another detention slip with a sad sigh. "I guess I'll see you both in detention tomorrow."

As the two of them left the room, Sierra gave Conner one last appreciative nod before heading in the opposite direction as him.

Conner waved as she walked away, the feeling of dread still lingering in his chest. After all, this meant he now had to tell his parents about his week's worth of detention. He really wasn't looking forward to that.

[pynkhues]

#@thelillykane i know you were prompting shiv headcanons#but your ask has made me write fic set days after the finale where kendal od's and then shiv makes him take her to get an abortion#so i'm sorry but also what i'm writing is fixing me

THIS MADE ME CHOKE LAUGHING i support you i'm ready

THANK YOU, look it's already like, 8k words of Shiv and Kendall Going Through It, and I'm only halfway through, but anyway, have the opening scene:

-

The night after she slits her brother’s throat, feels her inheritance wrenched from her grip, watches her husband get crowned king through clear, unpolished glass, Shiv dreams of DC.

Dreams of it that first night in flickering fantasy, the end of a film reel, catching the thinnest part of the spool. Dreams of blue sky, the edge of a dripping chandelier, her hair longer than she’s ever kept it to block the chill of the air conditioning against the back of her neck. Feels the weight of a binder in her arms, hears the sound her heels make against marble floors, the wooden gavel hitting the block in the House of Representatives, dreams of eyes on her, hard but focused, attentive in meeting rooms, her own shoulders firm, her own words clear, certain, real, leaving her clear, certain, real mouth.

A hundred fractured pictures, memories, re-imaginings, that show up somewhere strange in her. A movie projected on the inside of her ribcage, broken up by the bones of her, and she fumbles, wants to close the gaps for a clearer image or wrench the reel from its place, she doesn’t know. Just something that makes a whole or nothing at all, something she can’t know, because she turns and there’s the light of Tom’s cell, blearing through the dark of their bedroom, the tap-tap-tap of his fingers on the keys like a creature trying to scratch its way into the theatre of her.

She swallows, awake now, but mouth still mothy with sleep, throat scratchy as she pushes awkwardly up onto her elbows.

“Matsson?” she asks, her voice thick, and Tom glances over his shoulder at her, an apologetic look on his face. He looks like shit, like he hasn’t slept in a week, which she knows he hasn’t. Right now, it helps.

“Yeah, he’s… European hours, I guess. Sorry, I can take this to another room.”

Shiv watches him watch her, keeps her expression carefully schooled, giving him nothing, and a million looks cross Tom’s face before he just nods, throwing the blankets back to pad out of the room, and she doesn’t watch. Doesn’t follow, not even as he opens their bedroom door and leaves it ajar in invitation, the hall light slicing across their bed, cutting her in two.

[iwasntstable]

n.s. | fear of failure.

🗀 C:/PROJECTS/MYWORK/ONESHOT/FEAROFFAILURE [projects] ﹂ [my-work] | in-progress | favourites 　﹂ all | series | [one-shot] | blurb | head-cannons | ask 　　﹂ [fear-of-failure]

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➔𝐢𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞➔➔　𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘷𝘦!+　　[𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐀𝐎𝟯]

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summary: you don't know why, but noah has been withdrawing into himself again and you're worried this steady decline will end in disaster. you resolve to pull him out again, knowing he can't continue like this much longer.

content tags: angst, emotional hurt/comfort, poor mental health, fluff.

word count: 2.7K.

note: god i need this for myself.

Noah has been hiding in his studio for three days now. Even going so far as to sleep in there on the couch last night. He's no stranger to long stints of studio work, bursts of creativity that absolutely have to be channelled into a new project, but even if the hour is late, he always comes to bed. To you. 

Last night, when you woke up alone at 3AM, you crept down the hall to find him there, curled up on the couch with the hood of his sweater pulled up over his head. Deciding it best to leave him be, you carefully took the blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over his sleeping form. Hoping he would find some comfort in it and at least achieve a fulfilling rest.  

You’ve worried for a few weeks now that he’s been overworking himself again. Dirty bowls in the sink and empty cups of ramen in the trash are the only indication he’s been eating, and even then, it wasn't typical behaviour for him to just leave dishes unwashed. The times you tried to coax him out of his studio over the past couple of days he’s brushed off your concerns by insisting he’s fine. 

I just need to finish this.  I’ve been stuck on it for a while but I think it’s finally coming together.  I can’t stop just yet. 

You decide you’re going to pull him away from his screens at any cost, just for a short while. He can't continue like this much longer. 

Entering into the dim room, Noah is exactly where you expect him to be. The hoodie he wore somehow managed to swamp his large frame, with the hood, held in place by his headphones, pulled over his head covering his hair. His fingers deftly float across the keyboard as he works. Editing tracks note by note, adjusting things then changing them back, adding a sample, making it his own, then deleting it and searching for a new one. 

You approach his desk from the side, letting him see you coming so you don’t startle him since he can't hear for the headphones. Feeling a pit open up in your stomach when his face comes into view; deep, dark circles have formed under his eyes, which are bloodshot with fatigue and he seems paler than usual, his stubble also becoming visible from the lack of maintenance. He offers you a smile you know he means from his heart, but doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You tap your ear and he takes the headphones off, dropping them to the desk with very little care. 

“How’s it going?” you ask sweetly. 

He closes his eyes and sighs, shrugging, with his hands poised back on the keyboard and mouse, like they’re a part of him. 

“How about taking a break, hm, step away from the screens? We can make something to eat and sit outside. It’s pretty cloudy so it’s nice and cool out.” 

“I can’t,” his voice remorseful. “I really need to keep working on this. We can when I’m done, okay?” He tries to convince you but it seems to you the first person he should be trying to convince is himself. 

“Noah,” you come closer, standing as much between him and his accursed desk as his legs will allow, with your arms crossed. “You’ve been working on this for days straight without so much as a break. I promise you the world won’t end if you step outside for half an hour.” 

“Babe, I know you’re worried, but you don’t have to be. I just really need to finish this,” he insists. 

“What’s the deadline date?” you ask, standing closer and resting a hand on his shoulder. An attempt to coax him away from work and back into you. The effort of which proved to be futile. You knew there was no deadline, knew he wasn’t undertaking any commissioned work. This was a personal project. Something with the potential to morph into a new Bad Omens track; but you wanted to catch him out. 

He was silent for a moment, and as your palm smoothed over his broad, taut shoulders you could see his eyes dart side to side while the thoughts raced in his head. “It’s something- Jolly needs something more than just a demo to work on-” 

“And when does Jolly need it by?” Cutting him off, reiterating the question you knew he couldn’t answer. 

“Ah- he,” Noah stumbled over his words and sighed in resignation. “He doesn’t need it by a specific day or anything. I’m just- I’m just anxious to get this done, you know? I don’t want to think about it longer than I have to.” 

You push his shoulder back against his chair, the force spinning him around to face you clearer. Noah’s tired eyes meet your own for only a moment before he breaks the connection to dart around his setup in front of him; the monitor, the keyboard, the microphone, anywhere but you. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, looking everywhere but not seeing.  You found it was often difficult for him to see. 

“But you’ve already been thinking about it, nonstop, for three days straight. Confining yourself to this room, I’ve barely seen you!” 

“I’m sorry I can’t just stop working whenever it suits you!” he all but cried, voice raised in defence and thinner than its usual smooth tone. Noah takes in a sharp breath, hands at last separating from his keyboard and mouse, cracking his knuckles. 

You say nothing, do nothing, except continue to watch him directly while he struggles under the weight of your confrontation. 

Fiercely independent from a young age, Noah has never been the type to just roll over in the face of adversity. He expects too much from himself to allow his ego to take a back seat. Though in recent years, you’ve seen him discover the value in being humbled—not as often needing to prove his value to himself—but it seems this time his struggle is greater.  

He blinks rapidly as your gaze burns into him, and curses before he pulls his hood down further in an attempt to hide from the reality you’ve brought into his studio. You couldn’t miss the unmistakable glint of tears in his eyes before he sinks down into his chair. 

This man has brought so much joy and light into your life, happinesses you never thought you’d feel again, new highs you didn’t even know existed. To see your beacon in the dark dimmed like this cuts you deeper than any knife could. 

You crouch down by him, seeking out again those eyes that you always found to be more intoxicating than any aged bottle of whisky, from where he was trying to conceal them.  But Noah continues to hide. 

Your voice adopts a more serious tone, one that Nicholas once called your ‘mom voice’. That comment earned him a throw pillow projectile to the face. “Noah, your health is going to suffer if you continue like this. Physical, mental… both?!” You throw your hands up and drop them to your legs with a muffled slap against your sweatpants. “I don’t want you to burn out. I can see you falling from the outside and I’m trying so hard to catch you before you hit the ground.” You rest a hand on his thigh. “Talk to me. What’s going on? Why is finishing this piece so important that you can’t take even a small break?” 

His breath shudders and his shoulders shake. The glow from the desktop monitors, the only light in the room, cause his tears to sparkle as they drop to his chest. 

It was barely audible, you swear you’ve never heard his voice sound so defeated, “I can’t fail.” He’s silent for a moment before continuing. “I can’t stop until it’s good, or all this time I’ve spent locked away working on it will have been a waste,” his voice cracks and he covers his face with his hands, inked fingers blocking his broken façade from your prying eyes. 

You never see Noah cry like this. Usually he’s so stable, always fixed in place and ready to hold up everyone around him; you, the band, the crew. Letting out a deep breath, you brush his knee with your thumb. Taking a moment to think before speaking, wanting to be careful with your words here. You know all too well that holding back your emotions can only last so long before the dam breaks and threatens a catastrophe, but you’re determined not to let him get washed away in the flood.  

Clearing your throat, you tap his leg gently, “are you listening?” 

Noah takes a shuddering breath and nods, still hiding behind his hands. 

“Okay,” you quickly shift position to ease the strain on your legs as they start to ache, resting one knee on the floor with the other pulled to your chest. “Not everything you make is going to be good, but it isn’t all going to be bad either. And the time you spend working on the things you consider bad is definitely not time that you’ve wasted. Even if what you were working on never becomes anything more than a draft on your hard drive, or if you decide it’s not good enough to see the light of day. The things you learned from it, those skills, are not a waste. And just because something you made is bad, doesn’t mean you’re bad.  “Noah, you can’t keep punishing yourself for your self-perceived shortcomings by overworking and cutting yourself off. None of us doubt your abilities as an artist, and we don’t expect you to be a hit-making machine. We expect you to do your job, yeah, but not at the cost of yourself. You could write total dogshit for a year straight and you’d still be our Noah. We still love you.”  

Both hands on his knees now, you continue to try to offer comfort. At least his shoulders have stopped shaking.  

His voice comes muffled through his hands, a rasp to it, “I feel like I don’t deserve this sometimes.” Noah sniffles, balls his hands into fists, wipes his face and finally drops them to his lap, playing with his sleeves. Eyes puffy and rimmed red. “The success. I think, what if it’s all a fluke? Or what if this is it for me, I never reach higher than this?” He takes a deep breath, holds it for a couple of seconds, then releases it slowly. Something his therapist once taught him to help with anxiety. “Not in terms of charts or anything like that. What if I can’t make something as good as what I've made before? What if I lose it?” 

“Lose what?” You ask, watching him swipe away fresh tears from his cheeks with the sleeves of his hoodie as soon as they appear. “The ability to create?” 

He nods, face cast down towards his lap. 

“Oh, my love,” you sigh and lean forwards, grasping his hands tightly. “That’s a reasonable thing to be afraid of.” 

His tears are warm when they hit the back of your hands. 

The fact that he could be feeling all of this, struggling with these thoughts and deciding he had to do it alone broke your heart. You've always been there for Noah, at least you thought you had. Maybe you needed to do more for him than you realised. Your own eyes were burning with the threat of tears, but you steeled yourself. He hated seeing you cry, and you needed to be his strength.

Both of you sit for a moment in the quiet, until something he told you back when you first met comes to mind. “I think there was a point in time, years before I knew you, where you were thinking this exact same thing.” 

Noah raises his head a little, brows narrowed causing a small crease in his forehead. 

“Am I right in thinking at some point there was a very young, teenage Noah Sebastian writing lyrics in secret, playing guitar in a band, self-publishing demos and thinking, ‘is this all there is?’” 

He at last meets your eyes again, focusing completely on you. 

“And would that kid believe you if you told him exactly where he’ll be in 10 years' time, exactly where you are right now?” 

“I don't think he would,” Noah smiles a little at the thought, the corner of his lips twitching upwards unmistakably on one side. 

He turns his hands over in yours to hold them properly. The way they surround yours entirely with no effort is something you don’t think you’ll ever get used to. 

You remember first time he ever held your hand in the beginning of the relationship and the sense of total security that washed over you when he did; in a physical sense, you knew it was a sign he would always be by your side, that he wanted to keep taking little steps forward with you and with this relationship, but also emotionally, an action so subtly intimate and comforting. You knew from then on, he was someone you could always rely on. Now you need him to see he can rely on you. 

“I'm sorry we all have to rely on you so much. That you feel the need to do this to yourself,” you tighten your grip on his hands and dip your head to make sure he maintained eye contact with you, which he did. “Will you let me help you?” 

Tears welled in his eyes again until he blinked them away, and nodded. 

You stand, stretching the ache out of your legs and pull him up to his full height with you. Relief floods your body as you wrap your arms around his middle and rest your head against his chest for the first time in days. Noah returns the affection, encircling your shoulders with his long limbs. He rests his cheek against the top of your head, and you sigh with content when you feel him sinking completely into you.  

“Okay,” you say, the sound muffled against his chest before you pull back just enough to look at him. “Let’s go make some real food to eat that isn’t cereal or instant noodles. Or order something? Then we can sit and just do nothing. Maybe watch a movie? Anything you want.” 

Noah nods, then pulls you back into him tightly and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Thank you,” he whispers. 

Realising just how much you missed his touch, how much you needed it, you squeeze him back and hold him there in your arms as the time lingers on. Noah pulls back from the embrace this time, brushing stray hair from your face and caressing your cheek with his thumb, while the other arm remains looped around you. “I’m really sorry, for all of this,” he starts, but you shake your head and stop him in his tracks. 

You sneak your hands up towards his face, palms sliding over his chest to hold him by the cheeks. “You don’t have to say sorry to me. I know you are and it’s okay. Just let me help you, yeah? Or any of the other guys? You can pass on some of your burdens to us, let us bear the weight with you. You don’t have to feel this way.”  

“I will,” he affirms. “I promise you.” 

“Good,” you say with a smile. Looping your arms around his neck, you lean up as high as you can go on your toes—though still needing to pull him down a little— to place a soft kiss on his cheek, right at the corner of his mouth. 

He can’t help but smile too, a genuine smile that makes his eyes sparkle in the way you fell in love with. Leaning down after you, he captures your lips in a kiss equally as gentle as the one you gave him, stubble ever so slightly tickling your face.

Noah rests his forehead against your shoulder, holding you tightly by the waist when he whispers, “I love you.” 

“I love you too. No matter what.” 

[nancypullen]

Bachelorette

Early this morning, around 5am, the mister and I drove through the darkness to the itty bitty Easton, Maryland airport.  He’s making a quick trip to Atlanta to visit his mother and siblings.  He didn’t fly out of Easton, but that’s where we can catch the BayRunner Shuttle that takes Eastern Shore residents right over the bridge and to the airport of their choice.  Kind of like how the Amish pay people to drive them around, we’re simple country folk now.

The truth is he knows I don’t want to drive around in Baltimore.  I have no sense of direction and I think the GPS lies.  I could get him over there and dropped off at the airport, but it’s highly likely that I could end up in Pennsylvania afterward. I’ll get used to it, I have to, but I won’t ever like it.  Mickey was raised in south Florida and grew up on interstates and busy cities.  I grew up in North Pole, where there was one road to town, one road down to Anchorage, and one road to the roller rink that was the social center of my young life.  When we moved to Tennessee I figured things out because I had no choice. If I was going to get my kids to ball games, tennis matches, math competitions in Knoxville, and Florida’s beaches in the summer, I had to be brave because it was my job.  I don’t have that sort of motivation any longer.  I can be a chicken all day, every day.  So Mickey caught the shuttle. I love him dearly but I spent more than a decade dropping him and picking him up at Nashville International. Either we travel together or he takes the shuttle. Anywayyyyyy...I drove home in the dark and as I headed east toward Denton I was driving into the sunrise. It was peaceful and beautiful.

When I arrived home I informed the kitties that we have a busy few days ahead of us.  I don’t have to plan meals and cook for anyone, or mind anyone’s schedule but my own, and for those reasons I have some crafty projects lined up.  I love it when I can lose track of time and work out an idea. Popcorn for dinner is fine, right? No one ever died from it.  The garage smells like paint right now and that makes me happy.  I’ll share the finished products in a couple of days.

Here’s a sneak peek at one quick project that doesn’t require paint.

A certain adorable grandgirl is turning FIVE in just over a week. Her parents are surprising her with a trip to Disney World (Shhh, she has no idea!) and I felt that called for a special shirt.  I ordered a cute long-sleeved tee in her favorite color, PINK, of course.  It’s got ruffles at the shoulders because she is a girly-girl.  I also picked up some sparkly mouse ears.  

Tomorrow I’ll wash and dry that shirt and then cut out the birthday girl graphic from some shimmery iron-on vinyl.  Well, the Cricut will cut it out, I’ll just watch. She can wear it on the plane, or in the park, or not at all - all told I only invested as much as you’d pay for a couple of Starbucks coffees so if she just runs around her house in it, that’s okay too.  Besides, I might totally screw it up and I don’t have a backup pink tee - I probably just jinxed the whole thing. Cross your fingers.  Other projects are for the house and yard, and I can be a bit more creative if things go south. The earring idea that I was working on has left me underwhelmed.  I’m going to keep trying though.  I was trying to make something that looked like opal stones by using translucent clay and working some glitter into it.  The jury is out.  I don’t hate it, but I don’t love it either.

Wow, that’s almost in focus .I’ll figure out the opal thing but I’m going to step away from it and make a few Valentine’s Day earrings instead. And that’s all the news that is news from our little patch.  I’m happiest when I’m creating, so right now I’m so happy that I might have to hire someone to help me enjoy it all.  On Sunday I’m pulling out canvas and paints - look out!   Time for me to grab a couple cats and go read in bed.  I know it’s early but I was up before the sun and I hear warm blankets and soft pillows calling me.  Or maybe I’ve huffed too many paint fumes. Either way, I’m done. Wishing you a cozy bed and sweet dreams tonight. Sending out lots of love.

Stay safe, stay well, stay creative!

Nancy

[weasleywinchester]

Slow Motion - Ch.4

My World is Standin’ Still

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

Who am I updating two fics on the same day?? Hope y’all enjoy this chapter, we get a little serious, a little steamy and a whole lotta cute 💙 enjoy!

Series Summary:

I mean, love at first sight has to exist for some people. Guess you’re one of the lucky ones. Bob had said it so nonchalantly. Like it was a thing that could, did, happen in real life. And yet here he was, Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw, falling for you faster than his plane could take off. But even if everything felt slow motion, was it possible the two of you were moving too fast?

Chapter Summary:

First dates: that thing most people fret about so much they get nervous. But for you and Bradley it’s just something that needs to get out of the way. This feeling like you were made to be together only gets stronger by the day, but it seems like the universe needs you to stand still before you can take off.

We have a smut warning for this one 👀 (hand job, both receiving)

A Week Later

Tuesday

“Talk to me Phoenix.” Mav excitedly whispers as he catches Phoenix walking down the hall. He was so excited when Bradley wasted no time in planning the perfect first date. 

“Rooster had to cancel.” She sighs, opening the door and gesturing for Mav to walk ahead.

“What, why?” He turns to face her, walking backwards down the hall.

“We had to do a diagnostic flight. It took way longer than we thought.” She hands her paperwork off to an officer passing by and gestures for Mav to follow.

“How’d she take it?” He gently puts his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes for any hidden answers. Phoenix opens her mouth to answer when Bob walks over.

“She’s totally fine. They got another reservation at a different place for tonight. So, fingers crossed.” He nods.

“Rooster was pretty upset. He had the whole thing mapped out. And he apparently pulled every card he could to get the reservation.”

Mav nods in agreement; dinner at a fancy restaurant by the beach, new suite and a giant bouquet of flowers in your favorite color. Rooster had even roped him into helping clean the Bronco spotless so it was a worthy first date car.

“Small hiccup. It’s the first date, they’ll mosty remember the feelings, not necessarily how fancy the place was.” Mav shrugs it off. “It’s not like lightning strikes twice.

_______

Wednesday

“Bob.” Mav shakes the WSO by the shoulders, his grin wide at the excitement of hearing how your date went.

“Red had to cancel this time.” He sighs. “How do you not get this information from them?” He laughs at Mav’s disappointed look.

“Been helping Penny at the bar. Also afraid that if I ask too much I won’t get any of the good details.”

“The entire time Red’s been here she has never been trapped in a meeting!” Phoenix exclaims as she walks up to the pair.

“How did she get stuck in a meeting? She's the queen of leaving on time, no matter what.” Mav asks. Your philosophy is that you’ll work overtime during an audit, a huge deadline on a project and before major holidays, that’s it.

“Admiral’s putting her on the project we were all called in for.” Bob answers. Mav and Phoenix share a knowing look; you’d do anything to work with the group.

“Well, at least they’ll be on the same work schedule.” Mav smiles. “And Bradley didn’t come home last night…”

“And he wasn’t in the barracks.” Phoenix laughs. They are falling so hard for each other.

“They’re trying again tonight.” Bob smiles, showing the text from you.

“They act like their life depends on this date…” Phoenix shakes her head, letting out a small laugh.

“Think they just want the first date jitters to be over.” Mav smiles.

_______

Thursday

“If you feel like you can’t keep a clear head on this mission…”

“Admiral, I’ll be fine. If anything, it'll make me work harder.” You smile, gently thumbing through the files of classified information.

“Admiral Cain should be here on monday. You think you’ll be able to have notes for us by then?” He stops in front of his office door, his face neutral but you can see he needs everything to go as smoothly as possible.

“I’ll start my reading tonight.” Well… maybe tomorrow morning. Actually scratch that, tomorrow evening.

“Excellent. Meeting Friday after lunch, before we bring the rest of the team in.”

Tomorrow morning reading it is then. You give him a nod, which he returns and steps into his office. You quickly return to your desk, cleaning up the mess of papers you left earlier.

“Ready?” Bradley knocks on the wall next to your desk.

“Let me send this email and sign off…” You type as fast as your fat fingers will allow and quickly gather your things.

“Ok. Let’s cross our fingers we make it this time?” You  laugh, holding both sets of crossed fingers up and Bradley does the same. 

“Made the reservation for much later this time. We got this Red.” He reassures you, both of you breaking into a smile and taking each other’s hand as you quickly bolt to your cars. The drive seems faster than the last three days, whether that be from the speed you both drove or the lighter traffic… who knows.

“Ooo! I almost forgot.” You shout as both of you get out of your cars. You grab a box off the workbench and hand it to him. The butterflies in your stomach flutter as he carefully slides the lid off.

He smiles down at the garage remote nestled in the box with a note: Left side reserved for Captain America.

“I know we’ve just started dating, but considering we’ve been living at work I thought this would be easier for you to just park the Bronco in the garage. No need to worry about street cleaning or trash day.” You shrug. You don’t want it to feel like it’s a big deal, because it honestly feels totally normal, like when you gave Mav a house key.

“Wow...” He smiles at the remote, gently taking it out. He clicks the button and the garage door starts sliding shut. “No house key?” He shoots a grin at you.

“How about we go on a date first?” You wrap your arms around his middle, tilting your  face toward him.

“That’s fair.” He chuckles, pressing his lips to yours.

“Get dressed… very quickly.” You giggle as you pull away; he hums in agreement, keeping his arms firmly around you as you unlock the door to the house and shuffle the two of you inside. You run to your bedroom and Bradley runs to the guest room. You told him to just leave his stuff here since you weren’t sure when this date would actually happen. And since you both had to be at work at the same time this week, he might as well just stay here. Unfortunately you both have just ended up falling asleep on the couch instead of making it anywhere near a bed. Date, focus on the date first (Y/N). You shake off all the negative energy from the week and walk out into the living room.

“What do you think?” You twirl so he can see a 360 view. You’d had this dress sitting in your closet begging to be worn for something fancy (which you hardly ever did anything fancy), but it makes you feel perfect and judging by the way Bradley is looking at you, it was very much true.

“Babe you look-“ you both frown as his cell starts blaring. He glances down at it and sighs.

“Admiral.” He says curtly into the phone. He gives a few small nods before his eyes shift to you. “Yes sir. Right away.” He hangs up and walks over to you.

“Beautiful.” He finishes his original sentence, gently putting his hands on either side of your neck and pulling you into a kiss..

“You have to go to work?“ You mumble as your phone starts ringing and you quickly answer.

“Admiral.” You nod just the same as Bradley. When you hang up you give him a sad frown.

“Looks like we both get to go back to work, again.” You place your hands on his chest and sigh.

“Can I hitch a ride?” He chuckles, placing a kiss on your temple. “The Bronco looks too nice in its new spot to move it.”

“Ya. And we better change.” You grab him by the lapels of his jacket and press your lips to his for a few seconds before playfully pushing him off. 

“Wasn’t expecting your lipstick to taste so good Red.” He chuckles, his lips chasing after yours. 

“Get dressed Bradshaw.” You push him towards the guest room as you head back to yours.

______

“We’re late.” Your curse under your breath as you both walk through the door to find everyone there. Rooster can feel everyone’s eyes looking both of you up and down.

“Did we interrupt something?” Admiral Simpson asks, eyeing your hair and makeup.

“Yes, but-” you habitually say, instantly regretting it.

“No Sir.” Rooster says a little louder than you.

“No sir.” You correct, giving the admiral an apologetic nod; you and he have had a good back and forth banter, but sometimes you forget he’s your boss and an admiral .

“Sorry for the inconvenience. Wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important.” He says quietly to you.

“I know sir. Just frustrated with timing.” You nod, hoping he understands you’re ready to work.

“Everyone, this is Admiral Cain.” He gestures to the man Hangman was chatting with. All of you nod, and turn back to Simpson.

“The Admiral comes with an updated brief on our current mission. As you are all well aware, you have all been asked here because of your exceptional skills, both as individuals and as a team. Admiral Cain, we're glad you can finally join us in person and earlier than we expected.”

“Thank you Admiral Simpson.” He nods and everyone takes a seat. He begins his slide show, talking through each point on what naval intelligence has gathered.

Out of the corner of his eye Rooster sees Admiral Simpson hand you a packet. Your pen instantly starts moving as you furiously scribble notes. He looks up and catches Bob’s eye, both puzzled by the amount of scribbling you’re doing in a simple debrief.

“And that is our plan of attack. We have two months or less to prepare. We will assume less.” He nods.

The pilots all share a look, it was one thing when Maverick gave an impossible plan, but this seemed a bit out of reach, even by his standards.

“Miss (Y/L/N), thoughts?” Admiral Simpson asks.

“Permission to speak freely?” You ask Simpson, eyes shifting to Cain.

“Permission granted.” Simpson answers.

“It would be a good last resort plan.” You sigh, flipping through your packet, searching once more to see if you misunderstood something.

“It will complete the mission in the timeline we need it to.” Cain strongly states, irritation clear in his voice. Everyone can tell he’s wondering who the fuck you are to question him.

“Yes, I agree.” You state, Simpson opens his mouth to interject, but you shoot him a look. “The current plan puts the plane in a difficult position, banking on the fact that the pilots in this room won’t accidentally put the nose into the ground while inverted.” You hold your hand out for the presentation remote, which Cain begrudgingly gives you. You quickly flip back to the defense system layout, rolling the screen up so you can draw on the whiteboard behind it.

 “If there’s a S.A.M. here on this ridge, then they’ll probably be one here too.” Your marker squeaks in the silence as everyone closely pays attention. “That means your first plane will be easily struck down. And depending on how close and fast the second one is coming behind, it may result in losing the second one.” You turn to Cain waiting for his retort.

“Who are you exactly?” He asks, coming to stand a foot in front of you so he can peer down at you.

“This is Miss (Y/Full/N). She’s been working here as a flight risk analyst for a few months.” Admiral Simpson answers, giving you a silent warning about staying in line.

“Civilian. You think you know combat missions better than the people in this room?”

“No sir. That’s why my opinion has been asked for. I point out things most military personnel overlook.”

“Sometimes soldiers are lost in the line of duty; a concept you should get used to if you plan on continuing to work for the Navy.”

“Sending your soldiers into battle and expecting to lose half of them is not something I will ever be ok with.” You point the edge of your packet into his chest. “You and I, Admiral, we are the ones who die trying to get these soldiers to hit their target and come home.” 

After a moment of staring you dead in the eye he gives a small nod.

“Then what do you suggest?”

“Bring Maverick in. He’s done the impossible over and over. If that plane is going to be inverted for that long, it’s going to have to be a little farther off the ground.” You sigh, looking at the white board. “Like I said, this is a good last resort. But we’re the fucking United States Navy, we will do better.”

“Very well.” Cain concedes, giving you a look of understanding.

“We will reconvene tomorrow at 0900. Get some rest everyone.” Simpson announces, showing Cain out the door. When it clicks shut you can hear someone’s chair roll and spring up as they stand.

“Damn Red, didn’t know you had it in you.” Hangman applauds, gently squeezing you to his side.

“Only for you guys.” You sigh, letting all the tension flow out of your body as you squeeze him back. 

“Or maybe when the Navy keeps screwing with your plans.” He chuckles loud enough for only you to hear. You roll your eyes at him, a smile playing on your lips as you gently shove him away. Rooster walks over and they share a nod before Hangman walks out with everyone else.

“If we hurry we might be able to change and make it to the restaurant.” He whispers. The smile is quickly back on your face as he takes your hand and guides you back to the car.

_______

“Hi, ugh, reservation is under Bradshaw.” Bradley breaths out. His lungs are on fire, but anything to make this date happen, especially after the way you stood up to Admiral Cain.

“Oh, looks like your reservation was for an hour ago…” the hostess sighs. Bradley tries to convince her to let you in, explains that you both got called to work.

Your phone buzzes and you see Bob sent a few texts.

Have fun!! Not too much fun though 😉

You roll your eyes and text him back that it looks like another day will go by without the official first date.

“No worries, we understand.” Bradley tells the hostess, backing away from the counter.

“We’ll try again tomorrow.” You smile at him, lacing your fingers in his.

“I got to see you in that dress twice in one day.” He grumbles into your ear, kissing you on the cheek. Both your phones buzz, Bradley glances to see a text from Phoenix:

Meet us at the Hard Deck?

He turns to you as you turn to him.

“Hard Deck?” You ask in unison. You both laugh, making your way to the car.

_______

“Penny, can we ask you a favor?” Phoenix asks over the noise of the crowd.

“Sure. What’s up?” She looks between Phoenix and Bob.

“Rooster and Red’s date got postponed again. And the restaurant gave away their spot because they didn’t show.” Bob tells her.

“We were wondering if you could help us set up something for them right now?” Phoenix pleads.

“Now?” Penny gasps, shaking her head as she tries to figure out something.

“What about now?” Hangman squeezes between his friends, curious about what’s happening.

“Trying to do something nice.” Phoenix raises an eyebrow at him.

“Care to elaborate Bob?” Hangman’s eyes shift to him.

“Rooster and Red’s date has been canceled every day this week. We wanted to see if we could do something tonight.” He answers, ignoring Phoenix’s glare.

“Tell me what you need me to do.” He grins.

_______

“We can count this as a first date…” you suggest as Bradley opens your car door.

“If we’re going by that standard then it would be our second date.” He counters, throwing his arm around your shoulder, happy when yours wraps around his waist. “The bonfire would have been the first.”

“That means I could give you a key…” you tease. He wraps his other arm around you, giving you a squeeze as he gently shakes you around until you squeal for him to stop.

“Messed up my hair Bradshaw.” You fake pout.

“Good thing you look so beautiful all the time anyways.” He smiles back. The two of you step around the corner and Bob is waiting out front.

“Hey Bobby.” You smile.

“Sorry to hear about the restaurant.” He takes your free hand in his giving it a squeeze.

“No worries. Tomorrow’s a new day and another chance.”

“Well… maybe you don’t have to wait until tomorrow.” He smiles, gently dragging you to the side of the Hard Deck.

“Where’re we goin Bob?” Bradley chuckles. But Bob doesn’t elaborate, just leads you to a little blocked off section of the outside deck. He swings one of the room dividers out of the way to reveal a little table set for two. There’s some fairy lights strung from the dividers, creating a beautiful ambient glow.

“A table for two, at the best restaurant we know.” Bob gestures for the two of you to take a seat.

“How? When?” You giggle as Bradley helps you sit.

“When the Navy is sent on a mission, we make sure it gets done.” Phoenix answers, setting a basket of bread on the table.

“ And we can’t let the only love at first sight any of us have witnessed die down because of a little thing like a government mission.” Hangman adds, handing you both a glass of whiskey. You and Bradley look at each other and then back at your friends. How are we this lucky?

“Penny will be out with food in a minute, but we will make our exit.” Hangman grabs both Phoenix and Bob by the backs of their necks and leads them back into the bar.

“I know work has gotten in the way of everything this week…” Bradley shakes his head.

“But we also have to thank work for giving us the best friends we could hope for?” You finish.

“To family.” Bradley raises his glass.

“Both the ones related by blood, and the ones we choose.” You clink your glass to his. Penny comes out moments later with your usual order, shooting you a wink as she leaves. It may not have been the date Bradley had planned but you both quickly realized it was perfect. The stars will twinkling above, the waves of the ocean lapping at the shoreline and the bar unusually quiet for so late in the evening.

When you both were done Penny and Hangman shooed both of you away, telling you to not worry about a thing and go home. You both give them each a hug, waving to Bob and Phoenix who step outside as you walk back to your car.

“Think my car’s a bit easier to be romantic in.” Bradley chuckles, leaning across your center console to kiss you.

“I agree. Your seats are much more makeout friendly.” You mumble against his lips. Your mouths move lazily against each other until you can feel yourself falling asleep.

“Let’s get home before I knock out.” You whisper, giving him one last peck before starting the car and driving home.

When you open the garage door Bradley smiles at the sight of his bronco sitting in its new home. You both are quiet, trying to keep the dred of waking up early off as you enjoy the last bits of bliss.

“Goodnight baby.” Bradley mumbles as you stand in front of the guest bedroom.

“Goodnight.” You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close. Your mouths collide, moving slowly at first; his hands slowly moving away from your waist until each has a handful of your ass. He hums in delight at how soft and squishy it is, he can only imagine what it would feel like without your dress in the way. He slides his tongue into your mouth as he presses you into the wall, hiking one of your legs up onto his hip.

“Bradley.” You halfheartedly push him away. You don’t want him to stop, but you’re dead tired and the stress of tomorrow is already creeping in the back of your mind.

“Bit carried away. We’ll save that for later.” He grins, pressing one more kiss to your mouth before unwrapping himself from you.

“Goodnight.” You whisper, a dazed smile on your lips.

“‘Night Red.” He winks, walking into the guest bedroom. He listens to you pad down the hall, waiting until he hears the shower start before he moves to do the same. He sadly washes the smell of your perfume off and gets ready for bed. As he sets his alarm a soft knock comes from the door. He opens it to see you leaning against the doorway with a sleepy smile.

“You know, I barely make my own bed; and my guest room has looked so nice and clean for only a few months…”

“I can assure you I can make a bed.” He scoffs playfully, leaning against the wall so your faces are close to each other.

“I don’t doubt it.” You gently take a handful of his shirt. “But we can’t cuddle if you’re here and I’m all the way down the hall...”

“And we can’t have that.” He smiles, letting you drag him into your room. You both jump into bed, checking that alarms are set for the morning before settling under the covers.

“Come ‘ere” he whispers, patting the space next to him. You lay your head on his chest, pushing your body flush against his side. You both lay in silence, the gentle whir of the ac mixes with the muffled sound of the ocean and you can’t help but think this is perfect. Dinner was perfect, Bradley is perfect and him next to you is perfect. You can feel his breathing even out, the arm around you falling to the bed. 

“We can’t let the only love at first sight any of us have witnessed…” Hangman’s words ring in your ears. Love at first sight. It’s right here that you decide to stop wondering why it’s happening to you and to just let it sweep you off your feet. 

“I love you Bradley.” You whisper to the dark. You love him. Simple in theory, and impossible to explain.

“I love you too (Y/N).” He whispers back. You sit up so you can look at his face, well try to look at his face anyways.

“You don’t have- I don’t want to freak you out.” You can feel the panic start to rise in your chest.

“I’m not, I promise.” His hand gently cups your cheek, bringing your face to his as he sits up to meet you halfway. It’s a gentle kiss, warm and fuzzy and full of love.

______

One alarm blaring is bad enough, but two scares the daylights out of you.

“Take it easy baby.” Bradley chuckles as he quickly taps his off.

“Why is yours so loud?” You playfully whine as you shut yours off.

“Sometimes I’m dead asleep so i don't hear it. But I set it early, so we don't have to get up quite yet.” He pulls you to his chest, pressing himself flush against you.

“Dreaming about me last night.” You tease, wiggling your ass against his morning wood.

“Been dreaming about you since that night at the bar.” He mumbles into your neck, placing a string kisses down it as his hand slides under your shirt to play with your boob. He gently kneads it, pinching your nipple until it’s hardened.

“Well, that’s flattering Lieutenant.” You giggle.

“You tellin me if I reach into your underwear right now, you’re not dripping for me?” His fingers softly brush against your side, palm settling against your hip, scrunching your shorts higher and higher until his fingers reach the hem of your underwear.

“Bradley, please.” You whisper, hooking one leg over his so you’re spread open for him. His hand moves your underwear aside, cupping your mound, gently teasing the curls before running one finger through your folds.

“Fuck…” he breathes out, hips automatically bucking into your ass. His fingers start gently rubbing your bud, trying a few different things.

“Like this.” You take his hand and guide his finger around just the way you like it. Your back arches in anticipation, fingers reaching for his hair. He gently rocks against your ass, loving the way you're wrapped around him.

“Faster.” You whisper. He’s not sure if you mean his fingers or his hips so he does both, which by the moan that pushes past your lips he knows was correct. 

Your body jolts as your orgasm hits, the warmth spreading through you like hot tea on a cold winter's day. He slows his hand as he feels you relax. “Bradley…” you croak. 

“Mmhmm?” He hums against your shoulder.

“You gotta finish too.” You smile, grinding into him.

“No, I’ll be fine.” He whispers. You can tell he’s practically willing his body not to push himself over the edge, but you won’t stand for it.

“Bradley, if you don’t cum like this, I’m going to turn around and stick my hand in your pants.” You feel his smile against your shoulder but he doesn’t say anything. You roll your eyes, unhooking your leg and trapping his hand between your thighs as you flip to face him. “Or is that what you want? To cum in my hand.” You tease. He gives a nervous chuckle as your hand slides down his toned stomach to his very pronounced erection.

“What was your dream?” You whisper into the shell of his ear, your hand slowly working up and down his length. “I want to know.” You hum, kissing his neck. 

“Thought about what it would feel like to be inside y-you.” He groans as your hand picks up speed. “How pretty you’d be when I make you-“ his hips jerk into your hand and you feel the stickiness of his cum cover your palm. “-cum.” He sighs, pressing his mouth to yours. You hear his second alarm go off and unattach your lips.

“Maybe we can find out later?” You smile. He eagerly nods as the two of you get out of bed to get ready for work.

_______

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chapter: seven ( 12.3k ) rating: mature (death, past abuse, eventual smut) genre: mystery | romance | hurt/comfort tags: bts x reader | ot7 x reader | hybrid | poly summary: when an estranged uncle leaves you his massive fortune you wonder if the universe is playing a joke on you. when that fortune comes with seven hybrids, you know for sure that it is. << first < previous | next > last >>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes glaze over as you groggily connect the dots.

A deer and a rabbit.

Not canine, not feline.

Other.

Other.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

why are my hybrids freaking the fuck out

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

why don’t my hybrids like each other

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hunted. They’d been hunted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about Seokjin?” He asks you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He dips his head. “Okay.”

“I think Seokjin can decide for himself.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wince.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I can.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But it’s about your-!”

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

“It’s okay,” You soothe. “It’s just-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you wanna come in?”

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

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

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

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

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

You blink at him in confusion.

“There’s eight of us.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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